PABLO
THE FIRE BURNED FOR SEVEN DAYS. THERE WERE TWENTY-TWO fatalities, six of them firefighters. Over eight hundred homes were destroyed; countless animals were killed—both wild and domestic. You know where it started? One of the Pepe Le Pew sites up by Bulldog Ridge. Don’t ask me how those arson guys can trace the source of the biggest wildfire in California history to a faulty connection between a Mexican camp stove and a funky can of butane, but they did. I wasn’t surprised. Those Le Pew guys were always loaded, sloppy as hell.
Ellis’ house was fine but we had to drive north and stay out of the area for about a week because the air quality got so bad. We were worried about the baby. I went back out into the hills as soon as we got home to see what had happened to my Mexican captor. I don’t know what I was hoping to find, maybe evidence that he escaped. But he didn’t. There wasn’t much left, and I didn’t examine it too closely, but the guy was there, curled on the ground, burnt beyond recognition. And I’m gonna wonder for the rest of my life who he was and did his family ever find out what happened to him. He set me free. He didn’t have to. That little guy saved my life and I wish there was something I could have done for him.
There’s not going to be much marijuana activity in this area for a long time. The hills are scorched and naked now, no canopy to hide under. The cartels are going to have to find another place to do business, at least for the time being.
The rains started early this year and have been unusually heavy. They’ve wreaked havoc with the highway. Huge walls of mud and rock have covered the road in six different areas. The ocean has been this charcoal brown for weeks and it stinks of chemicals. It’s so polluted with the run-off from the burn areas that no one can even think about surfing. The shore break is thick with debris, the sand coated in this oily sheen; dead dolphins and sea lions have been washing up on the beaches. It’s a mess.
But there is good news. People are moving out in droves. Those that weren’t traumatized enough by the fire can’t seem to handle the reality of being cut off from the city. It’s a two-hour drive around the back to get into town. There are all kinds of inconveniences. No newspaper delivery. No fresh baked goods. Food deliveries to the markets come in on Mondays and Thursdays instead of daily. You can’t buy baby arugula, goat cheese or crème fraiche out here anymore. We’re down to basics and basics are not what you’re after if you’ve paid $15 million for your house. So yeah, they’re jumping ship and that makes Ellis and me very happy. I hear there’s another beach community south of the city that’s becoming very popular. It’s not quite as beautiful but much more accessible.
Ellis is going to have the baby any time. She found out it’s a girl and I’m telling you, it’s completely freaky when that baby moves around. You can see parts of her sliding across her momma’s huge belly. We haven’t exactly made a game plan. I’ve got my camper parked in the driveway, pretty much permanently. Sometimes I sleep in the house with Ellis, sometimes outside. She’s grumpy a lot but whenever I mention moving up the coast a ways, she insists that I stay. So I will. I’ll keep it parked right here for as long as she needs me and we’ll just take it as it comes.
