Expectant Father. Melinda Curtis

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СКАЧАТЬ resembled a smile for the team, a hodgepodge of men and women from different disciplines, including communications, supply and personnel. She didn’t know what had happened out on the fire line, but she was already blaming herself for not thinking about that narrow creek sooner. “Maybe we’ve even got a sleeper.”

      One of the trickier fires, sleepers tended to be underestimated and take firefighters by surprise, sometimes with deadly consequences.

      “Let’s not go jumping to conclusions.” Carl laughed and gave Sirus a look as if to say “Let’s not panic over what the little woman got in her little head.”

      Not wanting to see IC’s reaction, Becca turned to go wait in the Medical tent, her mind already full of questions. Where had the fire crew been? Had the wind changed suddenly? What was the fire like before they realized they were in danger?

      “No need to rush.” Bobby, the supply officer, pulled her aside and lowered his voice. “Unfortunately, we’ve run out of gas and they’re hiking down from the drop point.” The drop point, or DP, was five miles up the mountain trail, ten miles on a narrow, winding dirt road.

      Fire crews were comprised of men and women of action. The Hot Shots would chafe at having to cool their jets while they waited for transport.

      But Becca was willing to bet they wouldn’t wait. They’d hike to the camp. And when they arrived, the adrenaline of survival would have worn off and they’d be in no mood to talk to an official IC representative, much less a tent full of them. More than likely, they’d want a hot meal, a cold drink and an audience of their peers. By the time she talked to them, they’d have woven the truth into something that was several steps removed from reality. She wouldn’t get the detailed information she needed to identify where her fire prediction had gone wrong.

      Unless she met them along the way and got the story first.

      Becca stepped into the doorway, looking for Julia.

      Her assistant had hung back to talk to Sirus. She was trying to be his next Fire Behavior Analyst and, with a bit of hard work, Becca thought she might just make it. “Sir? Which Hot Shot team should we expect?”

      “The Silver Bend crew,” he answered, stone-faced. His stepson, Jackson Garrett, led that team.

      Becca’s fingers clenched the doorframe. Working in California, she’d effectively avoided the Silver Bend, Idaho, crew for more than seven months. She’d hoped their paths wouldn’t cross on this one special assignment.

      For just a moment, Becca considered waiting in the Medical tent with the rest of IC, hiding at the back of the crowd when the fire crew reached camp.

      She blinked, coming out of her panicked stupor. No. She would not compromise her duties, even if it put her plans for the future at risk. If she didn’t get to know this fire intimately, other firefighters might face unnecessary danger.

      Becca knew only one Hot Shot from Silver Bend, although one was more than enough. Aiden Rodas was a wiry, good-looking, risk-loving playboy. He was younger then Becca, with a really immature nickname— Spider—and a really immature attitude. Not that most Hot Shots didn’t have nicknames, Aiden’s just seemed to stick out more than others.

      She’d seen him the other night at a briefing. He’d stood at the rear of the tent, his eyes skimming over her as if she were chopped liver while she explained what the fire would do during the next twelve hours. He didn’t seem to remember that he’d slept with her, which meant he didn’t know he’d helped create the baby she carried.

      And she wasn’t about to tell him.

      “THEY’RE QUIET,” Cole Hudson said, half under his breath.

      “Yeah, too quiet.” Spider considered the somber team of men and women walking the wooded trail behind them. “Chainsaw, you don’t suppose they’re all meditating as we hike, do you?”

      “Nope.” Cole hefted his namesake, a thirty-six-inch chain-saw, across his broad shoulders and grinned at Spider before continuing to hike down to base camp. He’d abandoned his chainsaw and day pack containing gasoline when the fire belched this morning, but had been lucky enough to pick up new equipment at the DP.

      Spider followed his friend down the steep, winding mountain path. “You think they’re thinking about the fire?”

      “Yep.”

      The crew, including Spider, had talked excitedly about their hair-singeing escape on the hike back. Spirits still up, they’d recounted their tale to the staffers at the DP while Jackson, better known as Golden, had radioed their situation back to base camp and received instructions to return and debrief IC. And then they’d received the news that they had to hike down the mountain because of some supply snafu, and the team had gotten quiet.

      Surviving a run-in with the fire had left Spider feeling like a superhero. That was what he loved about being a Hot Shot—going head-to-head with Mother Nature. Having to walk back to base camp cut him down to size. Admittedly, reality tended to suck after an adrenaline rush like he’d experienced today, leaving him shuffling his booted feet like an old man. Spider imagined the rest of the team felt the same.

      He was ready to fill his belly with a hot meal and grab as much sleep as he could before their next shift. But first the group would have to be checked out by the medics, file some reports and obtain more equipment.

      “We can’t exactly come down out of the woods looking whipped,” Spider observed. Other crews would give them grief. The Silver Bend Hot Shots were a proud bunch, unused to defeat.

      “Nope.”

      “I suppose you think we should do something about it.”

      “Yep.” Chainsaw swung around to grin at Spider again, nearly taking off Spider’s head with his chainsaw.

      Spider ducked and wove to the left. “Couldn’t agree more.” They were a tight-knit group that watched out for each other. Spider had a bad feeling about this fire. It was hungry, and not just for timber and grass. It looked tame, but there were signs that said otherwise.

      If Spider saw Socrates he’d tell him what it was like up on the slopes. He’d tell him about the timber as dry and parched as kindling, just waiting for a spark to set it aflame. He’d point out that the seventy-degree slopes were just waiting to trap a fire team and overtake them as they tried to scramble up to safety.

      He may consider himself some kind of superhero, but his grandmother hadn’t raised no fool. There were adrenaline-pounding risks, and then there were fool’s errands. Spider hoped this fire wouldn’t turn into the latter.

      “It’s not going to look good, us coming into base camp with our tails between our legs.” Logan McCall, the crew’s other assistant superintendent, commented, catching up to them along with Golden.

      “Agreed. Any ideas?” Golden asked, looking at each of the three men as he spun his gold wedding band around his ring finger with his thumb.

      Spider tilted his head from shoulder to shoulder in an attempt to loosen up. “Yeah, let’s head back to the front line and forget all this political BS.”

      Golden looked heavenward. “Sure, let’s head out without Pulaskis.” The combination ax and hoe used to dig out brush as they cleared fuel from a fire’s path was an essential firefighting tool. СКАЧАТЬ