Page 97 of Until We Come Home

The fire has crossed the road and is pushing into the timber toward the east side of town. The red glow moves steadily through the trees, heading straight for Calvin’s bluff.

I pull out my phone and see messages from Calvin, Theo, Maren, and two from Mia.

Mia: Are you okay?

Mia: I’m with Calvin and Maren. Please be careful. I love you.

I type back fast.

Mateo: I’m safe. I love you too, and I’ll find you as soon as I can.

My radio crackles before I can pocket the phone.

“All units, this is Command,” Holloway’s strained voice reports. “The fire is at four hundred acres and moving west rapidly. Level 2 evacuations are now active for east Dark River. We have officially requested state mobilization, and out-of-county strike teams are en route. ETA is three to four hours. Hold your lines.”

Kessler leans against the truck and lets out a long breath. “State mob. Thank God.”

Three to four hours is a long time with an exhausted crew, but help is coming. Then my phone buzzes again with a text from Barnes.

Barnes: Station 7 is rolling on the Seattle strike team. ETA 3 hours. Hold the line and stay safe until we get there.

That gets a smile out of me as I stand and grab my gear.

“Come on,” I tell Tyler, pulling him to his feet. “We’ve got three hours to hold this mountain. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 30

Mateo

By nightfall, the whole sky over Dark River glows orange. From the edge of the Ridgeview neighborhood, I can see the fire stretched across the mountain like a living thing, a ragged red line miles long, pulsing and breathing in the night.

It’s become a beast since this morning, sweeping across the broad ridge and dropping into the gullies, throwing embers far ahead in long, glowing streams that drift down the mountain like shooting stars. Every fresh gust sends another stand of trees up, a flash of orange lighting the smoke from beneath.

Ordinarily, fires lie down after sunset. The temperature drops, humidity climbs, and crews gain ground. Not tonight. That dry, bitter east wind keeps pouring off the mountain, and the fire shows no sign of lying down.

Station 7 pulled in around four, Barnes leading the way in his pickup with five rigs trailing behind him, one from our station and four borrowed from 3, 4, and 9. Holloway transferred me back to my own crew as soon as they arrived, and I’ve been on the line with them ever since.

Barnes is running strike team command, Rebecca has our rig, and Callum, James, Ollie, and I are handling structure protection along Ridgeview’s eastern border, the last stand between the flames and the rest of town. James got his cast off four days ago and begged his way onto the roster, and nobody had the energy to argue with him.

It’s exhausting work. We prep properties the way we did at the Hendricks place, hauling firewood and porch chairs away from the siding, clearing gutters, pulling hose, soaking down roofs. When the fire creeps close, we hold it at the edge of the yards and knock down the embers. Once a house is clear, we move to the next.

The houses here are newer than the ones down on Bear Creek, set back farther from the tree line with decent clearance, and half of them have metal roofs. These are houses we actually have a shot at saving.

“Mateo,” Barnes shouts over from his tailgate, a topo map spread out and pinned down with a radio. “You and Ollie, over here.”

Ollie jogs up beside me, his face streaked with soot under his helmet, eyes wide with adrenaline. He’s been glued to my side since the station arrived.

“Division wants somebody patrolling the dozer line along the north border,” Barnes says, tapping a line curving along the top of the subdivision. “DNR cut it earlier today. It runs from the cul-de-sac at the end of Ridgeview Court along the base of the slope up to the water tank, about a mile. Wind’s dropping embers over it constantly, and I want eyes on it before anything gets established on this side. If you spot anything below the line, knock it down.”

“Got it,” I say, starting to turn.

“Wait,” he says, grabbing my arm. “Small stuff only. If it’s bigger than you can handle with a pump and a tool, you call it in. You don’t engage. Stay on the line. Escape route’s back the way you came, safety zone’s the cul-de-sac. Got it?”

I nod.

“Good. Check in with me every fifteen minutes.” Barnes glances at Ollie, then back at me. “And keep him on a short leash.”

“Will do,” I say.