“DRAGONS, HUH?”
Years ago, when she’d first started fighting fires, Trish Banzier’s father had warned her that most crews had their own hazing traditions, but even after the two-hour video presentation, complete with “photographic evidence,” she still couldn’t believe anyone would actually fall for such a ridiculous story.
The video ended and, as the lights went on, Banzier stared down the base manager for the West Yellowstone Smokejumpers, waiting for him to break into laughter and tell her it was all a joke so she could re-join her team. She hadn’t worked for five years on a hotshot crew and all spring on Yellowstone’s gruelling training regimen just to lose her nerve on the first real day at her dream job. Nothing—not even dragons—was going to take that from her.
“You’re telling me, sir,” she said, looking around for a hidden camera or two-way mirror from which her new teammates might be watching and laughing at her initiation, “there are dragons living underground in the caldera, and that nearly half of the Yellowstone forest fires are caused by them wandering to the surface and . . . breathing fire? That the supervolcano is all just a cover for the existence of dragons?”
“Afraid so, Banzier,” the manager said grimly. “They tend to emerge from their dens in the summertime, when it’s hot and dry. The rangers put up roadblocks and try to guide them back through the hydrothermal vents if they catch ’em quick enough, but you know how dragons are.”
“Can’t say I do, sir.” Banzier crossed her arms.
“They’re temperamental. Dangerous.” He leaned across the desk. “We couldn’t tell you until you were officially in, but the important thing for you smokejumpers is to treat it like any other fire. Parachute in, assess the situation, contain the blaze, and─most importantly─keep these valuable members of the park’s natural ecosystem secure and secret.”
Banzier set her jaw. How long were they going to keep this prank going? No matter; she’d outlast them, just like she’d outlasted all the other recruits during training camp. They’d have to do a lot better than this if they wanted to psych her out. She touched the piece of half-melted metal in her pocket.
“I won’t let you down,” she said.
“Good.” The manager leaned back in his chair, unaware that the comment wasn’t for him. “Glad to see you’re taking this so well. Most folks wouldn’t, you know. No telling what might happen if word got out.”
The siren went off, and the manager nodded grimly. “Time to get your first look at the park’s most endangered species.”
BANZIER REFUSED TO mention the D-word.
Not when she joined the seven other jumpers aboard the Dornier 228 and the pilot leaned over with a wink and shouted, “First real fire, eh?”
Not when one of her teammates leaned in and asked if she’d gotten “the whole story” yet.
And certainly not when the team leader, Coolidge, passed her a flat plate of silver like you might find on someone’s wedding registry.
“What’s this for?”
“They like shiny things,” Coolidge said. “It’s in case you need a distraction.”
“Uh-huh.” She set it on the seat beside her and, to calm her nerves, triple-checked her chute. She wished they’d drop the stupid dragon gag—she had enough to worry about. She’d been fighting fires since she was eighteen and had jumped dozens of times, but that was just training. Now, she was an official smokejumper. She couldn’t afford to mess up.
“Stay close this first jump.” Coolidge patted her shoulder. “We’ll show you how it’s done.”
Unable to find her voice, Banzier nodded and ran her thumb over the melted badge, feeling the sharpness of its edge through her thick gloves.
“What’ve you got there, Rookie?”
Banzier tucked the badge into her pocket. “It was my dad’s.”
Before Coolidge could respond, the spotters called for Banzier to jump, and she grabbed her gear—over one hundred pounds, wedged tightly into a pack she’d stitched herself—and took a deep breath. The spotter slapped her shoulder, and she jumped.
Air whipped past her, already hazy and thick with smoke. This was her favourite part: the freefall, with the forest all around her, nothing man-made as far as the eye could see, save for the jet droning above. Just her and the clouds and miles and miles of vast, green wilderness.
Her chute deployed flawlessly and she assessed the scene as she navigated the currents, keeping an eye on her teammates’ chutes. It was important to stay close, yet not so close that they’d risk becoming entangled. Red-orange flames licked the trunks of lodgepole pines, but the fire hadn’t spread far yet. There was still time to contain it.
The ground approached, but as she prepared for the landing something moving near the fire’s head caught her eye.
A gust of wind caught her chute and, distracted as she was, she didn’t pull it back under control in time. It veered sharply away from her teammates. She landed roughly in her tuck-and-roll, then tumbled down a small escarpment, closer to the fire than she ought to be, with not a single one of her teammates in sight.
There was no time to chide herself for the error. On the ground, in the midst of the fire, every second counted. She struggled to her feet and, as she unclipped her chute, she reached into her suit to ensure her father’s badge was still there.
A shadow fell upon her. Something massive towered over her, blocking the wind. She turned and let out a low curse.
A dragon.
An honest-to-goodness dragon that looked just like she’d seen in picture books as a child: scaly and long-necked and vicious. It had teeth that glowed like hot steel and claws that were each the size of a shovel. Smoke rose from its nostrils, and it stared at Banzier with milky eyes.
No, not at her, she realized. At the badge.
She tried to shove it back into her suit, but it was too late. The dragon roared and lunged toward her.
Banzier ran. The team’s warnings hadn’t prepared her for this. Why hadn’t she listened? And what was she supposed to do now with this thing lumbering through the forest behind her? Where was her team?
She stumbled, falling to the ground, and braced herself. Her suit would withstand two thousand degrees for four seconds, but how hot was the dragon’s breath?
It can’t end like this. Her heart sank with each rumble of the earth as the beast moved in closer, and she gripped the badge. It’d been foolish, she knew, to think it’d protect her when it hadn’t protected her father.
Then she remembered: the hydrothermal vents.
She rolled just in time. The dragon bellowed as its claws slashed the air where she’d just been. Banzier held the badge over her head and raced toward the nearest vent. She’d had to learn all the vents’ locations during training; now she knew why. Panting, she waved the badge in the smoke-tinged air. It glinted in the sunlight, and—when she was sure the monster was looking—she took careful aim, and then tossed it into the steaming crevice in the earth.
The dragon dove after it, squeezing its massive body through the tiny crack like a mouse slipping beneath a door.
Banzier fell to her knees.
Her crew raced up behind her, whooping and hollering and offering to buy her beers.
“Nice work, Rookie!”
“Nerves of steel!”
“Thought you’d be barbeque for sure!”
“All right, folks,” Coolidge yelled, clapping her hands. “The rookie’s dealt with the source for us. Now, let’s take care of this fire before the wind picks up.”
As the rest of the crew gathered their supplies and jogged off toward the fire line, Coolidge reached down to help Banzier to her feet. “Nice recovery, Rookie. You’d have made him proud.”