Torch

Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Clementine

This is better than it was, I think.

We’re covered in sweat and we still haven’t moved, still kneeling and leaning against the wall of the lookout, fifty feet off the ground. The thought just comes to me, out of nowhere, but I know it’s true.

I put my hand over Hunter’s, on my waist, and slide my fingers between his. He kisses the back of my neck, and I wonder if it can be this good off the mountain, down in the real world, where he leaves to go fight fires and I stay in Lodgepole and wonder if he’s okay.

You have to try, I think. You know this is worth it.

Hunter finally slides out and then sits with his back against the wall, pulling me to his chest. It’s a long time before I look at him, then look down at myself, then start laughing.

He just looks at me quizzically.

“We’re still both wearing shirts,” I say.

He looks down, then starts laughing.

“It’s not a good look,” I say.

“You weren’t complaining,” he says, tilting his head back.

I put my hand on the floor to shift my weight, and something pinches in my palm. I look closer in the dying sunlight, holding it up in front of my face, and Hunter takes it in his other hand.

“I think I got a nasty splinter,” I say.

“Looks like it,” he says. “That from the railing?”

“Yeah, they’re old and my hand slipped,” I say, poking at the splinter with my other hand.

“I seriously thought you were falling over for a second,” he says. “Scared the shit out of me.”

“Good thing I didn’t,” I say. “For one thing, there’s no way you don’t get charged with murder.”

“For another thing, I’m glad you’re not dead,” he teases. “That was my first thought, actually.”

I tilt my face toward him and he kisses me.

“Aren’t you sweet,” I say.

“Come on, let’s go fix your splinter,” he says. “And maybe tomorrow there will be a whole day where you don’t hurt yourself.”

“Don’t get too excited about that,” I say. “I’m a magnet for minor injuries.”

I could get the splinter out pretty easily myself, but I let Hunter do it at the tiny table, under the light of a Coleman camping lantern. Then we sit on the cot and watch the glow of the fire, a map in front of us. When the wind blows the right way, I can smell the smoke.

An hour after nightfall, there’s a helicopter. It circles the glow a couple of times, then flies away again.

“I guess our work here is done,” I say.

“Think they can give us a ride out?” Hunter asks.

It takes me a long time to fall asleep. The cot’s uncomfortable, it’s too hot with my sleeping bag on and too cold with it off.

There’s a fire. I’m worrying, stupidly, that Hunter and I can only be together in pieces at a time, as teenagers or in lookout cabins, that going out into the world is what wrecked us before and it’s what will wreck us again.

I know I’m being over-dramatic, but that doesn’t necessarily help. I think too much, all the time, about everything, and sometimes it leads me here.

Hunter, on the other hand, is dead asleep, one arm dangling off the too-short, too-narrow cot.

“Clem.”

I blink. It’s still dark.

“Clem.”

I roll over, Hunter’s on one knee next to my cot, his face right in front of mine.

“Are you sleepwalking?” I ask him.

“Someone’s coming up the stairs,” he says, his voice so low it’s barely audible.

We stare at each other for a moment. I wonder again if he’s sleepwalking, since I know that happens a lot to people who were in the military.

“Hunter, there’s no—”

I hear a tiny, faint creak from outside. In a moment I’m bolt upright in bed, my heart pounding.

“Is there an axe in here?” he asks.

I point at a corner.

“Probably in the crate,” I whisper.

There’s another creak, so soft it could be my imagination.

Hunter pads to the crate, opens it, rummages around for a moment. Then he pulls out a long axe and holds it up, examining it.

There’s a creak, closer to the top of the stairs.

It’s a serial killer, I think. Probably dressed like a clown.

I stand up, heart pounding.

There’s a creak at the very top of the stairs, but I don’t see anything. Hunter grips the axe tighter. It’s completely, perfectly, totally silent so it’s easy to hear the way the creaks move along the balcony toward the door.

I still don’t see anything.

“What is it?” I whisper.

