Page 11 of Into the Fire

“You got wider.”

“Muscle.”

“Sure.”

“Fence posts don’t dig their own holes,” Dante said.

“Arms up.”

Nash worked through the process: feet, torso, and harness geometry. I didn’t particularly enjoy watching it.

Nash finished the last measurement and headed for the loft office. He fished through a file drawer and pulled out a card gone soft at the corners. He laid his new one on top, stapled them, and put them in the drawer.

“Your feet grew,” he said, as he came out of the office.

“They did not.”

“Half a size.”

“Boots seem to run small these days,” Dante said.

“Everything runs small when your feet grow.”

Marty arrived mid-sentence, glasses pushed up on his forehead, carrying paper. “Nash. Cargo chute inventory certification. You were supposed to sign it Monday.”

“I read your email.”

“Then why isn’t it signed?”

Silence.

“That’s what I thought.” Marty put the form on the bench and dropped a pen on it. Then he turned toward Dante. “There he is. Forty-one twenty-two, I heard.”

“Shep’s been busy.”

“Shep put it on the whiteboard in Operations. I’d have stopped him, but he looked proud of himself.” He watched Nash sign the certification. “You still eat those sardines?”

Dante laughed. “That was one season.”

“It was every day of one season. Fellhauer used to check the wind before he’d sit next to you at lunch.”

“They’re good for you.”

“They’re good for nobody downwind.” Marty tucked the form under his arm. “There’s a per diem line on your requal packet that Regional filled out wrong. Wrong rate. They used the one from the last fiscal year. I caught it and resubmitted, so if anyone from Helena calls you about money, hang up. I’ve handled it.”

“Thanks, Marty.”

“Read your email,” he said in Nash’s direction. He was out the door before anyone could respond.

Dante looked at me. Nash put the harness on him and went to work.

Leg straps first. Snug, seated flat, no roll in the webbing. He ran two fingers under each one.

Chest strap. Buckle centered, webbing flat, tail secured. Dante didn’t look away from me.

Nash stepped back, and we both took in the full picture. He’d been fitting harnesses longer than I’d been running the base, but I checked his work anyway.

I stepped forward and adjusted the webbing across Dante’s chest a millimeter. I gave one leg strap a quick tug, too.