Page 83 of Falling for the Firefighter
The bulldozer takes point, clearing just enough width for vehicles to pass while we follow slowly in the truck. The road reveals itself gradually—in some places completely obscured by decades of forest growth, while in others, it remains surprisingly intact despite years of neglect.
We maintain regular radio contact with command, reporting our progress as the forgotten road proves its value, yard by yard. The work is slow but satisfying, each section cleared bringing us closer to providing the access desperately needed by firefighting teams.
Two hours in, we reach a viewpoint that reveals the valley below—parts still actively burning, others reduced to smoldering ash. From this elevation, the fire's strategic pattern becomes unmistakable—engineered to cause maximum destruction to specific areas while creating a barrier of devastation around the old Silver Creek processing facility.
"It's the mine." I murmur, more to myself than the others.
Jackson overhears. "What is?"
"The fire pattern." I gesture toward the valley. "It’s notjustarson. It’s surgical. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were targeting and how to ensure that the land around the mine was destroyed."
Before Jackson can respond, our radio crackles with unexpected static, then Mac's voice cuts through:"Alpha Leader to Road Assessment Team. Do you copy?"
"Road Assessment copies, Alpha Leader." Jackson answers.
"Status update on alternate access route?"
"Progressing well. Approximately one mile cleared so far. Road foundation is solid, capable of supporting all apparatus types." I hesitate, then add, "Your team should have access to Sector Seven hotspots within approximately two hours."
"Understood. Alpha Team standing by at rendezvous point. Will monitor your progress."
"Copy, Alpha Leader. Road Assessment out."
We continue our methodical progress, the bulldozer operator expertly clearing minimal width to preserve as much of the original roadbed as possible. The work develops its own rhythm. Identify the next section, clear debris, assess stability, and move forward. Despite the destruction surrounding us, there's satisfaction in revealing this hidden path, in making visible what time and nature had concealed.
Four hours after starting, we reach the junction where the forgotten road connects to the main fire access beyond the collapsed sections. Stevens immediately begins marking the route for the heavy equipment teams that will follow.
"Road Assessment to Command." Jackson radios our success. "Alternate route established and marked. Ready for apparatus access to Sector Seven."
"Copy that."Sheriff Donovan's voice carries rare satisfaction."First engine company deploying now. Alpha Team has been notified and is moving to hotspot locations."
I check my watch, calculating the time against the remaining daylight. "We should head back. Light's failing, and this terrain is dangerous after dark."
"Agreed." Jackson starts the truck, waiting for Stevens and Martinez to secure their equipment. "Command wants us back at base for debriefing anyway. State fire teams are taking overmost operations now that the immediate threat to the town is contained."
As we begin the journey back, I watch the devastated landscape with mixed emotions. So much destruction, yet Angel's Peak itself survived largely intact thanks to the defensive lines that held. The knowledge that my maps —my father’s legacy —played a crucial role in protecting both the town and the firefighters fills me with quiet pride beneath the exhaustion.
The drive back takes us past the Sector Seven rendezvous point—a cleared area where fire apparatus now gathers in preparation for accessing the hotspots via our newly established route. Jackson slows as we approach, checking in with the incident commander coordinating the response.
That's when I see him.
Mac stands at the center of operations, a map spread across the hood of a command vehicle, directing teams with the focused authority that seems as natural to him as breathing. Even at a distance, his presence commands attention—his shoulders squared despite obvious exhaustion, his gestures precise as he indicates target areas.
Scout's head snaps up the moment she spots Mac through the windshield, her tail beginning a tentative wag—the first sign of pure joy I've seen from her since the crisis began. She presses against the window, clearly recognizing the man who's become as important to her as he has to me.
When I open the truck door, she bounds out before I can stop her, making a beeline for Mac with the single-minded determination of a dog greeting her favorite human.
He looks up as our truck approaches, his conversation pausing mid-sentence. Even through the windshield, the intensity of his gaze hits me like physical contact.
Jackson glances between us, then makes a decision. "I need to update the IC on road conditions." He puts the truck in park. "Coming?"
I follow Jackson toward the command area, maintaining my professional composure despite the awareness prickling across my skin. Mac watches our approach, his expression revealing nothing to casual observers, though I can read the tension in his jaw, the slight shift in his stance.
"Hart." Mac acknowledges Jackson first. "Road assessment successful?"
"Better than expected." Jackson gestures toward me. "Thanks to Jo. Road's solid enough for anything you need to deploy."
Mac's eyes shift to me, his professional mask firmly in place. "Good work. That access will make a significant difference to containment operations."
