Chapter 15 Call to Arms #2
"Eleanor…" I hate to say it, but it needs to be said. "You should evacuate with the—"
"And leave my town when it needs me most? Not going to happen. You’ve got enough on your plate with the evacuations. I can ferry up water and snacks to the frontline."
One by one, Angel's Peak's residents step up, offering skills, equipment, and knowledge accumulated over generations of mountain living.
I watch in silent amazement as the community coalesces around a single purpose: protecting their home.
The air in the room shifts, fear transforming into something harder, more determined.
Caleb Donovan, normally reserved to the point of reclusiveness, approaches me directly.
His uniform is wrinkled, boots dusty from whatever fire line he's just left.
"The Forest Service has detailed fuel maps for the entire region. Recent updates show deadfall concentrations and beetle-kill zones. Might help predict where the fire will burn hottest. We’ll get them distributed. "
"Thank you."
As the meeting transitions to specific assignments, Sheriff Donovan draws me aside, his weathered hand warm against my elbow. His voice drops low beneath the room's organized chaos.
Noah approaches. "We need more detailed maps of those three gaps. Everything you've got—water sources, terrain features, potential safety zones."
I'm already nodding, mind racing through the files in my office. "I have them at my office. Comprehensive surveys from last spring."
"Let’s grab them. I’ll drive. Jackson and Caleb look like they’ve got the volunteers handled."
The room is organized into functional groups, each with assigned leaders and clear objectives.
Outside, the afternoon sun glows unnaturally orange through smoke that thickens by the minute, casting Angel's Peak in apocalyptic light. The wind carries ash and the distant roar of approaching devastation—a sound like thunder that never ends, growing closer with each gust.
The sheriff and I slip out and head to the visitor center.
It stands empty, evacuated hours earlier as part of the town's emergency protocols.
Scout trots between Sheriff Donovan and me as we cross the parking lot, her nose working constantly to process the smoky air. She pauses once, looking back toward the mountains where the fire rages, a low whine escaping her throat.
She can smell what's coming. The acrid scent of destruction carries on winds that shift unpredictably. When I call her name softly, she falls back into step, trusting my judgment even when her instincts scream warnings.
My footsteps echo in the unnatural silence as I unlock my office, the keys jingling in my shaking hands. The familiar space feels alien in the eerie light filtering through smoke-stained windows.
"Here." I pull open a flat file drawer, extracting rolled maps labeled with dates and locations in my careful handwriting.
The paper feels substantial under my fingers, years of fieldwork distilled into precise lines and measurements.
"Complete terrain surveys of all three gaps, updated within the last six months. "
Sheriff Donovan spreads them across my desk, his focus intense as he absorbs every detail. The desk lamp casts a pool of yellow light, throwing sharp shadows across his weathered features. His finger traces elevation lines, water features, and vegetation patterns.
"These are incredible." The admiration in his voice is genuine, sending warmth through my chest despite the circumstances. "The detail is... Mac was right to trust your expertise."
"I walked every inch." I move beside him, close enough to feel the weight of shared responsibility, to catch the scent of smoke and determination that clings to his uniform.
My shoulder brushes his as I indicate features too subtle for standard mapping.
"This small ravine provides a natural fire break if we can clear the brush at the entrance.
And here—" I tap a blue line barely visible on the paper, "—spring-fed pool that doesn't appear on any forest service maps.
Reliable water source even in drought conditions. "
He studies each feature, asking precise questions that reveal a tactical mind working through scenarios, contingencies, and worst-case possibilities.
For twenty minutes, we bend over the maps, planning a defense for mountains we both love, sharing the burden of command that Mac carried alone just hours earlier.
"This is our best chance." Donovan straightens finally, rolling the maps carefully for transport.
His hands are steady, sure, but I catch the tension in his shoulders, the weight of responsibility that settles on anyone who must make life-or-death decisions.
"If we hold those three gaps, we can force the fire to burn itself out against the ridge. "
"If." The weight of that small word hangs between us like smoke.
His eyes meet mine, brown and steady despite the magnitude of what we're facing. "You've done everything possible to prepare us. Mac chose well when he put you in charge of civilian coordination."
"And weather." I glance toward the window where smoke now obscures the mountains entirely, turning day to premature dusk. The wind rattles the glass, a sound like restless spirits. "If the wind shifts..."
"We adapt." His certainty echoes Mac's earlier words, grounding me to something solid in a world that feels like it's burning around us. "That's what your maps give us—options for adaptation."
My radio crackles to life, cutting through the charged silence. Mac's voice comes through static, professional but strained.
"Base Command, this is Alpha Leader. Requesting immediate supply drop at northern position. We're holding, but barely."
Scout's ears perk immediately at the sound of Mac's voice crackling through the radio. She moves closer, pressing against my leg as if she can sense the tension in his transmission.
