I’m just supposed to sit in this thicket all day, suffocated by rampant ironwood, waiting for someone to rescue me from a fake fire?
Weather Report: Ridge of high pressure continues to build. Temperatures rising and humidity falling. East wind on ridges will continue through mid-week. Break. 20-foot winds. Lower elevation, variable, less than 7. Ridge top, west 5 to 15 miles per hour. Haines index 5. Lightning Alert Level 3. Break. National preparedness level 4. Local preparedness level 5. Break. Available aircraft for smokejumpers 1. Airtac platform Grangeville. 1 Type 1 Engine. 1 Type 2 Engine.
Greer: Walker, Greer on 5.
Walker: You’re a go ahead.
Greer: There’s a smoke at West Hatter. Move with a purpose but stay safe. Bring all fire-certified resources. If you’re ready, I’ll give you the location.
Walker: I copied. I’m ready for that location.
Greer: Stay right at the water tank at West Hatter marker 4 and go left. It’s going to be Road 31.475, approximately 2 miles in from the junction with 31 road.
Walker: Copied right at the water tank at West Hatter marker 4 and go left. It’s going to be Road 31.475, approximately 2 miles in from the junction with 31 road.
Greer: Correct, that’s the big junction. Stage at my vehicle when you get there.
Walker: We’ll head over there and wait for more directions.
Greer: The wind’s pretty good and the weather’s 100 degrees, so we want to get on it fast. Stand number is 320.
Walker: Copy.
Greer: I can give you a lat long, if you’d like.
Walker: Send it.
Greer: Lat 46.83899. Long 116.86337.
Walker: I copy Lat 46.83899. Long 116.86337. Is that a good copy?
Greer: Good copy. And one last thing—not part of the fire simulation—red-tailed hawks coming steadily from the north. Keep an eye on that.
Bigelow: Walker, Bigelow on 1.
Walker: You’re a go ahead.
Bigelow: I thought you weren’t talking to me anymore.
Walker: Don’t do this on the radio in the middle of a simulation. Greer’s testing me.
Bigelow: So, I’m just supposed to sit in this thicket all day, suffocated by rampant ironwood, waiting for someone to rescue me from a fake fire? Remember when we were friends, when I first joined the crew and we cut fireline in time together, your Pulaski digging downwards just as my McLeod had flung the duff away from the earth, like the pendulum of a metronome?
Walker: You’ll be rescued in 15 minutes.
Bigelow: Your 15 minutes is everyone else’s two hours. You never show up when you say you will. Remember when we scratched our backs like cinnamon bears along the alligator bark of ponderosa pines, while we were on fire patrol, looking for smokes? I don’t understand what’s changed.
Walker: Just be still for 15 more minutes! You’re two miles along the 31 Road from us.
Bigelow: But only one mile as the hawk flies.
Greer: Walker, no time for chitchat.
Walker: I’m on my way in the engine, with the crew in the Silverado and the second engine right behind me, sir.
Dougherty: Greer, Dougherty on 5.
Greer: Dougherty, Greer.
Dougherty: We’ve located the stand, and we’re five minutes out. The road’s black with crawling beetles as thick as three Snickers.
Greer: Forget about the beetles. When you get there, back it up past my vehicle. You should see some flagging on the road. We’ll hike it in from there.
Dougherty: When we get there, I’ll radio you on 2?
Greer: A-firm. We’ll do a briefing at the flagging point before anyone gets near the incident.
Dougherty: Just confirming 31.475 and that we can get three more vehicles in and turned around.
Greer: A-firm. Turn around and spot beyond my vehicle.
Dougherty: Copy that.
Dougherty: I’m gonna pull out and let you go ahead of me, in case they need the engine.
Zwolinski: Are you hollering at Walker or us?
Dougherty: I’m talking to yo, Zwo.
Zwolinski: We’ll go past. Look at those ballin’ pit vipers you got. And that bitchin’ moustache! Those porn whiskers’re distracting me.
Dougherty: You dig these salamanders crawling up away from the draw, over the road? I just squished one. Where’re they all coming from?
Zwolinski: Fucking weird.
Walker: Eyes on the prize, crew. Remember we’re responding to a fire.
Zwolinski: Be there in the hottest of seconds.
Greer: Dougherty, Greer on 2.
Dougherty: Copy that.
Greer: Any luck on hiking up to a place you can look out on us digging the line?
Dougherty: I can kinda see the hillside and the piles of slash, but I got no eyes on you.
Greer: Can you see where we left the vehicles?
Dougherty: I believe I can see just the tiniest smidgen of the junction.
Greer: Go ahead with the weather report and then shift to get better eyes on us.
