Chapter 29
Deanna
In the days following Kylie’s rescue, the entire fire base threw itself at the Copper Creek Fire. Colton and the tanker crews flew back-to-back sorties, laying ribbons of red across the ridges until the mountains became a patchwork of crimson, charred black, and untouched green.
Tara’s Aurora Hotshots and two other hand crews cut a firebreak along the Warm Springs corridor that held when the wind tested it twice. Westlake coordinated the entire operation on four hours of sleep, his voice going hoarse over the radio until Ryan took over, relaying his orders.
The mood in the fire camp had changed, and not for the better.
The news about Zeb had spread the way fire spreads: fast, indiscriminate, consuming everything it touched. A firefighter. One of their own. Not some outsider with a grudge, not a random arsonist, but a man who’d eaten in their cafeteria, and attended their briefings.
The first morning after the arrests, Deanna had noticed it in the breakfast line. The usual fire-camp small talk, such as where are you from, how many seasons, or what crew are you on, had been replaced by awkward hesitation.
At the evening briefing, Westlake addressed the scuttlebutt head-on. He stood in front of three hundred firefighters in the Anaconda High School gymnasium, dark circles under his eyes, his command voice gruffer than usual.
“I know what you’re thinking. I’m thinking it too.” He paused, scanning the room. “One of our firefighters betrayed each person in this room. He contaminated fuel, sabotaged water trucks, and kidnapped a smokejumper.” Another pause. “He sat in this room for morning briefings.”
The room fell quiet, and Westlake cleared his throat.
“I won’t say you should automatically trust each other, because trust isn’t a thing you can order up.
It’s earned. Three hundred of you fought this fire with everything you had.
One bad actor tried to rip that apart, but that was the exception.
Not the rule.” He straightened. “Now go get some rest. We’ve got a fire to finish. ”
On the second day, Westlake called an all-hands offensive.
Every available resource converged on the Copper Creek perimeter: six hand crews cutting fireline along the southern flank, three dozers punching firebreaks through the timber on the north, air tankers flying continuously from dawn to dark.
Helicopters drafted water from Georgetown Lake and dumped it on hot spots the ground crews couldn’t reach.
Engine strike teams from three counties parked bumper to bumper along the county roads, hose lays snaking up the hillsides like arteries feeding a living defense. Deanna’s jump squad worked alongside the Aurora Hotshot Crew and other crews from around the state.
On the afternoon of the third day, Deanna worked the fireline near the Warm Springs drainage, doing mop-up alongside a mixed crew of smokejumpers and hotshots. Each step through tangles of blowdown sent up puffs of ash.
She turned over a smoking stump with her Pulaski, ran her fingers across the ground beneath it, then moved to the next one. Repetitive work, the kind that lets your mind wander. Three days of it had given her too much time to think, going over everything that had happened.
“Hey.”
Deanna looked up to see Tara, Pulaski in one hand, a water bottle in the other.
Her auburn hair had escaped its braid in the humidity, loose strands sticking to her sweaty temples.
Soot lined the creases around her eyes, making her look every bit as tired as Deanna. Tara offered her the water bottle.
Deanna took it, gulped, and returned it. “Your hotshot crew does good work.”
“Can’t take all the credit. Colton kept the fire off all of us while we cut the containment line.” Tara took a sip and chuckled. “Even though his low pass over the cabin took ten years off my life.”
“Mine too.” Deanna grinned. “He’s not great at subtle.”
“Neither are you.” Tara’s mouth twitched. “Bear spray? In an enclosed cabin?”
Deanna shrugged. “It worked, right?”
“Kylie told me what happened when you came through the door. Ed holding the gun on both of you.” Tara paused. “And Reeva seeing you, yet she didn’t call out.”
“I don’t know why she didn’t.”
“Maybe because you saved her life? People remember those things, even people who’ve made terrible choices.” Tara turned to face her fully. “I remember what you did for Ryan. Dragging him out from under the burning tree.”
“I was the closest. Anyone would have done the same.”
“Not anyone. You.” Tara’s green eyes stayed on hers, warmer now. Whatever door had opened when they rescued Kylie stayed wide open.
“When I thanked you for helping Ryan, I meant it, but I thought I was thanking the woman from Alaska who kissed other women’s boyfriends and drank too much. I didn’t realize how much you had changed.”
