Page 8

After an hour of constant motion, the air felt heavier. The door rolled open enough that a volunteer slipped through with a tray of sandwiches someone had donated from the deli downtown. The smell of turkey and mustard met smoke, but for once the food won. People ate and breathed quieter.

I finally let myself look for him. Chief Butler stood near a wall map pinned with colored tabs, talking to two firefighters I’d seen in and out of the bay. There was also a taller Black man, and I thought he might have been the captain from Station 2 across town. Butler pointed, listened, nodded. Even from here I could tell everything about him was under control, from the set of his shoulders to the clipped words that sent people moving. He radiated calm.

He looked up as if he’d felt me watching. Our eyes caught for a second. The corner of his mouth shifted, not quite a smile. Approval, I thought. Or a warning to pace myself. Hard to tell with him.

A girl about eight tugged my sleeve. She twisted her hands with anxiety. “Ms. Hill, can you help me find my grandma? She went to ask something and I can’t see her anymore.”

“Of course, Remy. Let’s go find her.” We moved slowly through the evacuees, and I kept hold of her hand. There were at least a hundred people in here now, and it was getting harder to move through the crowd. We found her grandma in the kitchen trying to track down decaf; I steered them back together and the girl launched herself into the older woman’s arms. Crisis solved.

A firefighter I hadn’t met—tall, dark-blond, face streaked with ash—passed by with two blankets draped over his shoulders like a cape. He nodded at me. “Good system,” he said, chin jerking at my signs. “Makes it easier for us to get back out fast.”

“Glad it helps,” I said, my chest loosening a little.

The kids’ corner had taken on a life of its own. Liam had built a castle with block towers, and two toddlers were busy knocking them down as fast as he could stack them. He just smiled and started again. A quiet boy with a buzz cut colored every fire truck page red with marker until the paper pilled. A teenage girl read picture books out loud in a steady voice, doing all the animal noises for the smaller kids, which made them giggle like they had any other day.

I wrote a request list in smooth block letters and taped it next to KIDS’ TABLE: crayons, coloring pages, juice boxes, diapers size 3–5, phone chargers, pet bowls. Within half an hour, strangers brought half of it without me asking again.

When I finally stopped to drink a full bottle of water, my hands shook with tiredness. I looked down at my palms. Ink smudges. Crayon dust. A smear of mustard I hadn’t earned but was wearing, anyway. I smiled at the ridiculousness of it, then felt eyes on me again.

5

Cameron

Chief Butler stood closer now, just inside the bay door, watching the ridge where the glow was deepening like coals in a barbecue. His profile was all hard lines and uncompromising determination. He turned his head and saw me watching him. Had he been watching me a minute ago? Was that what I had felt?

For the first time, I saw his expression soften, just a bit. The scar along his temple and down his face didn’t make him look harsh when he did that; it made him look human.

I wandered over. “Are you doing okay?”

His dark brows popped. “Am I doing okay? People don’t ask me that often. Yes, Ms. Hill, I am doing okay. We’re in a holding pattern right now. A relief plane came through and dumped a lot of water on the ridge, and I’m hoping it’s enough. As long as the wind doesn’t pick up tonight, we should be safe.”

A knot of tension eased in my chest. “Oh, that’s fantastic news,” I breathed. “I’ve never been in anything like this, so I’ve been worried.”

“We do this several times a fire season, so it’s normal to us.” One side of his mouth tipped up slightly, but I could see the tiredness in his expression.

“When did you last sleep?”

He frowned, as if thinking. “It’s been a day, probably. I’ll try to catch a nap after the next report comes in.”

“Okay.”

Then we just stood there, watching the night deepen around us, and the steady glow on the horizon, backlit by the darkness of the mountains. He found us a couple of foldable nylon chairs and we sat, absorbing the evening. Everything smelled liked smoke.

“How do you get used to this,” I asked him.

He shrugged, the light from the open bay door gilding his face. “You just do. I’ve done it since I was eighteen.”

“No way,” I breathed. “You were just a baby.”

He nodded. “My dad was a volunteer firefighter for my whole childhood. When Eagleheart started looking for full-time employees, I put in for the class. I’ve been here a long time.”

I folded my arms around myself. “And you’re a native to the area, right?”

“Born and raised,” he affirmed. “My parents retired here and still live on the family property.”

“Never had any desire to go anywhere else?”

He shook his head. “In addition to growing up here, I got married to my high school sweetheart. I sank pretty deep roots.”