Dougherty: We have RH at 32%, temp at 96, wind at 5 miles per hour. Hawks and ospreys still flooding from the north. They’re freaking me out!
Greer: OK, copy. Take weather again in 15 minutes.
Dougherty: You got it.
Walker: Zwolinski, Walker on 2.
Zwolinski: Go for Zwo.
Walker: Let’s keep the radio chatter professional, huh?
Zwolinski: Aye, aye, cap’n!
Walker: Zwo…There’s a researcher in Stand 353. Can you leave our fireline for a minute and go get her out? She’s doing goat research. It’s a serious hazard.
Zwolinski: But it’s Bigelow, isn’t it? She’s just lolling around pretending to be a goat researcher? How come she got the cushy gig?
Walker: Zwolinski, take the Silverado and move it!
Zwolinski: You got yourself a deal.
Bigelow: Walker, Bigelow on 1.
Walker: You’re a go ahead.
Bigelow: Not too long ago—it hasn’t really been more than a few weeks, has it?—we knew the fescue meadow bullseye where hawks played darts with their tailfeathers, the bend in the crick where the cougars washed their ears, and the hollow logs where the beetles bred. We saw moments no one else saw.
Walker: I have a fire simulation to run.
Bigelow: You made fun of my fire-scarred boots, my awkward gait, especially in tangled underbrush. When you were blue, we buried your troubles in a salamander seep beside the fire pond. We mashed yarrow with the butt of your knife to make a salve. We raided the osprey nest and poured eggs down our throats.
Walker: Bigelow, I need to live in this world. I can’t live in that world anymore. Greer is promoting me, and it’s… important.
Bigelow: Then slowly you started to leave me and the fescue meadow and the bend in the crick. Laughs became more brittle. When I ran out of water on the line, you no longer shared. Suddenly, you wanted to return to town as soon as work was over, but not to the Don’t Care for beer and a plate of curly fries, the way we used to, but to that joint that smelled of lime juice where I wasn’t allowed. Even the cougars’ve given up on you now. The land provides, the land takes away, and gives us ways to harm each other.
Walker: This isn’t the right time.
Bigelow: It’ll never be the right time!
Walker: We’ll talk later, Bigelow.
Bigelow:
Walker: Bigelow?
Bigelow:
Walker: Bigelow, Walker on 1?
Bigelow:
Dougherty: We have RH at 10%, for a 22% drop, temp at 105 for a 9-point jump, and wind gusting up to 15 miles per hour, for a 10-point jump. The sky’s full of wings almost blocking the sun, and there’s a stink of crushed yarrow. Where’s that coming from?
Greer: The weather’s shifting, the fire’s spread to that slash pile downslope from us. Walker, go ahead and get out of there with a quick step.
Walker: Copy.
Greer: The smoke from the pile’s getting bigger. Several spots appearing on the hillside. Walker, all out evacuation. We won’t be able to catch it.
Walker: We’re making our way out quickly.
Greer: Uphill from the first pile, a second pile is igniting. It’s making short runs and torching.
Walker: We’re disengaged. Coming up to the road, keeping our eyes on the spots of fire.
Dougherty: There’s a cinnamon bear lumbering away from the road down the hillside. For real. Like the wings. Not part of the simulation. This is not my jam!
Walker: Greer, Walker.
Greer: Walker, Greer.
Walker: I don’t know if you copied Dougherty’s traffic, but there’s a bear on a collision course with us, and we’re hustling for real.
Greer: Copy. Disregard my imaginary torching piles for the moment and just get out of there.
Zwolinski: Walker, Zwolinski on 1.
Zwolinski: Greer, Zwolinski on 1.
Greer: Zwolinski, Greer.
Zwolinski: I found the goats, but not the researcher.
Greer: You’re in Stand 353? That steep slope with all the lodgepoles? She was supposed to be waiting right by the road. And then she was supposed to put up a fuss when you told her she had to evacuate and leave her data collection.
Zwolinski: I’ve driven up and down the road that borders 353, and I’ve gone into the trees and called her name, but she’s not here.
Greer: You know it’s Bigelow, right?
Zwolinski: Yeah, but I don’t know what to do. Did you catch that weird traffic between Walker and Bigelow?
Greer: I’ll get her on the radio, goddamn her. Stay there.
Zwolinski: The goats are rampaging, popping their jaws.
Greer: The goats were fake, a figment of my imagination for the simulation.
Zwolinski: These goats ain’t a figment.
Zwolinski: Greer, Zwolinski on 1.
Zwolinski: Greer, Zwolinski on 1.
Zwolinski: Walker, Zwolinski on 1.
Walker: You’re a go ahead.
Zwolinski: There’s a fire moving south through Stand 353.
