10. Ash
ASH
“Jenny, thank God you answered,” I pant, phone jammed between my ear and shoulder as I jog along the dirt road snaking south from the campground.
The map on my screen confirms what I already knew: we’re nowhere near anything. Calling my best friend in San Francisco isn’t exactly a rescue plan, but I’m out of better ideas.
“Tell her to come get us!” Kael calls, bouncing beside me, eyes wide.
“What’s up?” Jenny asks. “You okay? You sound out of breath.”
“We’re running,” I say. “Long story.”
Kael surges a few paces ahead, then doubles back, hair damp, cheeks flushed, hoodie half open as his chest rises and falls. He’s far too distracting for someone I’m supposed to be surviving with, not thinking about like this.
I drag my gaze back to the road. Focus.
“Ask if she knows anyone closer!” he hisses.
“I went to that retreat,” I tell Jenny, trying to force the story into order. “And then… a fire broke out.”
“Yeah, it’s all over the news,” she says. “You okay?”
“No,” I say, flat and honest. The reasons why are too many to list, but Kael’s frantic orbiting is definitely on there. “We missed the evacuation.”
“Missed it!” Kael yells, his failure to suppress my same nervous energy only winding me tighter.
I roll my eyes, which helps about as much as it sounds. “We’re heading south along the road from Philbrook Campground, but it looks like the closest town is… far.”
“Come on. This is a weird joke,” Jenny says.
“I’m not joking. Please.” The drawstring bag of water bottles digs into one shoulder, my laptop strap into the other. I’m drenched in sweat, lungs burning. “I’m with someone else. We’re stranded. Everyone’s gone. The fire’s coming, and we’re alone.”
Kael finally takes the hint and pulls out his own phone, peeling away a few steps to make his own call.
“Holy shit,” Jenny breathes. “Okay, okay, okay.”
“Took me four hours to drive here,” I say. “Maybe—”
“I’m with my in-laws,” she cuts in. “In Fresno.”
“Shit.” I stumble and slow, legs suddenly heavier.
“What are you doing?” Kael motions impatiently, like I’m not carrying half our body weight in gear.
“I… need a minute,” I pant, and then turn back to the phone. “We’re a few minutes south of Philbrook.”
“I see it,” Jenny says. I hear keys clacking. “Shit. The fire’s just north of you.”
“There’s a town. Inskip,” I say, trying to steady my breathing without stopping. “Looks like a few-hour hike.”
“A little over three,” she confirms.
“Any better ideas? We couldn’t stay at camp. The fire’s heading straight for it. Maybe someone will see us on the road. I messaged the retreat, left a voicemail for the campground…”
“The road’s closed,” Jenny says, her voice dropping. “As soon as we hang up, I’m calling 911 to tell them you and a friend are still near Philbrook. But Ash, they’ve shut down all the roads in and out of that area because of the fire.”
“Dammit.” My stomach drops. I meet Kael’s eyes. “The roads are closed,” I repeat. “No one’s coming.”
“You did the right thing leaving,” Jenny says quickly. “Keep heading south. The dispatcher will say the same thing I am. If the fire gets too close, the crews will have to use the road. It’s actually a good sign if nobody comes— Shit.”
“What’s shit?” I ask, picking up my pace again.
“Shit?” Kael repeats.
“Inskip isn’t really a town,” she says. “Zero population, basically. The closest place with people is… Paradise.”
“The Paradise?” I ask.
“Wait. Paradise that burned?” Kael’s voice is tight.
Jenny’s silence is answer enough. When she speaks again, it’s with the same brittle calm she uses for bad news. “It’s a ten-hour hike if you cut across trails. Fourteen if you stick to the road.”
Kael is already texting. Whoever it is, I hope they have a better idea than “walk through a fire zone for half a day.”
“It’ll be dark in about three hours,” I say, checking the time. Three p.m. “We’re not making it before nightfall.”
“You have your phones, right? Flashlights?” Jenny asks.
“I brought my laptop,” I say, as if that’s remotely helpful. The idea of hiking in the dark sends a fresh wave of nausea through me. I turn toward Kael. “What’s your last name again?”
“Wright,” he says.
I relay it to Jenny, then force our plan into words. “We’re hiking to Paradise. If nobody finds us on the road, we use our phones as flashlights and aim to hit it around one a.m., assuming we stay ahead of the fire.”
“Screenshots!” Jenny adds. “Take screenshots of your map in case you lose service or have to conserve battery.”
“Right.” My fingers are clumsy as I snap a few maps at different zoom levels.
“I’m going to call 911, the ranger station, any number I can find in Paradise,” Jenny says. “You good?”
“Define ‘good,’” I say. “But… yeah. We’re moving.”
A weak laugh escapes her. “Stay in touch.”
The call ends, and the silence afterward feels thicker than the heat. Beside me, Kael looks up from his phone, and for a second we just stand there, breathing hard, eyes locked on each other in a way that makes my chest tighten even more.
“So?” he asks.
“You heard.” I adjust the straps biting into my shoulders. “Ten hours to Paradise if we cut through trails. Fourteen if we stick to the road. So we walk, and hope someone finds us before we have to leave it.”
Kael nods. “I posted on all my socials. Maybe someone from the internet…”
“Maybe,” I say, though we both know how thin that hope is.
We start moving again. Gravel crunches under our shoes in a broken rhythm.
My mind spirals deeper with every fire spread chart, wind pattern, and evacuation timeline I read on my phone.
Every statistic I pull up knots my stomach tighter.
I tuck the screen away before the numbers can spill out of my mouth.
Kael stays quiet beside me while his thumbs hover over his phone without typing.
“We’ll be okay,” I say.
It comes out exactly like it did to Chase.
“Yeah.” Kael’s eyes stay on his phone. “Sure.”
When he finally looks up, his face has changed. The dimples are gone, hollowed into something tired and sad, and an absurd, reckless urge flares to pull him in, feel his chest against mine, press my face to the warm curve of his neck, and tell him we’re safe, we’ll make it, I’ve got you.
Terror should have burned this out of me, but all it’s done is leave me raw enough to feel it and not nearly brave enough to act on it. I don’t even know how to open the pocketknife clipped to my belt.
I curl my fingers into fists, nails biting into my palms, and cling to fear and math and anything but the fact that I want someone I barely know.
My gaze drops to his screen, grateful for the out. He’s hovering over a message thread.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
He flicks the screen away, slapping on a smirk I know is fake because his dimples are still nowhere to be found. I barely know him. I shouldn’t care who he’s texting.
“It’s Alistair,” he says.