Page 70 of Falling for the Firefighter
"Alpha Leader, this is Base Command. Go ahead."
"Fire jumped the containment line. My entire team is cut off."A pause, filled with the distant roar of destruction."Repeat—we’re cut off from our primary and secondary evacuation routes."
Ice slides down my spine. I grab the radio, my voice steady despite the fear clawing at my throat.
"Alpha Leader, what's your current position?"
"Grid reference 847-291. North of Widow's Peak."Static crackles, then his voice returns, strained but controlled.
I trace my finger across the map spread before me, finding their position.
My stomach drops.
They're trapped.
"Alpha Leader, how many personnel total?"
"Twelve. Full crew complement."A pause filled with the distant roar I recognize as wildfire consuming everything in its path."We've got maybe thirty minutes before this position becomes untenable."
Thirty minutes. I stare at the topographical lines surrounding their location, my mind racing through escape routes. The main trail they used to reach that position is now blocked by fire. The eastern slope is too steep for safe descent. The western approach leads directly into the fire's path.
That leaves north.
Straight up the mountain face.
"Alpha Leader, stand by." I key off the radio and grab my most detailed survey map of Widow's Peak—hand-drawn, every cliff face and hidden ledge marked from personal reconnaissance.
Sheriff Donovan appears at my shoulder. "What are we looking at?"
"Mac's team is trapped on the north face of Widow's Peak." My finger traces their position to the surrounding terrain. "Fire cut off their retreat. They need an alternate extraction route."
"Air support?"
I check the weather station readings posted on the wall. "Wind gusts to forty-five mph. Visibility is near zero. No pilot's going to risk it in these conditions."
Noah Morgan joins us, his face grim. "What about the old mining trail? The one that connects to Thunder Ridge?"
"Washed out last spring." I point to my notations on the map. "Flash flood took out the bridge. There's a twenty-foot gap now."
The radio goes quiet except for static. Around me, the command center has gone absolutely silent. Every face turns toward me, waiting for the miracle that will save twelve of the best firefighters in the country.
I stare at the map, but the lines blur as my mind processes what Mac just told me.
"Jo." Sheriff Donovan's voice cuts through my paralysis. "What do you need?"
I blink, focusing on the map with laser intensity. The terrain features sharpen back into clarity—elevation lines, water sources, and rock formations. My father's notations in faded ink along the margins.
There.
A thin line marking shadows where they would naturally collect. Too small for the official surveys, but I walked it two summers ago during drought conditions. It cuts north through a narrow canyon, connecting to Hidden Lake above the fire line.
But it's a box canyon. One way in. One way out.
"There's a route." My finger traces a line on the map where shadows would naturally collect. "Blind canyon. Runs north through Devil's Canyon—looks like a dead end from the outside, but there's a chimney formation at the back wall."
Noah frowns, studying the terrain. "Devil's Canyon? That's suicide. It's a box canyon."
"Exactly why the fire can't follow them." The fire won’t, but the heat and smoke will. I grab my radio, my pulse hammering. "The walls funnel wind away from the interior. But Noah's right—it's a one-way trip. If they can't climb the chimney..."
