All around Jackson and his teammates, the wind blew fiery hot and strong, sending smoke and sparks shooting into the sky. The tornado of flame advanced in their direction like a terrible monster, gobbling up the woods in a murderous rage.
“Deploy your shelters!” MacHugh roared over the din of fire and wind. “Everyone! Deploy your shelters!”
Jackson snapped out of his moment of stark terror. He glanced around. Everyone stood like statues framed by a backdrop of raging fire as if MacHugh had shot a stun gun at each of them in succession. Fear and disbelief shone from his team member’s eyes.
He spied a rock face to their left, which looked to be about twenty feet tall. “Over here. Everyone. To the rock wall. Do as our captain advised and get your shelters out, now!”
They seemed to shake themselves out of their momentary stupor. Over and over, they had trained to deploy their shelters in regular drills. Now was the time for action.
Jackson scrambled toward the rock wall and set to work, yanking open the Velcro closure of the shelter hanging from his belt. The familiar routine brought a sense of control.
Without looking up, he shouted, “There’s too much wind! On your knees, everyone. On your knees!”
Facing the windstorm, he dropped to the ground, pulled out his shelter, and hunched over the thick rectangle of aluminum and silica weave, wrestling it open. Normally, in a less hostile environment, he’d simply shake it open, step into it, drop to the ground and pull it tight around his body. The high gusts made it nearly impossible to unfold. As far as Jackson could tell, the wind could be blowing at fifty mph. Clutching the fluttering foil blanket with a white-knuckled grip, he brought his knees on top of one of the edges. He glanced up to see how the others were faring.
They all seemed to be experiencing the same struggle.
The rapidly approaching firestorm roared and crackled with deafening intensity. The air reeked of an acrid smell. He coughed as a blast of smoke-choked air filled his lungs. If there were truly a hell, this had to be what it sounded, smelled, and felt like. He didn’t dare let himself feel the terror hovering just outside his consciousness. The only thing he could do was act rapidly and as skillfully as possible in the maelstrom.
Pinning the shelter to the earth with his knees, he wriggled his head and arms into it as it rippled and shook in the wind. He maneuvered his feet into it and then secured it to the ground with his left hip as he worked to pin it around him.
The wind tried to pick him up, and his shelter fluttered violently around his body. Again, his mind went blank with terror. He wrestled with finding control, digging his elbows and his toes into the ground. Finally, he pressed his face close to the ground where the air was the cleanest and coolest.
He didn’t have to wait long for the first wave of fire and heat to roll over him, escorted by a cacophony of shrieking wind. Embers, branches, and God knew what rained down on him, accompanied by scorching radiant heat. He felt like he would ignite beneath the shelter but calmed himself, knowing the temperature outside was at least one hundred times hotter. One of the deadliest fires to date, the Carr fire, had been clocked at 2700 degrees.
God help us if this blaze gets that hot.
The tempest tried to lift his legs. He spread them as wide as he could in his narrow shelter and pressed the toes of his boots into the ground. He kept punching the shelter with his elbows to keep the radiant heat from touching his body. His back felt like it was being blasted by a blow torch.
Trees exploded with a whoosh all around him.
Engulfed by an inferno in the Devil’s playground, he struggled to recall the mental part of the training in “what to do if you ever have to deploy your shelter.” Item number one was something about “keep your cool by calming your thoughts. You can survive.”
His mind sought Blaire. Baby, if you can sense me…just…what? Tell her all will be well? Fuck that. If I die, she’ll be devastated. But if I die, she has to keep going and live a beautiful life. She’s a beautiful woman. Hot tears leaked from his eyes. But if Karlos gets to her first? Impotent rage shot through him. They’d barely begun to love one another. Talk about a fucked-up injustice to renew their love after the Share-gate crisis only to have it all end because of his captain’s stupidity.
The big question kept rolling through his mind. Could Karlos have started this fire? Is he that much of a maniac? But why? He couldn’t fit the pieces together in a neat pattern. Something just didn’t make sense.
He thought he heard a crackle through the radio—something about Engine Forty-Three and accountable but the din around him made it impossible to make out the rest.
A sharp spike of anger lanced his belly. MacHugh would have to be held accountable. He’d make certain. They should have sought safety when the winds changed direction or when the spot fires proved too daunting or… He shook his head. There were numerous times to seek safety. Trees could regrow. Structures could be rebuilt. Lives lost were simply gone, leaving nothing but heartbreak and devastation in their wake.
Seeking cool air, he clawed at the ground, jamming dirt into his fingernails. His body surrounded by scathing heat, breathing proved difficult. It was like sticking his face into a vat of scalding steam and trying to take a breath.
The blaze sounded like freight trains roaring over him, digging into his back with a searing vengeance. More trees exploded. Endless debris and branches toppled over his back. He kept elbowing the shield as the weight of whatever crashed atop him pressed more broiling agony against him. Desperation tore at him. I’ll never survive this. He kept his face pressed into the earth, and his fingers kept digging, and digging, and digging, seeking cool air. Smoke clogged his lungs. He longed to escape, to lift the flap and run but that would be suicide. Wrapped in his aluminum blanket, he might not make it, but it was the only chance he had.
