Page 59 of Falling for the Firefighter
Nothing says "safety" like a confident dog who knows what she's doing.
The cavern itself tells a story of water and time. Smooth walls carved by underground streams, a ceiling that disappears into darkness above our lights. The air here feels different, movingwith purpose, suggesting multiple connections to the outside world.
Above us, the fire rages like a living thing with teeth and hunger. Through the thin layer of stone and earth, I can hear it—a low rumble that's part freight train, part beast breathing. It's not the gentle crackle of a campfire or even the controlled burn of a prescribed fire. This is something primal and furious, chewing through timber with ravenous hunger, racing toward anything combustible with unstoppable momentum.
The campers fled here, thinking stone would save them. The cavern seemed safe, cool, damp, and far from the flames that cut off their escape routes. They didn’t count on smoke being a liquid thing, flowing downhill like water, seeping through cracks in the ceiling, and pooling in the lowest places. Now gray wisps curl around our lights, and the bitter tang of burning pine coats my tongue even through my mask.
The mountain that was supposed to shelter them is slowly filling with the same poison that drove them here.
"Angel's Peak Fire and Rescue." Mac steps forward, authority radiating from every line of his body. "We're here to evacuate you to safety."
Relief crashes over the group. Questions tumble over each other. How long until we're out? Is it safe? Will the tunnel hold? Mac handles them efficiently while Williams moves among them to check for injuries.
I scan the group, taking a quick inventory of what we're dealing with.
Near the back wall, a young couple clutches a small boy between them—the father's arm protective around his son's shoulders, the mother's hand smoothing the child's hair with nervous, repetitive strokes.
The boy can't be more than seven, his wide eyes taking in everything with the mixture of fear and curiosity that onlychildren possess. His parents whisper reassurances to him, but I can see the barely controlled panic in their faces as they try to stay strong for their son.
The boy keeps looking toward our rescue team with fascination, especially at Scout, who sits calmly near the cavern’s entrance. Despite his parents' protective grip, there's something in his posture that suggests resilience, a quiet bravery that reminds me why I love working with kids in the mountains.
A little boy’s face lights up at the sight of Scout. "Is that your dog?" he asks, momentarily forgetting his fear.
"This is Scout," I tell him, removing my mask briefly. "She's the one who found you. Do you want to pet her?"
Danny looks up at his parents, who turn to each other, nod, then smile at me as if I’ve lifted a great weight off their shoulders. It’s incredible what the power dogs hold to ease human fears.
The young boy approaches me with wide, solemn eyes. His face is streaked with dust and tear tracks, but he's not crying now. He kneels to pet Scout. Meanwhile, Mac organizes the campers.
"Are you really going to get us out?" the boy asks.
I crouch to his level, removing my mask momentarily to meet his gaze directly. "Yes. I promise."
The word slips out before I can stop it.Promise.The same word I said to Sarah before everything went wrong.
But this time feels different. This time, I know the way.
"What's your name?" I ask.
"Danny." He wipes his nose with his sleeve. "My mom says the mountain might fall down."
"Your mom's scared, and that's okay. But this mountain has been here for millions of years. It's not going anywhere." I tap my map case. "My name is Jo, and I’ve got the secret way out."
His eyes brighten slightly. "Secret?"
"Really secret. Want to help me navigate?"
He nods eagerly, and something tight in my chest loosens. This is what I've been afraid of—this trust, this responsibility, but it doesn't feel crushing anymore. It feels like coming home.
"Is everyone able to walk?" Mac asks quietly as I stand.
"One sprained ankle, but manageable with assistance. No serious injuries." Williams reports. "They're dehydrated and scared, but they can move."
"Then let's get these people home."
Mac’s voice is calm yet authoritative as he assigns positions. "Stronger adults will assist anyone who needs help. Parents, keep your children close. We move as one unit—no one gets ahead, no one falls behind."
Danny's parents exchange a worried glance as they prepare to move. His mother adjusts her small backpack while his father checks their water supply. Danny's attention is fixed on me, his young face serious with the weight of what we're about to attempt.