Deanna tensed but steadied herself to let Tara have her say.
“The woman in the cabin, the one who went in alone to save her partner, wasn’t who I knew from back then.” Tara rested her Pulaski on the blackened ground with both hands on the handle. “You could have let the cops handle it or hung back and let my crew go in first. No one would have blamed you.”
“I had to get Kylie.” Deanna lifted a shoulder. “We’ve been through everything together.”
“You also went because that’s who you are now,” said Tara. “I won’t pretend your past didn’t happen, and neither should you. But carrying it like a life sentence isn’t fair to the person you’ve become.”
Tara’s insight surprised Deanna, and her vision blurred. She blinked hard, staring at the charred stumps surrounding them. The landscape reflected her insides: scorched now, but spring promised the first green shoots of renewal.
“I can’t say I forgive you,” Tara continued, “because forgiveness isn’t mine to give. Raynie and Cohen own that one. What I will say is, I trust you now. I’d put you on my crew tomorrow and not lose a minute of sleep.”
Tara Waters O’Connor didn’t hand out trust easily. It had to be earned. For Deanna, gaining someone’s respect was a paramount achievement.
“Thank you.” Deanna’s pride swelled, her words coming thick.
“Should you ever want to transfer up to Alaska, we could use someone ballsy like you. Plus, you owe me a beer or twelve.” Tara grinned.
Deanna huffed out a laugh. “The first round’s on me. Well, at least the first three.”
“Now you’re talking.” Tara returned to the fireline, her braid swinging, and picked up where she’d left off.
A thought surfaced that delighted Deanna.
Step Four. One down, more to go.
Deanna worked her section, the Pulaski biting into the soft earth, the rhythm of it steadying her pulse. Mop-up never made the news. No towering flames or dramatic rescues.
Only ash, dirt, and patience.
The methodical search for hidden heat could reignite if left alone. She drove the Pulaski into the earth and paused.
Wasn’t that what she’d been doing for years? Hunting for the buried heat. Turning over every hidden ember before it had the chance to flare again. Making sure nothing inside her ever burned out of control. All this time, she’d mistaken surviving for living.
I’ve been running mop-up on my own life.
On the fourth day, rain finally arrived.
Not the cruel dry lightning of a few weeks ago, but a soaking downpour lasting two days, knocking the fire to its knees.
Smoke morphed to steam coming off the blackened ridges as the mountains drank.
The crews finally earned containment of the Copper Creek Fire, and the rain sealed their victory. Everyone was officially demobilizing.
That evening, the Aurora Hotshots gathered outside the Command Center, loading gear into their transport vans. The old Deanna would have steered clear and made her escape. Instead, she walked straight toward them.
“Heading to the brewery?” Tara asked, as if they’d been meeting like this for years.
“After I get things wrapped up in the jump shack. Wanted to catch you before we all scattered.” Deanna met the faces she’d avoided for two fire seasons. “I said some things before the rescue, about Alaska. But I didn’t say enough.”
She forced herself to hold Raynie’s gaze. “I knew you and Cohen were together, but I went after him anyway, to prove I could. An awful thing to do, and I really do apologize.”
Raynie studied her for a long moment, and Deanna braced for the expletives and name-calling she deserved.
“The woman in Alaska, the one who caused all that heartache,” said Raynie, her voice terse. “Is she gone?”
“I’m killing her off day by day.” Deanna gave her a lopsided smile. “It’s a work in progress.”
“Good.” Raynie showed no emotion. “I accept your apology, but don’t expect me to consider you a friend.” She narrowed her eyes. “Never flirt with my husband again.”
“You have my word.” Deanna hadn’t expected forgiveness, but now she had a clear conscience. A ginormous load had lifted.
Cohen stepped over and put his arm around Raynie. “All water under the bridge, Deanna. You were amazing on this fire.”
“Next time you bear-spray a cabin full of people, maybe radio us a warning first.” Tara gave her a wink.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Deanna’s laughter rolled out in an easy wave.
Damn, it was good to laugh again.
Some things burned so other things could grow. She understood it now.
Relieved to have it all out in the open, Deanna gave herself a pat on the back for making progress on Step Four:
Apologize to those you’ve hurt, even the ones who’d rather toss you from a plane without a parachute.