“What’s the word, boss?”
“We’re shaking her tail, as ordered, but she’s got a damn long one. We’ll be hard-pressed to meet Yangtree’s ETA. We’ve got a water source coming up. It should be about a hundred yards, and a little to the west. We’ll put the baby hoses on her, pump it up and douse her like Dorothy doused the Wicked Witch.”
She took his Gatorade, chugged some down. “She’s burning hot, Gull. Some desk jockey waited too long to call in more troops, and now she’s riding this wind. If she rides it hard enough, she can get behind us. We’ve got to bust our humps, get to the water, hose her down and back.”
“Busting humps is what we do.”
Still, it took brutal, backbreaking time to reach the rushing mountain stream, while the fire fought to advance, while it threw brands like a school-yard bully throws rocks, its roar a constant barrage of taunts and threats.
“Dobie, Chainsaw, beat out those spots! Libby, Trigger, Southern, snags and brush. The rest of you, get those pumps set up, lay the hose.”
She grabbed one of the pumps, connected the fuel can line to the pump, vented it. Moving fast, sweat dripping, she attached the foot valve, checked the gasket, tightened it with a spanner wrench from her tool bag.
Beat it back here, she thought, had to, or they’d be forced to backtrack and round east, giving up hundreds of acres, risk letting the fire snake behind them and drive them farther away from the head, from Gibbons. From victory.
She set the wye valve on the discharge side of the pump, began to hand-tighten it. And found it simply circled like a drain.
“Come on, come on.” She fixed it on again, blaming her rush, but when she got the same result, examined the valve closely.
“Jesus Christ. Jesus, it’s stripped. The wye valve’s threads are stripped on this pump.”
Gull looked over from where he worked. “I’ve got the same deal here.”
“I’m good,” Janis called out on the third pump. “It’s priming.”
“Get it warmed up, get it going.”
But one pump wouldn’t do the job, she thought. Might as well try a goddamn piss bag.
“We’re screwed.” She slapped a fist on the useless pump.
Gull caught her eye. “No way two stripped valves end up on the pumps by accident.”
“Can’t worry about that now. We’ll hold her with one as long as we can, use the time to saw and dig a line. We’ll double back to that old Cat line we crossed, then retreat east. Goddamn it, give up all that ground. There’s no time to get more pumps or manpower in here. Maybe if I had some damn duct tape we could jerry-rig them.”
“Duct tape. Hold on.” He straightened, ran to where Dobie shoveled dirt over a dying spot fire.
Rowan watched in amazement as he ran back with a roll of duct tape. “For Dobie it’s like his Tabasco. He doesn’t leave home without it.”
“It could work, or work long enough.”
They worked together, placing the faulty valve, wrapping it tight and snug to the discharge. She added another insurance layer, continued the setup.
“Fingers crossed,” she said to Gull, and began to stroke the primer. “She’s priming,” she mumbled as water squirted out of the holes. “Come on, keep going. Duct tape heals all wounds. Keep those fingers crossed.”
She closed the valve to the primer, opened it to the collapsible hose.
“It’s going to work.”
“It
is
working,” she corrected, and flicked the switch to start and warm the engine. “Trigger, on the pump! Let’s get the other one going,” she said to Gull.
“Not two of them,” Gull repeated while they worked.
“No, not two of them. Somebody majorly fucked up or—”
“Deliberately.”
She let the word hang when she met his eyes. “Let’s get it running. We’ll deal with that when we get out of this mess.”
They beat it back, held the ground, laying a wet line with hoses, hot shoveling embers right back in the fire’s gullet. But Rowan’s satisfaction was tempered with a simmering rage. Accident or deliberate, carelessness or sabotage, she’d put her crew at risk because she’d trusted the equipment.
When they reached Yangtree’s proposed rendezvous time, they were still over a half mile south of the head with fourteen hours’ bitter labor on their backs. She deployed most of the crew north, sending two back to check the burnout, and once again cut across the burn.
She took the time to calm, to radio back to Ops with a report of the faulty equipment and the progress. But this time when she crossed the dead land, she heard the buzz of saws.
Encouraged, she followed the sound until she came to Gibbons’s line.
“Did I call this a clusterfuck?” He paused long enough to swipe his forearm over his brow. “What’s the next step up from that?”
“Whatever this is. We’ve run into everything but Bigfoot on this. I had two pumps with stripped wye valves.”
“I had three messed-up chain saws. Two with dead spark plugs, one with a frayed starter cord that snapped first pull. We had to—” He stopped, and his face reflected the shock and suspicion in hers. “What the fuck, Ro?”
“We need to brief on this, but I’ve got to get back to my crew. We’ll be lucky to make the head in another three hours the way it’s going.”
“How far east are you now?”
“A little more than a third of a mile. We’re tightening her up. We’ll talk about this when we camp. We may catch her tonight, but we’re not going to kill her.”
“The crew’s going to need rest. We’ll see how it goes. Check back in—if we don’t tie up before—around ten, let’s say.”
“You’ll hear from me.”
She caught up with her men, following the sound of saws as she had with Gibbons, found them sawing line through black spruce.
They’d been actively fighting for nearly eighteen hours. She could see the exhaustion, the hollow eyes, slack jaws.
She laid a hand on Libby’s arm, waited until the woman took out her earplugs. “Extended break. An hour. Nappie time. Pass it up the line.”
“Praise Jesus.”
“I’m going to recon toward the head, see what we have in store for us.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll kick its ass, if I have my nappie time.”
She signaled to Gull. “I’m going to recon the head. You could come with me, but you’d miss an hour’s downtime.”
