“He’s your nephew!” Cami says in surprise. “Are you really going to abandon him?”
“He shouldn’t have wandered off. That’s on him.”
I stumble back to my tent, but instead of packing, I pull on my fireproof gear and helmet and N95 mask and the backpack with the pump setup we were using to fight the fire yesterday.
Then, with the sound of helicopter blades approaching, I start back along the river in the direction Dex vanished. The smoke is thicker than ever—no one will have seen me go.
This time, even though my lungs are tight with panic, I force myself to make a more systematic search. I zigzag back and forth covering a stretch of land that reaches fifty feet out from the riverbank, shining my headlamp through the gloom to investigate every irregularity in the ground.
Behind me, I can hear when the helicopter lands at camp, thechop-chop-chopof the rotor blades holding at a steady volume for several minutes while the crew piles in. I pick up my pace, praying no one will try to find me, but I shouldn’t have worried—there’s a single shout of, “Korren! Dex!” and then the helicopter takes off, the sound of its blades fading within minutes.
I’m alone on the smoke-drenched riverbank. And I fucking hope Chief Rhodes was serious about a second helicopter coming to rescue Dex later, because if not, we’re both out of luck.
Somehow the seriousness of our predicament muffles some of my panic, and I’m thinking clearer than before.
I make quicker progress along the uneven ground, and then I see it—a line of fire that’s jumped the river and is smoldering an arc through the grasses on this side, low flames licking up from the ground.
Fuck. Dex wasn’t wearing any of his gear.
The line of fire isn’t wide, so I take a running jump and clear the smoldering arc. Beyond it, there are smaller fires everywhere. I can see why we’ve abandoned camp.
It’s not far past the first of the fires that I spot a large form sprawled on the grass.
My lungs are tight as I sprint toward Dex. His pants are mildly singed, but otherwise he looks unhurt, so he’s probably passed out from breathing in too much smoke.
At least, I pray that’s all it is.
I dash to his side and put a hand against his mouth. It’s hard to tell with the wind picking up, but I can feel him breathing.
“Dex,” I say urgently. “Dex.”
He groans but doesn’t wake up. So he’s not too far gone.
Fuck me. I’m crying again.
“Dex. Please. I need you to come back to me.”
I give his cheek a slap, and this time he doesn’t respond at all.
Firefighters are always trained in how to drag people bigger than them, but I don’t know how far I can get him or how useful it will be with the fire spreading fast.
Don’t think about that. Just think about the next step.
If I let myself get derailed with the magnitude of this fucking huge crisis, I won’t be able to keep going.
Get Dex past the line of fire. That’s all I need to think about right now.
First I strip off my flame-resistant coat and roll Dex onto it, securing it around his shoulders, so he doesn’t catch on fire as we cross the smoldering stretch of ground. Then I pull out a length of rope that’s tied up with my pump kit and tie his wrists so I can drag him.
It’s not a nice business. His wrists are going to get rubbed raw, and he’ll be smashed against any rocks hiding in the tussocks. But right now I don’t have any other options.
As I dig in my heels and start dragging him toward the arc of burning grass that’s creeping toward camp, I’m praying my own shirt won’t go up in flames now that I’m not wearing a coat. If something happens to me, there’s no fucking way anyone is getting to us in time.
Step by step, I haul Dex over the tussocks. If he were awake, I’d have us walk through the river, but it’s deep right near camp and I can’t manage the current with an unconscious body in tow.
At least I’ve got my panic under control. Even though there are flames licking close to my boots and the smoke is thick enough to suffocate me, I’m handling it.
Because Dex is too fucking important to lose.
