“Well, maybe we’ll get some rain,” he says after a moment.“Hopefully it stays to the west and doesn’t fuck us up too much.”
By the time our lookout is over, the clouds have gathered more, just this side of the Spires.They’re bright white on top but a deep, flat gray along the bottom, the color of molten lead.
Thunderstorms are bad news for fires.The rain is welcome, but not at the expensive of the huge updraft the pressure changes create, not to mention the hard, unpredictable winds.That’s why it feels like the air is trying to lift me up.
This could get ugly, and I have a bad feeling that it might.My stomach tightens, and even though I can’t see Eaglevale, I look over my shoulder in its direction.
We went there sometimes when I was growing up.That’s where my Boy Scout camp was, where I learned to shoot a bow and arrow, to start a fire, and to patch my own tent.If I was good, sometimes I’d get an ice cream cone from Popsy’s, the old-fashioned shop on Main Street.
I hate the thought that maybe we can’t save it.I hate the thought of the Boy Scout cabins going up in flames, of Main Street burning, of houses with kids’ toys in the yard turning into ash.
Every time we can’t stop a fire in time, it feels like a kick in the balls, like we’ve failed at the one task we had to do.Logically, I know that sometimes fires get too big, too hot, too out of control, and no one can do anything.That’s just how it works.
It just feelswrong.
When the hour’s over, we head back down and get to work, but as hard as I try, I can’t stop thinking about Eaglevale burning.
ChapterTwenty-Nine
Clementine
I pullinto the lot of Ashlake High School, cut the engine, and stare out the windshield for a few more moments.I feel like I’ve been doing this a lot lately, driving in silence before parking somewhere and sitting inmoresilence, but my brain is starting to feel fried.Like a frayed knot.
Isn’t that the punch line to some joke?A rope walks into a bar, and the bartender says...
Before I can drift completely off course, my radio buzzes at me.
“Clementine, come in,” Jennifer’s voice says.
“I’m here,” I say.
“Are you coming back to the high school?”
“I just pulled up,” I say.
“Good.Can you come inside?”she says, sounding distracted.
I almost tell herno, I was thinking I’d just sit in the parking lot while the rest of you worked all day, but that’s not even a little bit helpful.
Instead I get out of the truck and walk into the high school, looking at the sky to the west.It’s still sunny here, for now, but a cool wind is just starting to pick up, and I can see the near-black clouds on the horizon, blocking our view of the Spires.
It’s gotten bigger and darker since I left Harold’s cabin.I’ve been watching it in my rear view mirror all morning, hoping that it runs to the north or south of us instead of right over top.Doesn’t look likely.
Maybe the rain will help, I think.
Inside,Jennifer gives me the rundown: The Red Cross is here, organizing donations and cots and people and everything imaginable.Ashlake General Hospital is close to capacity, mostly people having smoke-related breathing trouble.
“Old people and asthmatics, you know,” Jennifer says.“And the people who panicked and got into car wrecks when they were evacuating.”
“That’s a way to make your day worse,” I say.
“Right?”Jennifer says, shaking her head.“I can’t imagine.Anyway, anyone here has a medical problem, take them over there.There’s a couple nurses here doing the rounds, but they can’t do much beyond the basics.Otherwise, distribute food and blankets, calm people down, give them emergency numbers.That kind of thing.”
“How’s the fire?”I ask.
“I haven’t really heard details,” Jennifer says, picking up a stack of papers and looking through them.It looks like numbers to call in case of some specific emergency.“It might be shifting with the thunderstorm, so who knows how fucked things even are.”
I just nod, then Jennifer looks up at me.