Hunter just shakes his head.

“Get behind me,” he says, his voice still low.

It’s a ghost, I think wildly. I’m having a nightmare. Something.

Then a furry head pops up outside a window.

I shout and jump back. Hunter raises the axe and takes a step forward.

Then we both stop and stare. The mountain lion puts its nose to the glass and sniffs, almost like it’s judging a fine wine, and I start laughing. Hunter exhales and lets the axe drop to his side.

“Shit,” he says.

“Oh my God,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Oh God. I thought it was gonna be a serial killer dressed like a clown.”

“Is the door locked?” he asks.

“It’s a cat, it can’t turn doorknobs,” I say.

Hunter checks it anyway. It’s locked. The lion stops sniffing the window and sits back on its haunches, staring at us. We stare back.

“I’ve never seen one up close before,” I say.

“That’s a good thing,” he points out.

Big Sky National Forest has two large predatory mammals: black bears and mountain lions.

Black bears are basically overgrown raccoons — they dig through trash, they forage for food, and if you make noise, they run away.

They’re dangerous if you sneak up on them or get between a mother and cubs, but I’ve seen dozens of them and I’m fine.

Mountain lions, on the other hand, you don’t want to see. They’re nocturnal, sneaky, quiet, and don’t like being around humans. I’m sure dozens of them have seen me, but I’ve only seen a lion once, from across a canyon.

If a mountain lion is letting you see it, you’re probably in for a bad time.

I’m pretty happy for the glass right now.

“So...” I start. Hunter looks at me. “What do we do about this guy?”

“This is your department,” he says. “If it’s not a fire or an enemy combatant, I don’t know shit.”

The lion shakes its head, then starts walking again. We turn in place as it paces around the lookout to the other side, facing the fire. Then it looks at us again, and I swear it looks offended.

“I think we might be in its spot,” I say. “It doesn’t really seem worried.”

Hunter crosses his arms in front of his chest and keeps watching it. After a moment, the lion yawns, then lays down, sprawling out on the balcony like a lazy house cat, facing the distant glow of the fire.

“They do like being up high,” I say. “It makes sense that this guy would come to the lookout to check on his territory.”

Hunter takes a step forward and puts one knee on the cot by the windows. The lion tilts its head and looks back at him.

“Hey, this is for people, not cats,” he says.

The lion blinks.

“I can’t believe that didn’t work,” I say.

“How do we get it down?” he asks, still looking at the lion.

“I think we wait for it to leave,” I say. “I’m sure he’ll be gone when we wake up.”

He just looks at me incredulously.

“I’m not sure I can sleep with a literal lion at my literal door,” he says.

I start laughing.

“What?” he mutters.

“You were in a war zone with enemy combatants, and now you fight wildfires, and you don’t want to sleep with a kitty cat outside?” I tease.

“It’s a lion,” he says.

“It still can’t get in.”

He sighs.

“Really, this is amazing,” I say. “Most people never see one up close like this, especially in the wild. And I don’t think it wants to eat us. I think it’s annoyed that we’re here, fucking up its sweet lookout spot.”

He glances at the lion again and sighs.

“Okay,” he says. “But if you get mauled, I told you so.”

I step in and kiss him.

“I’m not gonna get mauled,” I say.

He leans over the cot again, toward the windows where the lion’s hanging out.

“Don’t try anything,” he says. “I’ve got an axe and I’ll fuck you up.”

The lion licks a paw, not even looking at him.

“And it’s a jerk,” he says as I get back in my sleeping bag.

“I’m sorry the mountain lion doesn’t respect you,” I say.

He gets back onto his cot and looks up at me. I scoot over and kiss his forehead, then ruffle his hair.

“Just enjoy the majesty of nature and go to sleep,” I murmur.

When I wake up in the morning, the lion is gone but the fire is bigger. I can tell before I even open my eyes, because the moment I’m awake I can smell the faint aroma of smoke in the air. I roll over onto my stomach and stare out at it.

