Chapter 25
S LITHERING RED LINES brOKE into the pure black, the earth seemingly tearing itself open. The sear seemed to go on forever. Alice leaned back from looking out the window and reached for Annie’s panda, praying for those affected, those trying to defeat something so overpowering.
A member of the team waited at the airport and talked as he drove, updating Eddie on where things were. Delany sat beside Alice in the back. She had started to jot down some ideas in the manual now on her lap. The materials said they started with simple meals: PB+Js, fruit, water. Would people who just lost everything care about the equivalent of a kid’s school lunch? It was a three-hour drive to the fire. She studied the darkness, slowly falling asleep.
Delany touched her leg, waking her.
“Are we here?” she asked.
“Yeah. You okay?” He tilted his head. Alice swallowed and nodded, determined to not let him see just how terrified she felt. He opened his door. Alice checked the time, close to one a.m. Eddie gave her a hotel room key, their first meeting would be at five. Alice shouldered her pack and took the elevator to her room.
THE NEXT MORNING, she followed Delany and Eddie into a smaller ballroom in the hotel. Papers covered a series of round tables, with several maps hanging on the wall. On another section a large pad of paper listed the food and quantities available. Delany went with another man to see the damage and get an idea of what Comida was already doing. Eddie called her name. He stood with Samson, the man who got them at the airport, he was about her age, bald head, with simple framed glasses over almond-shaped blue eyes. He wore a blue polo with the Comida logo and cargo pants.
“Samson is going to take you to find a kitchen.”
“I thought you had one identified?” Alice asked.
“We did. Winds shifted and the fire jumped the boundary,” Samson said.
“We need to start cooking for the firefighters and first responders,” Eddie said.
“Sounds like we’ll be busy.” Alice tried to keep the apprehension off her face.
Volunteers loaded crates of meals into the back of a white 4Runner. Samson told her about the situation as they drove. The area around them was full of ridges and valleys, making it harder for the firefighters to establish fire lines. With things being so dry, the winds kept kicking up, carrying embers and starting new fires. As of that morning, the fire had moved closer to the Colorado border and was still largely uncontained. It was September, meaning people were tired, and resources depleted. A dozen other fires raged in the region, some in more densely populated areas. This area consisted of smaller towns with populations under 10,000. The bigger fire companies were trying to work with mostly volunteer units who may or may not have any training in fighting wildfires.
Everyone worked overtime. Comida would be there making meals as long as needed. So far, the main shelters run by national entities were accepting Comida’s help as it allowed them to divert funding and people to other fires. They were also taking meals to smaller, local shelters and those in communities the fire ravaged earlier.
They went to a primary shelter in the center of the burn area. Alice helped unload the boxes and boxes of meals. A bigger van pulled up, filled with volunteers and more food. Samson told her to get into the 4Runner; he heard of a kitchen they might be able to use.
“Don’t we need to stay?” Alice asked.
“There are people who cook. People who serve. People who distribute. People who move stuff. We all do our part. We need to get you a kitchen.”
Everywhere they went looked like a sea of black, charred earth with the burned remains of buildings and communities. They drove down a street, nothing but the skeletons of cars and an occasional staircase leading nowhere. They took meals to firefighters, people guarding ravaged communities, and a few national guard troops before Samson pulled into an older restaurant, the only structure still standing on what was once a main thoroughfare. An older man came out to meet them with receding white hair, chapped skin. He wore stained overalls and an undershirt full of holes.
“Thank you for letting us see your space,” Samson shook the man’s hand.
“We won’t be needing it now.” His voice was raspy. Alice introduced herself and shook his hand.
Inside the stench of smoke hung in the air. Ash covered every surface. It felt like walking into something that had been undisturbed for decades, though according to the owner, people ate there earlier in the week. The man turned on the power, the lights flickering. The kitchen was in the same state as the front. The lights tremored again. Alice wanted to ask how she could cook with the fluctuating energy, and what if the state decided to shut off the power.
