“I’m not joking. Please.” The drawstring bag of water bottles digs into one shoulder, my laptop strap into the other. I’m drenched in sweat, lungs burning. “I’m with someone else. We’re stranded. Everyone’s gone. The fire’s coming, and we’re alone.”
Kael finally takes the hint and pulls out his own phone, peeling away a few steps to make his own call.
“Holy shit,” Jenny breathes. “Okay, okay, okay.”
“Took me four hours to drive here,” I say. “Maybe?—”
“I’m with my in-laws,” she cuts in. “In Fresno.”
“Shit.” I stumble and slow, legs suddenly heavier.
“What are you doing?” Kael motions impatiently, like I’m not carrying half our body weight in gear.
“I… need a minute,” I pant, and then turn back to the phone. “We’re a few minutes south of Philbrook.”
“I see it,” Jenny says. I hear keys clacking. “Shit. The fire’s just north of you.”
“There’s a town. Inskip,” I say, trying to steady my breathing without stopping. “Looks like a few-hour hike.”
“A little over three,” she confirms.
“Any better ideas? We couldn’t stay at camp. The fire’s heading straight for it. Maybe someone will see us on the road. I messaged the retreat, left a voicemail for the campground…”
“The road’s closed,” Jenny says, her voice dropping. “As soon as we hang up, I’m calling 911 to tell them you and a friend arestill near Philbrook. But Ash, they’ve shut down all the roads in and out of that area because of the fire.”
“Dammit.” My stomach drops. I meet Kael’s eyes. “The roads are closed,” I repeat. “No one’s coming.”
“You did the right thing leaving,” Jenny says quickly. “Keep heading south. The dispatcher will say the same thing I am. If the fire gets too close, the crews will have to use the road. It’s actually a good sign if nobody comes— Shit.”
“What’s shit?” I ask, picking up my pace again.
“Shit?” Kael repeats.
“Inskip isn’t really a town,” she says. “Zero population, basically. The closest place with people is… Paradise.”
“TheParadise?” I ask.
“Wait. Paradise that burned?” Kael’s voice is tight.
Jenny’s silence is answer enough. When she speaks again, it’s with the same brittle calm she uses for bad news. “It’s a ten-hour hike if you cut across trails. Fourteen if you stick to the road.”
Kael is already texting. Whoever it is, I hope they have a better idea than “walk through a fire zone for half a day.”
“It’ll be dark in about three hours,” I say, checking the time. Three p.m. “We’re not making it before nightfall.”
“You have your phones, right? Flashlights?” Jenny asks.
“I brought my laptop,” I say, as if that’s remotely helpful. The idea of hiking in the dark sends a fresh wave of nausea through me. I turn toward Kael. “What’s your last name again?”
“Wright,” he says.
I relay it to Jenny, then force our plan into words. “We’re hiking to Paradise. If nobody finds us on the road, we use our phones as flashlights and aim to hit it around one a.m., assuming we stay ahead of the fire.”
“Screenshots!” Jenny adds. “Take screenshots of your map in case you lose service or have to conserve battery.”
“Right.” My fingers are clumsy as I snap a few maps at different zoom levels.
“I’m going to call 911, the ranger station, any number I can find in Paradise,” Jenny says. “You good?”