Her eyes fix on the radio with the same intensity she shows when tracking scents—as if she's trying to reach through the static to the man who's become important to both of us. When the transmission ends, she looks up at me with worried brown eyes that mirror my fears.
I key the radio with steady hands despite my racing pulse.
"Alpha Leader, this is Base Command. Supply drop coordinates acknowledged. Status on crew welfare?"
"All personnel accounted for. Fighting extreme conditions. Fire behavior unlike anything we’ve seen." The controlled tension in his voice tells me more than his words.
They're facing hell out there.
"Copy that, Alpha Leader. Sheriff Donovan coordinating supply drop now. Additional volunteer teams deploying to support positions."
A pause, filled with static and what sounds like the roar of a freight train. "Roger, Base Command. Tell the volunteers... tell them this is brutal. Alpha Leader out."
The radio goes quiet, leaving me staring at its display as if it might provide more connection to the man fighting for his life somewhere in that orange hell visible through my window.
"He's the best there is. He'll bring his team home." Sheriff Donovan's hand settles on my shoulder, steadying.
I nod, swallowing past the tightness in my throat. "Then let's make sure he has a home to come back to."
We return to The Haven, where the ballroom has transformed into a fully operational command center. Teams cluster around assigned leaders, equipment is distributed, and communication networks buzz with constant updates.
I oversee it all, trying to channel the calm authority I watched Mac display, directing resources and personnel like pieces on a complex chessboard.
"Complete terrain analysis for our volunteer teams." I spread the detailed surveys across the main table, the paper crackling under the bright chandelier light.
Noah Morgan studies the map, absorbing details. His finger traces the contour lines, reading the terrain like text. "What about natural shelter positions? Safety zones if our volunteers need to pull back?"
"Two locations." I indicate the rock formations marked in red. My father’s careful notations are still visible in faded ink.
"This outcropping provides coverage from three sides.
And this cave system extends approximately thirty feet into solid rock.
Both are last resorts, but they'll withstand direct flame passage. "
"That cave system might be our best emergency option." Jackson Hart joins us, his experienced eye evaluating escape routes with the methodical assessment of someone who's pulled bodies from burning mountains. "I’ve used it during winter rescues. Stable air flow, multiple chambers."
The briefing continues, each team leader absorbing critical information about their assigned sector. I move among them, answering questions, adjusting deployments based on individual skills and experience.
It feels strange to be in command, to have Mac's authority transferred to me in his absence, but the responsibility settles across my shoulders with surprising comfort.
Eleanor Morgan approaches, her silver head barely reaching my shoulder, but her presence commanding absolute attention. "The supply lines are established. Hot meals and clean water every four hours to all positions."
"Thank you." I squeeze her weathered hand gently. "Mac's team especially needs consistent supplies. They're facing the worst of it."
"You care for him." Her eyes, sharp despite her age, study my face with knowing assessment.
"More than I should." It's not a question, but I answer anyway.
"Love isn't about should, child." Her smile carries decades of wisdom. "It's about is. And what’s between you two is worth fighting for."
Before I can respond, my radio crackles again. This time it's Parker, Mac's second-in-command. "Base Command, this is Alpha Two. We need immediate evacuation for injured personnel. Request medical team at northern staging area."
Scout senses the shift in my emotional state before I fully process Parker's words.
Scout presses closer, her warm body a steadying presence as my hands shake while keying the radio.
Her training has taught her to recognize medical emergencies, and the urgency in Parker's voice triggers her alert posture.
She remains perfectly still during the radio exchange, understanding instinctively that this is a critical moment requiring absolute focus.
My blood turns to ice. "Alpha Two, this is Base Command. Nature and severity of injuries?"
"Two personnel down. Burns and smoke inhalation. Conscious but need immediate medical attention."
Not Mac. Please not Mac. "Copy that, Alpha Two. Medical team dispatching now. Status on Alpha Leader?"
"Alpha Leader is... Alpha Leader is operational. Continuing fire suppression operations."
The relief nearly buckles my knees. He's alive. He's fighting. He's coming home.
"Roger, Alpha Two. Medical support en route. Base Command out."
I turn to find Drs. Blake and Carrington grabbing their medical go bags. They race for the door.
The room buzzes with urgency as teams mobilize to support the frontline fighters, who risk everything to save our town.
Sheriff Donovan catches me coordinating supply distribution, his expression approving.
The radio crackles again—routine updates, supply confirmations, position reports.
But no more word from Mac himself. I stand in the elegant ballroom turned war room, staring at maps that show his position as a simple red dot, wondering if those careful lines and measurements can possibly capture the reality of what he's facing out there.
Scout moves to my side, pressing her head against my hand in a gesture of comfort that grounds me. Her steady breathing and warm presence remind me that I'm not facing this alone.
She's weathered every crisis with me today, from underground rescues to command decisions, proving once again that the bonds forged in these mountains run deeper than fear.