nearly every corner.
He wasn’t sure he could deal with that; there was just too much bitterness.
5
The Whisper Creek airport, a small private landing strip, had become a beehive of activity. Fire-fighting planes lined the runway, loading the chemicals they would drop from the air. Smoke jumpers were beginning to arrive in their planes, as well.
Up near Edgerton Pass, a command post had been established. Volunteer firefighters were being gathered there to truck into the valley below and cut firebreaks. Up north, at the far end of the valley, similar crews were gathering to try to prevent the fire from spreading in that direction toward the ski resort towns.
The forest service had taken charge, but Sam was assigned as liaison with the local authorities. There were homes in the valley below, scattered miles apart, homes that would be threatened if the fire couldn’t be halted. It would be his job to ensure that any necessary evacuations were made.
At the moment, though, the threat was small and might be contained. Night was fast approaching, though, and the darkness would hinder their efforts.
The first chemical-bearing planes flew overhead as he stood there, then seemed to vanish into the thickening haze of smoke. Lack of wind hampered visibility by allowing the pall to hang thickly, even as it prevented the fire from spreading too swiftly to contain.
“That won’t last,” Sam remarked as one of the foresters commented that the wind was with them.
The guy—Sam remembered his name was George Griffin—smiled. “You some kind of pessimist?” George was a short, compact guy in his late forties or so, with steely hair and eyes that perpetually squinted.
“I’m a realist. That sun goes behind that mountain over there, we’re going to see some stiffening breezes.”
“Yeah.” George knew it as well as he did. “We always do. But right now, conditions are on our side. I’ll take every break I can get.”
Another dumper flew overhead with a loud drone. The first one was already on its way back for another load.
George spoke again. “We can’t send the jumpers in until morning. Not enough time before darkfall.”
Sam nodded. His mind strayed a moment, wondering what Mary was going to think when he didn’t show up to take her to dinner. Maybe he should have dispatch call her. Nah. Right now they were too busy fielding calls about the fire. It wasn’t a date, anyway. She would understand.
Just then the breeze kicked up. Not much, just enough to make him feel a chill through his light jacket. George looked at him. The sun was hanging heavy over the western peaks, a baleful red orb blurred by the smoke in the air.
George spoke. “I hope our luck isn’t running out.”
The trucks full of volunteers pulled out, heading down the narrow, winding road. Their job was to build a firebreak to protect the pass. The guys leaned out, hooting and hollering as they passed. Too high on excitement to realize what they were facing. Too macho to admit it.
The breeze suddenly gusted, carrying away the thickest smoke, leaving the fire visible. It had spread. An angry orange beast devouring the valley’s north end.
“Shit,” George swore under his breath.
Sam didn’t say anything. Even at this safe distance, he was suddenly a kid again, looking into the maw of hell. And even as he watched, hunching against the chilly bite of the wind, he saw another tree go up in a burst of hungry flames. Only it was a tree some distance from the fire. The gust had carried a spark hundreds of yards, starting yet another fire.
“Damn,” George said. “Damn.”
The beast had leaped its own perimeter, running free. George picked up his radio and began to bark rapid orders. They couldn’t wait for dawn. Not now.
Mary dressed for dinner with rather more care than was her custom in a town where casual dress reigned. She chose a green polished cotton dress and a pair of two-inch heels. Her hair, usually allowed to fall in waves below her shoulders, she decided to put up in a loose knot with a few long curls hanging free.
It was more effort than she wanted to think about, considering that Sam and she had agreed that this wasn’t a date. She even went so far as to dab on a little perfume.
At six she peeked out to see if Sam had arrived. Instead she saw her neighbors gathered in their front yards, looking to the west. Curious, she went out to discover what was going on.
“It’s a fire,” Elvira Jones, who lived in the house on the left, told her. “In the next valley.”
Mary turned to see the thick cloud of smoke hovering over the mountains, catching the red of the lowering sun. “How bad is it?”
“Not a threat to us yet,” Elvira answered. “But my Bob says they’re worried about it coming through Edgerton Pass. He went to volunteer.”
Mary immediately turned to her. “You must be worried.”
“Nah.” Elvira smiled, her crow’s-feet deepening. She loved to ski so much that she had a permanently sun- and wind-burned face. “He’ll just be helping with a firebreak at the pass. He won’t get near the flames.”
But Mary remembered fires from the past, remembered how a little wind could create desperate situations. At least there wasn’t a breeze right now. Of course, in the next valley that might be different.
“There aren’t many people living out that way, are there?”
Elvira shook her head. “Just a few loners. It’s too hard to get out of there in the winter.”
Mary nodded, trying to remember if any of her students lived out that way. She didn’t think so. Elvira was right. There couldn’t be more than a half dozen folks out there. As long as they could contain the fire, there wouldn’t be much damage to property.
Just damage to the forest. Harkening back to environmental lessons from her college days, she seemed to remember that was actually a good thing, fertilizing the soil, clearing out old and dead growth, making way for renewal. “It’s awfully late in the day to be sending people out there.”
Elvira shrugged. “They can’t just let it burn.”
No, Mary supposed they couldn’t do that. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was six-fifteen. Sam still wasn’t there. Her heart skipped uncomfortably as she wondered if he’d gone to fight the fire, too. After a brief hesitation, she decided to go inside and call.
Sam’s number was in the book, but there was no answer. She waited another fifteen minutes, then called Maggie Sanders, the sheriff’s wife. She didn’t know Maggie well, but she recognized her from the times she’d come to school about her daughter Allie Williams. Allie, in fact, was going to be in Mary’s literature class this coming school year.
“Maggie?” she said when the other woman answered. “This is Mary McKinney. I was supposed to come for dinner tonight with Sam, but he hasn’t shown up yet, and I can’t reach him at home.”
“Mary! I’m glad you called. Earl