“I’d rather walk through the wilderness with my woman.”
“Then let’s go.”
They walked through the spruce while around them jumpers dumped their tools, dropped down on the ground or sprawled on rocks.
“Gibbons had three defective chain saws—two dead spark plugs, one bad starter cord.”
“I’d say that makes it officially sabotage.”
“That’s unofficial until the review, but, yeah, that’s what it was.”
“Cards was spotter. That puts him as loadmaster.”
“Load being the operative word,” she reminded him. “He wouldn’t check every valve and spark plug. He just makes sure everything gets loaded on, and loaded right.”
“Yeah, that’s true enough. Look, I like Cards. I don’t want to point fingers at anybody, but this kind of thing? It has to be one of us.”
She didn’t want to hear it. “A lot of people could get to the equipment. Support staff, mechanics, pilots, cleaning crews. It’s not just who the hell—it’s why the hell.”
“Another good point.”
Because she felt shaky, she took out one of her precious Cokes for a shot of caffeine and sugar, and used it to make yet another energy bar more palatable.
“We wouldn’t have been trapped,” she added. “We had time to take an escape route, get to a safe zone. If we hadn’t fixed the hoses and held that line, we’d have gotten out okay.”
“But,” he prompted.
“Yeah, but if the situation had been different, if we’d gotten in a fix and needed the hoses to get out, some of us could’ve been hurt, or worse.”
“So the why could be one, wanting to screw around, cause trouble. Two, wanting to give fire an advantage. Or three, wanting somebody to get hurt or worse.”
“I don’t like any of those options.” Each one of them made her sick. “But the way this summer’s been going, I’m afraid it might be three. L.B.’s ordering a full inspection of all equipment, right down to boot snaps.” She pulled off her gloves to rub her tired eyes.
“I don’t want to waste the energy being pissed about it,” she told him, “not until we demob anyway. God, Gull. Look at her burn.”
They stopped a moment, stood staring at the searing wall.
She’d fought fire on more than one front before. She knew how.
But she’d never fought two enemies in the same war.
26
E
lla studied Lucas across the pretty breakfast table she’d set up on the deck. She’d gone to a little trouble—crepes and shirred eggs on her best china, fat mixed berries in pretty glass bowls, mimosas in tall, crystal flutes, and one of her Nikko Blue hydrangeas sunk into a low, square glass vase for a centerpiece.
She liked to go to the trouble now and again, and Lucas usually showed such appreciation. Even for cold cereal and a mug of black coffee, she thought, he always thanked her for the trouble.
But this morning he said little, and only toyed with the food she’d so carefully prepared.
She wondered if he was regretting taking the day off to be with her, to go poking around the Missoula Antique Mall. Her idea, she reminded herself, and really, did any man enjoy the prospect of spending the day shopping?
“You know, it occurs to me you might like to do something else today. Lucas,” she said when he didn’t respond.
“What?” His gaze lifted from his plate. “I’m sorry.”
“If you could do anything, what would you want to do today?”
“Honestly. I’d be up in Alaska with Rowan.”
“You’re really worried about her.” She reached over for his hand. “I know you must worry every time, but this seems more. Is it more?”
“I talked to L.B. while you were fixing breakfast. He thought I should know—No, she’s fine. They’re fine,” he said when her fingers jerked in his. “But the fire’s tougher and bigger than they thought. You get that,” he added with a shrug. “The thing that’s got me worried is it turns out they jumped with several pieces of defective equipment, tools.”
“Aren’t those kind of things inspected and maintained? That shouldn’t happen.”
“Yeah, they’re checked and tested. Ella, they think these tools may have been tampered with.”
“You mean . . . Well, God, Lucas, no wonder you’re worried. What happens now?”
“They’ll examine the equipment, investigate, review. L.B.’s already ordered a complete inspection of everything on base.”
“That’s good, but it doesn’t help Rowan or the rest of them on the fire.”
“When you’re on a fire, you’ve got to depend on yourself, your crew and, by God, on your equipment. It could’ve gone south on my girl.”
“But she’s all right? You’re sure?”
“Yeah. They worked nearly twenty-four hours before making camp. She’s getting some sleep now. They’ll hit it early today; they’ll have the light. They dropped them more equipment, and they’re sending in another load of jumpers, more hotshots. They’re sending in another tanker, and . . .” He trailed off, smiled a little, waved his hand. “Enough fire talk.”
She shook her head. “No. You talk it through. I want you to be able to talk it through with me.”
“What they had was your basic clusterfuck. Delays in calling in more men and equipment, erratic winds and a hundred percent active perimeter. Fire makes its own weather,” he continued, and pleased her when talking relaxed him enough to have him cutting into a crepe. “This one kicked up a storm, kept bumping the line—that means it spots and rolls, delays containment. Blowups, eighty-foot flames across the head.”
“Oh, my God.”
“She’s impressive,” he said, and amazed Ella by smiling.
“You really do wish you were there.” She narrowed her eyes, pointed at him. “And not just for Rowan.”
“I guess it never goes away, all the way away. Bottom line is they’ve made good progress. They’re going to have a hell of a day ahead of them, but they’ll have her crying uncle by tonight.”
“You know what you should do—the next best thing to flying yourself to Alaska and jumping out over Rowan’s campsite? You should go on over to the base.”
“They don’t need me over there.”
“You may have retired, but you’re still Iron Man Tripp. I bet they could use your expertise and experience. And you’d feel closer to Rowan and to the action.”
“We had plans for the day,” he reminded her.
“Lucas, don’t you know me better by now?”
He looked at her, then took her hand to his lips. “I guess I do. I guess you know me, too.”