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“Copy.” A pause. “Can you get to her?”

“Ravine road. North Fork to the old ranch road along the ravine, then south across the black. Brush truck can drive it. It’s flat. I walked it in September with Lindsey. I know every foot.”

The radio is quiet for three seconds. Four. That’s Caleb thinking.

“Do it,” he says. “Raines, Wallace, take Brush 1 in through the black on the ravine road. Stay in the black. You don’t touch green. You don’t leave the black for any reason. Folsom, Novak, you’re with Engine 1 on structure protection at the barns, from the black side. Weber’s got two engines coming up North Fork and a water tender behind them. I’ve got command.”

Another pause. “Lookout is me. Escape route is the black. Safety zone is the black. Everybody copy?”

“Copy.”

Lookout, communications, escape routes, safety zones. LCES. They drilled it into us at the academy until we said it in our sleep. In the Rangers we had other words for it, but it comes down to the same thing. Know where you’ll run before you need to.

Caleb keeps going, because Caleb doesn’t stop until the board is clean.

“Dispatch, Eden Command. I need a status on Rocky Mountain Power.”

“Command, Dispatch.” Susan sounds level now. “Rocky Mountain Power has a line crew rolling from Ogden, ETA twenty-five. They cannot confirm the line is de-energized.”

“Copy. All units, that line is hot until the power company tells me different. Nobody goes within thirty feet of it. Nobody puts water on it. Deputy’s got the road.”

“Dispatch copies. Weber Fire District reports two engines and a tender on North Fork, ETA twelve.”

“Copy. Weber’s first engine takes the right flank off North Fork. Tie in with Engine 1 at the barns.”

Novak’s voice cuts in from Engine 1. “Command, E1. We’re at the lane, staging. Pinky would like it on the record that he called this at breakfast⁠—”

“Novak,” Caleb says.

“Clearing the air, Chief.”

Rob laughs once, short, beside me. Then he looks at my face and stops.

“She’s on the black, Sarge,” he says. “You told her right. She listened. Let’s go get your girl.”

Nate is already throwing me the keys to the brush truck.

Rob climbs in the passenger side. He checks his radio and his gloves and pulls his goggles down, and puts his hand on the dashboard while I throw it in gear, and I take Brush 1 down North Fork Road at forty-five with the lights going.

The ravine road is a dirt two-track that runs along the rim of the ravine where we found Danielle’s car. I slow to twenty, and at twenty it still feels like I’m trying to kill us. The brush truck bucks and slams over the ruts. Black ground on both sides. Burned sagebrush stumps. Ash blowing up off the ground in clouds.

Rob has the oh-shit handle in both fists.

“Sarge,” he says, through his teeth. “I’d like to live to get married.”

“Then hang the hell on.”

“I am hanging on.” He keys his radio with one hand and keeps the other on the handle. “Command, Brush 1. We’re in the black on the ravine road, southbound.”

“Copy, Brush 1. Give me a PAR when you have her.”

“Copy.” Rob lets go of the radio and grabs the dash again. “If you roll this truck, Cassia’s going to kill you. Then she’s going to kill me for letting you. Then she’s going to cry at both funerals and tell everybody it was her idea to come in through the black.”

“Noted.”

“I’m serious. Holy shit, that’s a rut.”

The radio crackles. Nate sounds clipped and flat. “Command, Engine 1. On the barns. Two lines charged. Fire’s on the south wall of the big barn, low. We’re knocking it.”