Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hunter
The hike down does go faster than the hike up, even if we leave later than we meant to. Clementine says her ankle is fine, or at least almost completely better, so even though I can’t help but keep an eye on her as we make our way down, nothing terrible happens.
She’s quiet, but I am too. I’m ticking off equipment in my head, thinking about what the plan’s going to be. Trying to take mental notes of anything in particular I might have seen or heard while I was up there, anything I know because I grew up in the area.
I’m probably the only one who’s hiked into the Spires, I realize.
Suddenly, I feel a lot more useful. As one of the newest guys on the hotshot team with only two seasons done, I do a lot more learning than teaching.
Some of the guys who’ve been doing it for ten, fifteen years seem to have vast encyclopedias of knowledge stored away in their heads, and I never feel like I have anything to offer.
But this time, I might.
With about a mile left to go, Clem’s portable radio suddenly crackles. The batteries on those things are shit, so they don’t use them much, but she looks surprised and answers.
“McKinnon,” she says.
“What’d you name the fire?” Mike asks.
Clementine doesn’t respond right away. She just looks at me for a long moment.
“Harold,” I whisper.
“The Saturn Fire,” she says.
“All right, thanks,” Mike says. “Over and out.”
“Harold’s a much better name,” I say.
“I’m not naming a wildfire Harold,” she says, and pokes me in the stomach. I grab her wrist, pull her toward me, and kiss her just because I can.
I don’t know when I decided I was moving to be with her. I just woke up and knew I was going to, even though I think she’s a little more cautious about this than I am.
It’s not that I don’t have doubts, or that I think it’ll magically be perfect. I stayed in a war zone just to avoid her because she broke my heart so hard, for fuck’s sake.
But some things are worth the effort.
“Oh good, it’s still here,” Clementine says when we see the Forest Service truck parked at the end of the fire road.
“Do these get stolen?” I ask, slinging my pack into the back.
“I’m sure it’s happened,” she says, turning the key. The AC comes on full blast, still hot, and Clementine cranks it down. “But can you imagine what a pain in the ass it would be if we got down here and there was no truck? I’m kind of relieved every time.”
On the drive back, we talk about mountain lions and her favorite trees. We talk about the best route to Yellowstone, and about how to sneak into Canada if you really need to. I try to explain the appeal of the Fast and Furious movies, though Clementine remains skeptical.
We don’t talk about us, or what’s going to happen, or whether any of this is a good idea. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for nearly a week, and I can’t think about it anymore. It’s happening, full steam ahead, and I don’t give a shit about the rest.
When she parks at the ranger station, the place is already hopping. We grab our packs and go inside, where Mandy is sitting behind a reception desk with a taxidermied raccoon on it.
“There you are!” she says, her perky voice sounding just a little too chipper.
“It was a nine-mile hike,” Clementine says.
Mandy’s eyes dart from me to Clementine, and I think she blushes, just a little.
“Oh, I know,” she says quickly. “I just meant it’s great that you’re back and all. Trout misses you.”
Clementine puts her pack on the floor and leans her elbows against the counter.
“Where are we with everything?” she asks.
Mandy starts clicking away on the computer, and Clementine leans over.
“We’ve started clearing out the backcountry campgrounds,” Mandy says, pointing to her computer screens. “There’s a couple of old structures out there that we also checked, because sometimes people decide they’re going to live there without telling anyone...”
I look at the taxidermied raccoon. Whoever did it did a pretty good job. Looks real natural.
“That’s Sebastién,” Mandy says, and I look up when I realize she’s talking to me.
“The raccoon?”
She nods.
“Fancy,” I say, looking back down at him.
“Your crew is in the amphitheater,” Mandy says. “Down that hall and then out the door that says No Exit. Ignore the sign, we should change that.”
“Of course,” I say.
“I’ll see you later?” Clementine says.
“For sure,” I say, lifting my pack again.
I want to kiss her goodbye, but suddenly it seems strange and unprofessional, and like maybe I should let Clementine tell her coworkers what’s going on before just laying one on her in the workplace.
“Have a good meeting,” she says, and smiles.
