28. Cataleya
Ican see the red glow of the fires still burning on the horizon. The air is acrid with the smell of smoke. All around me, firefighters are rushing back and forth, some running toward the action. Others return covered in soot, their faces red with the exertion of fighting the blaze.
It’s chaos, and over the sound of shouting and the sirens of arriving fire engines, I can hardly hear myself think.
What I do know is that all of this is happening around me and that I, the future leader of this nation, am standing here doing nothing.
“There are still villagers evacuating!” one firefighter calls to a group of volunteers huddled around a water station.
The group hurries to follow him, packing bottles in their backpacks before rushing ahead to help. This seems like something I can actually do, and I turn to Liza.
“I’m going to help,” I tell her, watching her eyes widen with panic.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asks, her eyes flicking between me and the red glow ahead.
“I won’t be near the fire itself,” I assure her, already turning to grab a few bottles of water. “Just helping villagers evacuate. If Christian or anyone else needs me, I’ll be with the volunteers.”
Before she can protest, I run ahead, catching up with the volunteers as we head toward the red glow. Finally, it feels like I’m doing something useful.
Yes, my presence here is a show that the royal family cares, and yes, the press conference was important. But my passion has always been helping people face to face. And what could be more helpful right now than this?
And there’s something else, too. I want to learn more about situations like this. I feel woefully underprepared for a national emergency, but if I’m going to be Queen one day, I need to have intimate knowledge of what to do in a crisis.
The firefighter that called out earlier is leading the group up ahead, and I quicken my pace until I’m right beside him.
“Hi, I’m—”
“Lady Cataleya,” he says suddenly, beating me to it. I can see there’s confusion in his eyes when he speaks again. “But you shouldn’t be… I mean, it’s too dangerous.”
“These are my people,” I tell him and find that I truly mean it. “I want to help however I can, and that means understanding what to do in an emergency. Can you explain how the fire department approaches something like this?”
He seems a little taken aback, glancing between me and the red glow in the distance.
“I mean, sure,” he says, and I can tell he didn’t expect such a straight-forward request.
Finally, though, he points up ahead.
“The wind is the biggest factor when trying to control a fire,” he explains, still forging toward the blaze at full speed. “Right now, we’re praying the wind shifts to south-easterly, so it blows the fire back to where it’s already burnt.”
I’m still matching his stride as I hang on his words, determined not to miss a thing. As we walk, I notice ash falling from the sky, fluttering down like snow. With each step it grows thicker, and soon the black tarmac of the road turns gray with it.
The firefighter points to the sky, where the ash is being swept to our left.
“But currently, the wind is southerly,” he continues. “That means it’s eating further into the forest right now. We’ve got most of our resources at the southern end of the forest for that reason, trying to fight the blaze back. The chief of the fire department is relaying information from the Bureau of Meteorology. We’re also coordinating with our aerial units, which give us information about how the fire is behaving so we know the safest routes for evacuation.”
I nod along, committing all of this to memory. It’s not something I’ve ever had to think about before, but every new piece of information builds a better picture as to how I might handle this if it ever happens again. In fact, it might even help me handle it now.
“Is there anything you think would make your work easier? More effective?”
The firefighter looks at me strangely, as if I’ve just said something absurd. For a second, I wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing but then he speaks again.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a monarch ask something like that,” he marvels. “Yeah, you know, there are a few things.”
As he rattles off a list of logistical problems and funding cuts, I promise myself I’ll do everything I can to improve things. Being here, in the midst of it all, is exactly what I needed. It’s allowed me to do what I do best—research, assess, and analyze, the way I was trained to as a lawyer. Only now, my actions can have a bigger impact than I ever would have thought.
“Thank you so much—”
“Derek,” he tells me, shaking my hand.
“Derek,” I reply with a smile. “This has been so helpful.”
Our conversation is abruptly cut short by a cry from one of the other volunteers.
“There they are!” she yells, pointing ahead.
Through the smoke, I catch sight of a small group of survivors being ushered down the narrow road that leads into the now-destroyed village. The fire is still well off in the distance, but on either side of the road, charred trees rise up out of an ashen landscape. Many of the trees are still smoking, suffering from the vestiges of the raging fire.
“Come this way!” one of the volunteers shouts to the villagers.
The group attempts to run forward, but some of them appear to be injured, others suffering from smoke inhalation. I catch sight of two children, a boy and a girl, and without thinking I run to them. My heart is overcome with compassion as they turn their eyes up to me.
“Oh, you poor things,” I say, kneeling down to their level. “Here, drink some water, it’s going to be alright.”
I hand over the bottles and the kids take them thirstily, drinking with a kind of desperation I’ve never seen.
“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” I tell them.
I, along with the other volunteers, usher the survivors along the road, back toward the camp that’s been set up for evacuated villagers. As we walk though, I hear a strange sound—a crack and then a squeal.
I see it before it happens, but it’s too late for me to move out of the way. One of the burnt smaller trees on the side of the road succumbs to the damage, and suddenly, it’s on top of me.
I feel my body hit the tarmac, but a split second later, it’s my leg that makes me cry out.
The volunteers are already surrounding me. They struggle to pull the charred tree from where it’s pinned my leg to the ground. Each heave seems to make the pain worse but finally, five of them manage to hold the tree up as two more people help me crawl out from under it.
When I emerge, it’s clear that I’ve been injured.
“Can you put any weight on it?” one of my helpers asks, trying to get me to stand.
I attempt to use both legs to hold myself up but the second I place any weight on my right leg, a shooting pain travels up my shin. I cry out involuntarily, and see the volunteers exchange a panicked look.
“We’re going to need a stretcher!” one of them calls back to the group that moved the tree.
One of them, a young man with kind eyes, goes running back toward the camp, while a couple of others call out to the survivors to follow. I’m not the only one who needs help, of course, and I’m only glad the tree didn’t cause more damage. Had it hit one of the children… Well, I’d rather not think about it.
The kids look back at me, their eyes wide through their soot-covered faces. I manage to shoot them a reassuring smile, even though the pain I’m in is getting worse.
“I’m okay, you go on ahead!” I call out to them, hoping to ease their fears. They”ve gone through enough today.
They give me one last glance before another volunteer ushers them away. Even through the pain, I feel myself relax a little. I know, at the very least, I managed to help some of my people and, despite the cost, I know I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.