She puts it in my hand, small and heavy, warm from being in her pocket.
“Can I think nice thoughts about you a lot?”I ask.
“Don’t go overboard,” she teases.
“Like when I’m alone in my tent, and I’m dead tired but still too wired to sleep?—”
Another truck starts behind me, and we both turn to look at it.
“Yes, you can jerk off thinking about me,” Clementine laughs, then kisses me before I can respond.
“Did that anyway,” I say.
“Go,” she says, pushing me toward the porch steps.“I don’t wanna hear that Eaglevale burned down because one of the fire crew wouldn’t quit talking to his girlfriend.”
I grin, kiss her hand, and head down the steps.
Minutes later we’re driving out of Lodgepole, the sky just barely starting to lighten at the eastern edge, the truck silent.Daniel and I are in the back seat, Silas in the front as we head north.
Daniel turns to me.
“Clementine’s nice,” he says.
“Yeah, she seemed cool,” Silas says from the front.
“Thanks,” I say.
We fall quiet again.
The whole way up,we listen to reports from the people already in Eaglevale — a few forest rangers, the Ashlake Volunteer Fire Department.They’re bad, the Saturn Fire’s bigger and faster than anyone predicted.
We should have left earlier, maybe even yesterday, and the feeling that I was in Lodgepole eating Italian food and laughing with Clementine gnaws at me.Logically, I know that fires are nearly impossible to predict, and that everyone always does their best, but deep down, the thought that someone might lose their home because I wasn’t fast enough is hard to shake.
We all ride along in tense silence, listening to slightly staticky voices talk about the Saturn Fire making its way down the canyon, watching the smoke billow out of the forest north of us.
The air gets a little thicker, and the mountains in the distance have a dull haze in front of them, the sickly yellow color of wood putty.Bits of ash collect on the ground.When the sun comes up it’s a dull, glowing, nuclear orange, and as it rises it becomes a blood-red ball in the sky.
Heading toward a fire always feels apocalyptic, almost like I’m in a movie where society has broken down and everyone lives in cars in the desert or something.The light is always the color of sunset, even if it’s seven o’clock in the morning, and it makes the primal, instinctual part of my brain whisperit’s nearly dark, it’s nearly darkall day.
I thought I’d get used to it after the first few times, but I never did.I guess humans aren’t wired that way.
As we get close, helicopter and drop planes start buzzing overhead, more and more often.The flame retardant powder they drop combines with the smoke and turns everything a little redder.It feels a little more like the end of the world.It feels like that every time, but the end hasn’t come yet.
The truck doesn’t even stop in Eaglevale.A ranger wearing a big hat and an orange safety vest just waves us past some sort of checkpoint, and we head down a rough road and into the canyon.We drive until the road runs out, and then we park behind the other Canyon Country Hotshot trucks.
No one talks much as we load up with our gear.I think we all feel the same way right now, the buzz and excitement of last night gone, traded in for a grim determination about the task ahead.
Thefirstthing we have to do is hike down a tricky trail, carrying seventy pounds of equipment: drip torches, rhinos, chainsaws, plus food and water.Once we get there, then we get to actually start work.
Another truck pulls up behind us.Guys pile out.I double check that I’ve got everything, that it’s all firmly strapped to my back.
I run my fingertips over the rock Clementine gave me, safe in a small zippered pocket, and for a moment I let myself think about tossing her into the pool, about lying with her on a warm rock in the sun and teasing her about male strippers.
Then we get moving.
ChapterTwenty-Five
Clementine