“Enjoy your campground evacuations,” I say, heading to the amphitheater through the No Exit door.
Porter’s standing in front of the small amphitheater with a map tacked to a rolling whiteboard, the other guys all seated around on wooden benches. It’s hot out, but at least there’s a sunshade.
I take a seat on a bench next to Silas and put my pack down. He looks over and nods at me.
“What’d I miss?” I mutter.
“The Saturn fire jumped Gold Canyon and now it’s burning up the other side pretty fast,” he says. “There are some local guys doing controlled burns and digging fire breaks to the south, but the fire’s got a hundred or so miles before it gets to anything in that direction.”
I look at the laminated topo map up on the board.
Porter’s drawn a red shape around the chunk of national forest that includes the Spires.
There’s nothing much to the south of the red splotch, but to the east are a couple of small towns leading down out of the canyon.
Then Ashlake, my hometown, at the mouth.
The towns to the east of the fire aren’t as far away. Just looking at the map, I can tell they’re in that uncertain gray zone that we all hate so much.
If the Saturn Fire keeps moving in the direction it’s going, Eaglevale, Coldwater, and the other tiny towns that dot the river along the canyon will be totally untouched.
But if the wind changes direction, they’ll be right in the fire’s path, and whatever fire team gets sent there is gonna have a hell of a time with that terrain.
I lean forward and crack the knuckles on my right hand, studying the map. I know why we’re not digging fire breaks and doing controlled burns with the local guys.
It’s because, if the wind does change, we’re the unlucky bastards who’ll be keeping Eaglevale and Coldwater from burning down, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not a little excited about it.
“We’re cooling our heels until this thing gets hot?” I ask Silas.
He looks over at me and grins.
“You got it,” he says, still keeping his voice low. “The minute the wind changes, we’re on our way up.”
A thrill goes through me. It’s not that I hope the towns burn down, or that people have to be evacuated, or that, God forbid, anyone dies.
Hell, I’m gonna do everything in my power to keep all that from happening.
But it’s been a long fire season, and most of it’s been boring and backbreaking: digging, controlled burns, sleep, do it again.
If the Saturn Fire burns east, it’ll be a challenge. An incredibly dangerous challenge, but I’ve never let that stop me, and right now I’m itching for something like this.
Porter is pointing at a column of numbers along the side of the whiteboard: temperature, wind speed, dew point, and humidity. I force myself to pay attention. It’s hard, though, because my mind is elsewhere, flying all over the place.
To Spineside Trail, the only way into the Spires. To Eaglevale and Coldwater, both perched on low peaks in the middle of a dense forest with only one road out. To how hard it is to predict where a fire will go even on open prairie, never mind terrain like that.
To Clementine this morning, her body against mine on that tiny cot in the fire lookout. I think about how I wanted to stop the world for that moment and stay there, alone with her, in that perfect stillness.
“Casden,” Porter says. I realize everyone is looking at me, and I’m staring off into space.
“Yes,” I say.
Now there are two men up front: Porter, and an older, gray-haired, wiry forest ranger.
“You’re familiar with the area, right?”
“Grew up in Ashlake, still live there when I’m not with you all,” I say.
I look at the map again. Now Spineside Trail is highlighted, a winding, switchback-filled green line into the canyon.
“And I’ve hiked into the Spires,” I say.
“Good man,” the ranger says, nodding like he approves. “Useful to be sending someone who knows the territory at least a little. Get your pants on straight and your shoes tied right.”
This must be Randy.
The other hotshots all look politely baffled, like they’re not quite sure whether that was a compliment or not.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Come sit down here by me,” Randy says, pointing at a wooden bench. “You can help me out when my memory starts to go a little blurry.”
It’s weird, but I just do as he asks. He seems like a charming weirdo, and I try to humor charming weirdos.
“All right,” Randy begins. “The first problem with Spineside is it’s gonna be about two feet wide. Sometimes less. Sometimes a little more, but expect to get real up close and personal with some rock face when you get in there. Not too personal, mind you.”
Confused laughter ripples through the crowd, and I try not to smile.