know. Feels like we’re committed, and only so much time till tomorrow.”
A hot, dry wind bit his face.
Tree tops buffeted.
Not good—not with this much fire on the ground.
Jack checked up and down the line.
A gray-bearded firer raised his drip torch and stopped, he too, seemingly concerned. Looking up, he appeared to be watching the tree tops.
A tall, gangly firer stepped past Gray Beard and lit off a patch of sagebrush. Fire ate through, crackling, moving with the wind. The young firer backed away from the heat, a moment later stepped past it, and tipped his torch forward. Gray Beard grabbed his arm, and waved over a man from the holding crew.
The wind died away. Tree tops grew still.
Gray Beard watched for a long moment, then signaled the young firer to proceed. He lowered his own torch and lit off the brush at his feet, pushing the fire through a swell. Smoke moved aimlessly back up the hill, mingling among the trees on the edge of the opening.
Jack exhaled, and looked over at Johnny. Johnny shook his head and smiled. He pointed a firer on. Progress had to be made.
Jack watched Gray Beard approach a downed pine and dip his torch. Dry, red needles popped into flame, and raced along the length of the tree. It was fully involved in a moment. Gray Beard stood back and watched.
Jack studied the heat waves. Shut the burn down, or take our chances? Can the Pistol Creek Fire be caught at this stage of the game? No, best odds are with finishing this burn. He dipped his torch forward and moved down the line.
Near the top of a rise, wind bit his face. A wind shift.
A firer moved into the sagebrush near the rare plants. Blonde ponytail flowing out from under a red helmet, it had to be one of the park firefighters, Christy Manion. Fire ecology diploma only freshly minted, but fire boots well worn, she was a veteran firefighter. Jack watched her coax the burn through the sage, then into the needles at the base of a monarch ponderosa. She slowed and watched. Abruptly, she turned and signaled the firefighter on guard, waving him over.
The fellow ambled toward her, shovel on his shoulder.
Wind burst into the opening. Flame climbed into oak brush. Leaves flashed. The man stepped back.
“Hit it with dirt,” Christy shouted. “Winds are shifting!”
The big man let the shovel head slip to the ground. He settled into his lean and watched.
“Hit it!”
Burning leaves tumbled along the ground, through black, into green. Grass burst into flame. Sagebrush ignited. Flame and heat marched at the scratch line.
“Hit it! Put it out!”
Jack bolted.
The man stood watching.
Fire rolled over the scratch line, igniting woody-stemmed plants at the base of the rock.
Manion dropped her torch and dashed past the spectating firefighter. Shielding her face, she danced on the flames, grinding her boots into burning undergrowth.
Flame lapped up the wall, stepping from plant to plant, each bursting into flame.
She grasped at dirt with her hands, flinging it up the wall, slowing the fire—but it was too late. She dropped her head.
Stunned, Jack watched.
Christy slowly pointed. “Get a line around it,” she muttered.
The man stooped over and gave the ground a scrape. A token scrape.
“Line it,” Christy demanded.
“It’s done. Besides, there’s nothing left.”
“Do it anyway,” Christy said, sounding near tears. She dug in her boots, kicking dirt at the remains of the plants. Smoke wafted from scorched stems. “How could you let that happen? Why didn’t you stop it?”
The man settled back into his lean. “Would’ve been hard.”
Jack’s bile rose in his throat as he stepped up behind the light haired man.
“You could if you tried . . . but you didn’t,” she said, continuing to kick at the dirt. “They’re . . .” She raised her head. “Get over here. I’m bustin’ my butt.”
The man cocked his head. “I’d say keep it up sweet cheeks. It’s not hurting you any.”
Christy slowly stood up right and glared, then noticed Jack. She shook her head.
Johnny Reger stepped out from the shadows, following the line. He stopped. His jaw dropped. “What? What happened?” His eyes darted from scratch line, to smoldering plants, to rock outcropping, to Christy, to the other firefighter. “What did you do?”
“Nothing?” Christy said. “He did nothing.”
The man smirked. “Don’t expect miracles.”
Johnny turned to Jack, mouth slowly moving, no words coming out.
“You can’t work,” Christy shouted. “You’re a lazy ass.”
“And this is the . . . only . . .” Johnny said, barely managing the words.
“The only known population,” Jack said. “Might be fire adapted, but we don’t know for sure. The botanist who described the species thought it might be found elsewhere, but so far . . .” He let his words trail off.
“This plant was . . . ,” Johnny said, sounding in shock. “What do we do now?”
“Not sure. This is bad,” Jack muttered. “We’ll need to do a review of some kind, but I’m not sure we can think about that today.”
“It’s this guy that ought to be in trouble,” Christy said, pointing at the big man.
“Your problem, not mine,” he said. His smirk grew into a smile.
Johnny cocked an eyebrow. “A little smug, aren’t you?”
“Your fire, not mine.”
Johnny’s eyes moved between the fire and the crewman. “I don’t have time for this shit. I need everyone here. If I didn’t, I’d put your ass on the first train home.”
The man threw back his head and laughed.
“Forget that. You’re out of here,” Johnny said.
The man sobered up and stared back. “I don’t think so.” He turned. “Hey, boss man,” he said, in Jack’s direction.
Jack turned toward him. “You talking to me?”
“Yes, boss man, you need to get involved with this.”
Something
