But it turns out nothing has changed.
I was drowning and he’s the buoy I’m still clinging to, and that wasn’t how it was supposed to work.
I was supposed to save myself.
I’m too fucked-up to be around someone as kind and caring and normal as Dex.
We gather our supplies in a hurry, which is easier than usual since we never unpacked our backpacks after the hiking trip.
“Are we still sharing a tent?” Dex asks in an offhand way as we get ready to leave.
“Fuck me.” I drag a hand through my hair, hating how much I want this, feeling trapped by my own fucking dependence.
Then I notice Charcoal, who is walking along the back of the couch and watching us hopefully. If I lose the cabin, I won’t be able to keep the cat.
“I’m not giving up now,” I growl.
We’re among the first back to the station, so we help Chief Rhodes drag our gear out of storage ready for the helicopter. It sounds like we’ll be getting a food drop later in the day, since we haven’t had a chance to prepare anything, but Chief Rhodes throws in a stack of MREs left from the previous fire just in case. The snow is melting fast, turning the grass soggy underfoot.
Soon we’re all loading the helicopter with supplies and climbing in. This time we’re fully geared-up, ready for whatever conditions we find when we reach Fairbanks, and somehow Dex ends up sitting next to me in the helicopter, his knee jiggling against mine. He must be nervous too, though you wouldn’t know from his expression.
This time I press my forehead to the window and stare down at the Copper River Delta as we fly overhead. The glacier at the source is unmistakable from this angle, and the winding patterns of water through the green expanse look like the wiggly shapes termites make when they eat across a wood surface.
Beyond that, we’re crossing an expanse of snow-dappled mountains before approaching the flatter interior around Fairbanks.
As we get closer, smoke chokes the sky, hiding any glimpse of the city we’re supposed to be protecting. Soon we’re descending deep into a murky brown cloud, and Chief Rhodes gives the order to wear N95 masks until he tells us otherwise.
When we land, the fire is right here around us, and we lower ourselves out of the helicopter into a hellscape of smoke and scorching air and spot fires all over. There isn’t a line that I can see—the main fire is raging so fiercely that it’s creating its ownwind, throwing sparks and igniting stands of grass and tussocks well out of range of the flames themselves.
Chief Rhodes calls in for an update on his satellite phone, and then he barks out orders. “Our job is to keep the fire from getting into that forest over there!” He points to a dense, scraggly stand of black spruce. We’ve landed in a clear stretch between two swathes of forest. “The city starts right where those trees end, and there’s another crew already clearing a break. We’re here to give them time.”
This time there’s no setting up camp before we work, because we don’t know where will be safe to sleep come nightfall. The helicopter flies off to drop our gear somewhere away from the fire, and we’re on our own to get there before the end of the day, because it’s getting too dangerous for them to land here again. This seems more like a job for the smoke jumpers, though I imagine they’ve already gone in.
We spread out and start tackling the fires between the two stretches of forest as best we can. It’s a combination of beating them out and pumping water from the marshy patches onto the flames, and the longer we work, the more futile our efforts feel. It’s like a grim version of whack-a-mole, except these moles will kill us if they gain the upper hand.
Since we’re close to a city, I hear frequent passes by helicopters dumping water and fire suppressants onto the main blaze, but from here it doesn’t seem to be doing anything. The air is just getting hotter and hotter, until I’m half-expecting the forest we’re protecting to spontaneously combust from a distance.
As grim as the work is, I’m enjoying myself. This feels like it matters. I might not be useful for much, but here I can make a difference. My efforts might keep one of Alaska’s largest cities from going up in flames.
I push myself hard, going as close as I can physically stand to the main fire as I tackle a row of grasses that’s starting to ripple out into a larger blaze. Dex and Cami join me after a while, beating the flames down before they can spread, and I can see this is a lot for Dex, who has never fought in conditions like this before. But he doesn’t complain.
With smoke blocking the sun and turning the day into a brown twilight, I have no way of keeping track of the time. My stomach rumbles a couple times, but I ignore it, because there’s no easy way to stop for a meal out here. An hour might have passed, or a whole day, and still we’re doing everything we can to suppress the fucking spot fires.
Then, at last, another crew emerges from the haze. They look fresh, so they’ve probably been called in at short notice just like us.
“We’re taking over from you,” their leader shouts out. “Take a rest and we’ll swap in the morning.”
“Copper Creek team!” Chief Rhodes bellows.
I give a last good dousing of water to the fire I was working on before turning to trudge back toward him, stepping carefully on the uneven ground. The tussocks are like basketballs hidden under a layer of grass, and they’re interspersed with knee-deep marshy patches—just like with our previous posting, it’s easy to roll an ankle if you’re not careful.
The rest of our team draws together, their forms growing more distinct as they approach through the smoke. Chief Rhodes does a quick head count before leading us in the direction the approaching team came from.
“Where’ve you landed?” he asks as we pass the new crew.
“Over by the bridge, where everyone’s supplies are getting dropped. It’s the closest safe place at the moment.”
Chief Rhodes claps a hand on his shoulder, and then we’re plunging deep into the smoke, the fresh team nothing but ghosts disappearing into the haze behind us.
