Page 67 of Falling for the Firefighter
"What's the strategy?" Jackson Hart's question comes sharp and precise, the voice of someone accustomed to life-or-death decisions in unforgiving terrain.
I step forward, feeling the weight of thirty pairs of eyes. The maps beneath my fingers feel familiar, comforting—years of work distilled into lines and symbols that could save or damn us all.
"The fire is using natural features to accelerate." I indicate the map's topography, my finger tracing the paths I've walkedcountless times. "Canyons acting as chimneys, ridgelines creating wind tunnels. We can't match its power, so we need to break its momentum."
Scout rises from her position under the table, moving to stand beside me as I trace routes on the map. Her presence draws a few glances from the assembled volunteers—several of whom know her reputation as a search and rescue dog.
When Jackson Hart nods approvingly at her, I realize they're not just seeing my expertise, but our partnership. The team that's already proven itself in today's rescue operations.
I trace a curved line across the map, the pencil marks showing elevation changes that most people couldn't read. But these people can. These are my neighbors, people who've spent their lives learning the mountain's moods.
"We create a containment line here, along this natural firebreak. The ridge drops nearly vertical on the north side—approximately two hundred feet of bare rock the fire can't easily jump."
"What about the access points?" Noah asks, already seeing the weakness. His pen hovers over his notepad, ready to capture every detail.
"Three valleys interrupt the ridge." I tap each location, feeling the weight of what I'm asking. These gaps are natural funnels, places where wind and flame will converge with devastating force. "These are our critical defense points. If we can hold these three gaps, we force the fire to climb the rock face, which will slow its advance significantly."
"Captain Sullivan's team is handling the northern position—the most dangerous." I continue, my voice catching slightly as I think of Mac facing that hell. "Caleb and Jackson, I figure you’re the best to lead volunteer crews. Noah will get your crews set and lead the volunteers. I’ll coordinate the civilian evacuation."
Noah studies the map intently, his weathered finger tracing distances. Jackson and Caleb join him. I can almost see them calculating personnel, equipment, the terrible mathematics of men against wildfire.
"That's nearly seven miles of containment line," Noah pulls at his chin. "We don't have enough personnel to cover it effectively."
"That's why we're here." I let my gaze sweep the room, meeting each face individually. The chandelier light catches the determination in their eyes —the absolute conviction that makes people believe in the impossible. "We need every able-bodied person who knows these mountains. Guides, hunters, rangers—anyone who can safely navigate the terrain and follow directions under pressure."
Jackson Hart, all lean muscle and contained energy, speaks up. "Mountain Rescue can contribute ten experienced guides, all with wildfire training."
"The lodge staff are at your disposal." Lucas Reid's offer comes as a surprise, given his usual corporate detachment. "We know the trails."
"I'll coordinate supply lines and base camp operations." Eleanor Morgan rises, commanding attention despite her diminutive stature. Her walking stick taps once against the floor—a sound like a gavel calling court to order. "The community center can serve as a staging area."
"Eleanor…" I hate to say it, but it needs to be said. "You should evacuate with the?—"
"And leave my town when it needs me most? Not going to happen. You’ve got enough on your plate with the evacuations. I can ferry up water and snacks to the frontline."
One by one, Angel's Peak's residents step up, offering skills, equipment, and knowledge accumulated over generations of mountain living. I watch in silent amazement as the communitycoalesces around a single purpose: protecting their home. The air in the room shifts, fear transforming into something harder, more determined.
Caleb Donovan, normally reserved to the point of reclusiveness, approaches me directly. His uniform is wrinkled, boots dusty from whatever fire line he's just left. "The Forest Service has detailed fuel maps for the entire region. Recent updates show deadfall concentrations and beetle-kill zones. Might help predict where the fire will burn hottest. We’ll get them distributed."
"Thank you."
As the meeting transitions to specific assignments, Sheriff Donovan draws me aside, his weathered hand warm against my elbow. His voice drops low beneath the room's organized chaos.
Noah approaches. "We need more detailed maps of those three gaps. Everything you've got—water sources, terrain features, potential safety zones."
I'm already nodding, mind racing through the files in my office. "I have them at my office. Comprehensive surveys from last spring."
"Let’s grab them. I’ll drive. Jackson and Caleb look like they’ve got the volunteers handled."
The room is organized into functional groups, each with assigned leaders and clear objectives.
Outside, the afternoon sun glows unnaturally orange through smoke that thickens by the minute, casting Angel's Peak in apocalyptic light. The wind carries ash and the distant roar of approaching devastation—a sound like thunder that never ends, growing closer with each gust.
The sheriff and I slip out and head to the visitor center.
It stands empty, evacuated hours earlier as part of the town's emergency protocols.
Scout trots between Sheriff Donovan and me as we cross the parking lot, her nose working constantly to process the smoky air. She pauses once, looking back toward the mountains where the fire rages, a low whine escaping her throat.