The fire’s still far away, plenty far enough that we’ll hike out in time, even if the wind is blowing it our way, which the wind sock outside tells me it’s not.

But it’s big enough now that I can see the dull orange glow even in the daytime, and it gives me a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, like a coffee grinder is chewing through my insides.

Hunter’s still asleep. I think he was kind of nervous about the whole mountain lion thing, which is fair.

They have lots of teeth and they’re notoriously dangerous.

I didn’t even mention the thing that scared me the most, which is that animals will often swarm out of an area before the fire hits it.

I wonder if our lion friend was running and stopped here to keep an eye on things.

I get out of bed quietly and start making instant coffee as Hunter stirs, then finally wakes up and looks at me.

“Is that cat gone?” he asks, sounding groggy.

“Yeah, but the fire’s bigger,” I say.

He glances over at it, considers it for a moment, then looks back.

“It’s not that big,” he says. “C’mere.”

I put down my coffee, then sit on the side of his cot. He grabs me by the waist and pulls me down.

“Hey!” I say, giggling. “I’d lay down if you asked.”

“I like dragging you around, though,” he says, trying to scoot backwards on the cot because I’m falling off this side.

“Caveman,” I say, and try to wriggle in, but that’s not happening either.

“These things are tiny,” Hunter mutters.

“Yeah,” I say.

He frowns at me, his hand in the curve of my waist. He’s stroking me with his thumb, absentmindedly.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” I say, trying to deflect.

Be fucking honest, I think, and I take a deep breath.

“I’m worried about the fire,” I say.

“It’s just a fire,” he says.

“I know, but...” I trail off, closing my eyes. “I don’t know, I have a weird bad feeling about it, and I’m worried for you, even though I know you’ve been doing this for a while and you’re fine.”

And I don’t know what’s going to happen once we’re down there, and fire season is over, because having a lot of sex in a fire lookout isn’t the same as arguing over whose turn it is to do the dishes.

I decide to save that batch of feelings for after the fire is dealt with.

As of yesterday, it was about 95% certain that, if this fire got bigger, the Canyon Country Hotshots would be on the front lines. They’re already here and they’re the best, so of course they’re going.

Well, it got bigger, and I can put two and two together.

Hunter pulls me close and I tuck my head under his chin.

“I’ll dig ditches for a few days,” he says. “And if I get really lucky, I’ll get to start a controlled burn. Those are the most fun.”

“I know, I know,” I say.

“I’m coming back to you,” he says.

I sigh.

“Once fire season is over, I mean,” he says. “It’s probably time to move out of my parents’ guest house.”

“That was fast,” I say.

Hunter just laughs. He’s playing with my hair behind my back, gently tugging at my scalp.

“We first sat next to each other in chemistry class almost a decade ago,” he says. “How long do I have to know you before I get to decide I want to make it work this time?”

I squirm.

“It’s not gonna get worse than me saying I never loved you,” he points out.

“It could,” I say. “You could have a long affair with a coworker and then tell everyone that I’m the one who’s been sleeping around.”

Hunter frowns.

“My parents,” I say quietly. “Sorry.”

“I’m not gonna sleep with a coworker,” he says. “They’re all hairy, they smell bad, and you’ve got a much nicer rack.”

I laugh.

“You were saying we’ve already dramatically screamed at each other over video chat, so it probably won’t get worse?” I say.

“Right. So I’m moving to Lodgepole and keeping your bed warm until you decide it’s been long enough that we can be seen together in public,” he teases.

“Is that the plan?” I ask.

“Winning my way into your heart via orgasm?” he says, grinning. “There are worse avenues.”

Now his hand is pressing into the small of my back, suddenly much more deliberate.

“I could just start now, if you wanted,” he says.

“We’re supposed to be hiking down,” I point out.

Hunter rolls over on top of me, pushing me toward the center of the very narrow bed, and I wrap my legs around his hips.

“We’ll hike fast,” he says.

We don’t leave the lookout for another hour.