“Might not get stable power. They could be diverting it since there’s nothing left.” Samson seemed to read her mind.
“Are there any food trucks around here?” she asked.
The man thought about it. “I think one or two might work in Bay Vista.”
“If we could get them to come, maybe they could help cook and distribute.” Alice looked at Samson.
“Let me call Eddie.” Samson got on the phone. Alice glanced at the space around her. Who was she to complain about not having enough of a kitchen when so many families just lost everything? Most restaurateurs here would kill for the space she shared with Carver.
“What were your most popular dishes?” Alice asked. There were only so many days people could eat sandwiches, and she sensed the prescribed meals in the manual might not be what people around here would choose to eat.
The man scratched his chin and widened his stance. “Can’t say as I reckon. You should ask my daughter; she’s the chef.”
“If she’s open to talking to me.”
Samson came back and thanked the man for his time, they’d be in touch. Alice found an order pad and wrote down her number for the man’s daughter.
They ended up at the high school in the next town over where things were still green. The smell of smoke reminded Alice the fire was not that far away. A sea of one-man tents lined the football field, the school the base of operations for the firefighters. It felt like the safest place to be. The principal met them outside and showed them to the kitchen, which consisted of a small range top and a couple of tables. They wouldn’t be able to do much. But there was electricity. It was clean and centrally located. Samson declared it perfect and got on the phone.
“So now what do we do?” Alice asked when he got back.
“The truck is on its way with food. You tell us—what do you need?”
“What did Morse do?”
“Chili and mashed potatoes, grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“Is that what they eat here?”
Samson cocked his head. Alice’s phone rang, the woman from the restaurant on the line. Alice went to talk outside. She explained who she was and what she hoped the woman could do. The woman sniffed and said she’d be at the high school in twenty minutes.
A food truck pulled up, and a younger couple got out both dressed in sweats and T-shirts, the woman’s hair pulled into a messy bun. Alice wanted to ask when they last slept, but they were there and eager to help.
“You the woman my dad talked to?” the woman asked. Alice introduced herself. She didn’t realize the man’s daughter was the one with the food truck.
“My mom runs the restaurant while I do this. Call it creative differences. I want to make what people around here are used to, not boring diner food.”
“We have food coming to start feeding people, but I was wondering, well, two things. Can you teach us what to make, and do you have any other food truck friends who might help us?”
The woman smiled wide. She could help with both of those things.
By the time the van of food arrived, the woman and Alice planned out three days of meals based on the guidelines Eddie gave her. The meals would be things the locals loved, something consistent in the loss of everything around them. The woman’s husband worked the phones, four more food trucks agreeing to help.
A sea of volunteers started to empty the van of food into the fridges. Eddie came in, Samson telling him how they wanted to make the space better, part of what Comida aimed for. It didn’t do any good if all the resources got pulled after they left. They aimed to enable people to keep cooking after they finished their part of things.
Alice carried in box after box of vegetables, fresh meat, and spices. Crates and crates of corn and wild rice. It felt like a Costco unloaded the essentials in the kitchen by the time it was all said and done. Alice introduced the woman to Delany before they got to work. The woman taught some of the volunteers how to make fry bread and homemade corn tortillas. Alice cooked chicken for tacos while another woman worked on pinto beans. A volunteer set to work on a three sisters stew made with beans, corn, and squash. Once the items were cooked, another set of volunteers worked to make to-go boxes. Others packed the to-go boxes into crates, another set loaded them into SUVs that would deliver them. Everyone had their part, and because of it, things ran efficiently.
Delany came to see how she was doing.
“We’ll have four more food trucks here tomorrow. Samson is going to give them some food so they can cook for the outlying communities. I am going to switch gears and go cook for the firefighters.”
“What are they getting?”
“Fried chicken, potato salad, and biscuits.”
“They’ll be thrilled.”
Eddie asked Delany if he wanted to help him deliver food. He squeezed Alice’s arm on the way out of the door. Alice looked around at everything that was being accomplished. Pretty remarkable.