He thought about his fucked up, piece of shit brother and his own idiocy in enabling him. If Jake and I survive, the only help he’s going to get from me will be a suggestion to get a job. Better yet, maybe I should kick him out of my life. Tell him to stay the hell away from me until he’s fifteen years clean and sober.
A cry emerged through the din of hell.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’ll never be able to forgive me.”
Is that MacHugh? He’s probably right.
“I can’t take it. I’ll never be able to live like this,” MacHugh cried. Someone rolled into his right side, along with a rustling noise, barely discernible over the fire’s wrath.
Another bone-chilling cry rang out. An excruciating sense of dread shot through Jackson’s body. Then, something heavy landed on top of him.
Someone to his left let out a heart-wrenching, muffled scream that raised every hair on his body. Jackson bucked the weight from his back, struggling to keep his shelter in place.
The person on his left wriggled, too.
Oh, my fucking God. Did MacHugh release his shelter and burn to a crisp? Is that what fell over me and whoever is next to me? Utter terror blasted through him. Keep it together, O’Halloran. Fucking keep it together. Focus on your survival. This will end one way or another, but it will end.
He conjured up the faces of his teammates, all enduring the same hell. These people were his righteous and true family. They worked and trained side by side. They ate together, sharing the sense of camaraderie he’d never experienced growing up. He owed these people his life. Being in the fire department had given him back his hope. It had lifted him out of his fucked-up childhood struggles and made him feel like he belonged.
Then his thoughts circled back to Blaire. Baby, if I don’t make it, I want you to find someone new to love. But, if I do make it, I’m swearing my life to you, heart, soul, and everything in between. I love you to the moon and back and beyond. I’ll love you until I’m nothing but dust. And then I’ll seek you out and love you throughout time.
Gradually, the horrific caterwaul ceased. The radio crackled, but Jackson couldn’t hear anything but static garbage.
An anguished silence descended over them. The wind continued to howl, carrying empty promises—Jackson knew there would nothing left here to consume. Down the hill, the fiery typhoon could be heard spreading its devastation.
From his cocoon, he called out, “Roll call, brothers and sisters. I’ll start. O’Halloran.”
His voice felt scratchy and raw.
“Callahan.” Griffin’s voice emerged muffled, but by God, he was alive.
“Ames.”
“Smith.”
“Hubbard.”
One by one, everyone called out their names—everyone but MacHugh.
“MacHugh, are you with us?” Jackson called.
No answer.
“MacHugh!”
Jackson’s hand wriggled around to find his radio. “Command, this is One-Fifty-Seven.”
A scratchy crackle was his only response.
“Command, this is One-Fifty-Seven. All are accounted for but Fifty-Nine. Repeat. All are accounted for but Fifty-Nine.”
The same frustrating static met his ears.
He blew out his breath, unsure whether anyone from Command heard him or not.
A strange silence settled all around, as they all waited in the aftermath, hunched in their foil blankets.
“Anyone got a joke?” Jackson said.
Griffin groaned. “Really, Hollerback?”
“Yes, really,” he said.
At first, no one said anything.
Then, Mark said, “How do you know there’s a firefighter at a party?”
“He’ll tell you,” Tom said.
A few chuckles lifted Jackson’s spirit.
“What makes cops and firefighters similar?” Tara called.
“I don’t know, what?” Griffin said.
“They both want to be firefighters.”
“That’s terrible,” Mark said.
Others guffawed.
“How’s everyone doing?” Jackson called from his cocoon. “Ever think you’d live through hell?”
Silence met his ears.
“I’m proud of you all,” he said.
“Damn, I was singing my last rites in my head,” Griffin said.
“I hear that,” Mark said in a loud, raspy voice. “I tried to get a direct line to Jesus, Allah, and the Buddha—I was down with whoever would listen.”
Murmurs of similar sentiments rippled through the group.
“So we hang tight here for a while. The worst is over,” Jackson said, unsure whether this was true or not. Emerging from their shelters too soon would be a mistake. “I’m going to see if I can get through and call this in.” He found his radio. “Command from One-Fifty-Seven.”
“One-Fifty-Seven, go ahead.”
Relief washed over Jackson at hearing Command.
“We’re about to exit our shelters. The firestorm has passed.”
“Thank God,” Menendez said, his voice cracking. “We thought we lost you.”
A few cheers from Command could be heard through the radio, relaying through everyone’s pagers and radios down the line.
“Is anyone injured?”
“Don’t know, sir. We’re all accounted for save MacHugh.”
A weighted silence filled his cocooned space.
“We’re going to give it another thirty to forty minutes before we come out.”
“Copy that. I’ll send transport.” Menendez paused. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”
Me, too, Jackson thought. Me, too. Still, the last thing he had to deal with was finding Karlos. That was a deadly fire in its own right.