Walker: God, Greer, always up to his tricks! He told me the simulation wouldn’t go beyond West Hatter.
Zwolinski: This isn’t a simulation, there’s a real fire!
Walker: He told you to say that, right?
Zwolinski: No, no, no, there’s a fucking fire! A good ol’ combustion triangle. Not just smoke, but the fire that where there’s smoke there is. For fuck’s sake, all of you stop responding to Greer’s simulation and get over here.
Walker: Copy. Do you have the approximate size of the fire?
Zwolinski: I’d say quarter of an acre, but it’s hard to tell from the road.
Walker: Copy. Don’t engage until we’re all there. We’ll drive over as fast as we can.
Zwolinski: Yep. And, Walker, there’s still not a hide or a hair of Bigelow.
Walker: We’ll find her.
Greer: Walker, Greer on 1.
Walker: You’re a go ahead.
Greer: Get the crew round the fire perimeter, start digging line. Keep an eye out for short runs uphill in the duff. All for real now.
Walker: Copy. Dougherty, Walker.
Dougherty: Copy that.
Walker: Find your lookout position for eyes on the fire and us. Somewhere up the cougar track in Stand 352 should do it. Keep us informed of any change in weather or fire behavior.
Dougherty: You got it.
Walker: Zwolinski, Walker.
Zwolinski: Go for Zwo.
Walker: What are our hopes of containment?
Zwolinski: It’s a chungus.
Walker: Care to be more technical?
Zwolinski: It’s a fat fucking boy. We’re digging line fast, but he’s looking like a runner.
Walker: We’ll start laying the hose. Unfurl that butterfly. We’ll work it down through those cedars. We’ll run some water from the crick up to the lodgepoles.
Dougherty: There’s beetles overrunning my boots! No end to them!
Walker: You got eyes on the fire yet, Dougherty?
Dougherty: Probably an acre now, but he’s riding high, torching those lodgepoles. The upslope front’s moving.
Walker: OK, we’re on it.
Dougherty: Hey! Those hawks circling in from the north are taking burning sticks in their talons and spreading the fire downslope through the ironwood. They’re divebombing the rodents and salamanders fleeing the fire.
Walker: Copy.
Dougherty: Jesus Christ.
Walker: Standby, Dougherty. I’ll radio you when I need another report.
Dougherty: Bigelow’s in that bunch of pines just ahead of the front moving upslope! She’s… leaping by the flames! She’s waving at the divebombing hawks. Holy hell!
Walker:
Dougherty: Walker, do you copy? Someone needs to get her out of there.
Walker: I copy. Bigelow!!
Bigelow: You’re supposed to say “Bigelow, Walker on 1.”
Walker: Bigelow, you’re lost.
Bigelow: I’ve been very lost for a long time. I look to the sky, and it’s full of wings, like a big plume of smoke. They want to punish you. Always filling the corner of my eyes, there’s smokes, or is it just a plume of dust from the road? When I turn my head, it’s on the other side, in the other corner of my eye. Then I come to work and see you, polite enough that maybe no one else can tell the difference, but cold enough that I know I’m unwelcome. I get a hand wave, but your fingers curl in like claws. I stare at your giant, squat thumbnails and throw my silent questions at you, and they swing back and rattle around inside me like pennies in a tin can.
Zwolinski: What the literal fuck.
Dougherty: Bigelow, knock it off and get out of there.
Walker: Anna, run to the ridge now! Your escape route’s being cut off!
Bigelow: The salamander seep is drained dry. There’s a deep crack next to the fire pond, where the earth won’t hold your sorrow anymore. The wind licks my ears. In recent days on the line, I’ve seen your belt jiggling in front of me, watched the little tear in your fire pack, stared at the spots where your Pulaski needs sharpened, wondered how this can be all that’s left of our friendship. I shouldn’t have to wait for a command from you, because that’s all you’ll say to me. I shouldn’t have to light a fire just to talk to you. I want to know what went wrong. I’ll know—Now!
Walker: Anna, don’t do this! If you can’t make it to the ridge, get down to the crick where the cougars wash their ears. The earth couldn’t hold this sorrow. Don’t let these cries rattle like pennies in a tin can.
Weather report: Ridge of high pressure is built. Wings on ridges will continue through mid-week. Break. New winds falling. Lower elevation, variable, whipping up. Ridge top, cougars. Hawks index 6. Loneliness Alert Level 6. Break. Emotional preparedness level 4. All local resources already committed. Breakpoint.
R.M. Fradkin has had short fiction published in Cherry Tree, Cleaver Magazine, and SAND Journal, among others. One of her stories was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She recently finished her MFA at Oregon State University and is at work on a novel set in an experimental forest.
Header photo by Ronald Plett, courtesy Pixabay.
