I watch Hunter drive off,and surprisingly, it feels okay.Sure, it could feel better.We could be asleep in my bed right now, snuggled together, but that’s not what’s happening.
This is.And, honestly: it’s okay.
The land line starts ringing almost the moment I walk back into the house, and I rush to grab the receiver since Lucy and Mandy are still asleep.I don’t even have to answer to know it’s not going to be a good phone call.
“Get your rangin’ hat on,” Randy says.
I glare out the window at the darkness for a full two seconds before I respond, because I’m tired and it’s early and I’m stressed on several fronts, and all of that isn’t putting me in the mood for Randy’s weird shit right now.
“My ranging hat?”I finally ask.“Are we evacuating?”
“You got it,” he says.“This here sheet says you’re to report to the Eaglevale checkpoint and then receive further instructions, which I assume are gonna be, ‘tell people to leave because there’s a fire.’”
“Where’s the checkpoint?”I ask, my stomach tightening.
I’ve only had to evacuate people once, when there was a big fire in the Lolo National Forest, a few hundred miles to the west, and the Forest Service over there needed all the help they could get.
I hated having to do it.I became a ranger because I like being outdoors, because I think plants and fungi are interesting, and because I don’t mind going for stretches without seeing another human.
Telling people that they need to leave their homes,now, and that I don’t know if they’ll ever be able to come back isn’t really my strong suit.Even the people who are well-prepared, packed, and ready to leave are pretty emotional about it.
When I have to convince someone that they need to go or they might die?It doesn’t get much worse.
“There’s only the one road into Eaglevale,” Randy says.“You’re not gonna miss the checkpoint, I promise.”
“Right,” I say.
“Grab Lucy and get a move on,” he suggests, and then hangs up without saying goodbye.
He’s also stressed and worried,I remind myself.Everyone is today.Be nice.Just be nice.
We’ll see.
It’s a long drive.A couple hours to Ashlake, where I grew up, then down a twisting, winding mountain road until we finally climb into Eaglevale.The fire’s gotten bigger and moved faster than anyone thought it might, and with the wind blowing east the sky is an unsettling yellow color, the sun an angry red ball in the middle.
It creeps me out.I always feel like I’m in some horror movie when there are fires around.The light looks wrong, the air smells wrong, and everything just feelsstrange.
I’ve got Lucy and another ranger in the car, but we don’t say much on the drive.I know none of us are looking forward to this, and talking about how much it’s going to suck isn’t going to make it better.
“They sent the hotshots in this morning, right?”Lucy asks suddenly.
“Yeah,” I say.“I think they’re headed into the canyon.Last I heard, anyway.”
“I hope they’re okay,” she says, looking straight ahead out the windshield.“This is a shitty thing to happen, especially right at the end of fire season.I bet they’d rather go home.”
I swallow, then nod.
“I bet so,” I say, and then we keep driving in silence, each thinking our own thoughts.
At the checkpoint we pull over, and we’re herded to a card table manned by a no-nonsense woman wearing a traffic-cone-orange shirt.At least she’s visible.
“All right.You all done this before?”she asks, like she’s the one in charge and we’re the volunteers.Already, it grates on my nerves a little, but I remind myself thatevery single person hereis having a terrible day, and maybe I should get over it.
Or, at the very least, not let on.
“Yes,” the three of us chorus.
“Good,” she says, and begins handing out clipboards and stacks of paper.“You’re doing the streets north of Main Street.This is a list of items they should bring with them, official records, birth certificates, things like that.If they’ve got someone out of town they can stay with, family or friends or whatever, they should go there.If not, Ashlake High is the current evacuation center, and this is the map to it.”
