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Easy.
I was thinking only of myself. Of my birth father’s confession. I noticed nothing about the condition in the woods that reeked of fire hazards.
Damn.
Still, the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. My best bet is to go down the way I came.
I continue walking, twigs and leaves crunching with each step I take. I inhale. The scent of burning brush is stronger here, and the air quality sucks.
Still, I see no flames. I hurry.
Another mile down, and then another. I’m about ten miles out when the wind picks up.
A streak of flame rushes through the dry brush ahead of me.
An ember lands on my forearm, and I brush it away.
Fuck.
I’m walking right to the path of the fire.
I stop. This isn’t new to me. I’ve lived on the western slope most of my life, and we’ve dealt with fires before. I concentrate on the breeze. Which way is it coming from?
Shit. It’s blowing west. Toward the vines.
I need to go upwind—toward the wind—to escape the fire. But if I walk into the wind, I walk away from my vines.
Away from Ashley.
I turn, ready to do what any backpacker knows is the first step of escaping fire, but my feet don’t move. They stay stuck, leaves swirling around them, embers still flying.
Go, damn it, I yell inside my head. Is your life worth those vines?
I love those damned vines.
They’re such a huge part of me.
They are me in so many ways.
Move downhill.
Yes, that’s something. The hot air masses created by the fire will rise.
Downhill is against the wind.
Downhill is toward the fire.
Uphill will give me better chances, but downhill is toward my vineyards.
Downhill is toward Ashley.
I trudge downhill.
Streaks of fire still spark through the rough terrain, but they’re small. I need a natural firebreak—something I can follow all the way down to the ranch property.
There’s a small creek nearby. It’ll take me a mile out of my way, but the fire can’t get across it. I move slightly north to find it.
I gasp when another streak of fire surges by. I jump over this one, still heading toward the creek.
Embers fly around me, one singeing my cheek.
“Damn it!” I run now, backpack be damned. Nothing will keep me from the creek.
Except fire.
More streaks, and before me a wall of flame has risen.
Now what?
Pine trees. Big ones. They’re all around me. Some are dead from pine beetles. I need a live one to shelter under, and even that is far from a sure thing.
The creek is out of the question. The fire looms between me and the water.
I turn. Back uphill is my only choice. Uphill, to the east.
Away from the vines.
Away from Ashley.
I race back from where I came, grunting as I trudge upward. Except more streaks of flame ignite under my feet, more—
Ahead, a figure stands. Yellow fireproof coat.
A fireman or a forest ranger. I don’t know which. I don’t care.
“Help!” I yell.
He turns and runs toward me. “Dale Steel?”
“Yes. I’m Dale Steel.”
“Good.” He holds a device to his mouth. “Found him, but we’re surrounded.” Pause. “Got it.” Then, to me, “Let’s go. I’ll get you out of here.”
“How did this start?” I yell.
“Lightning strike, we think. Maybe a campfire, though.”
Campfire?
No, not my campfire. I put it out this morning, and the fire had already begun.
But my fire yesterday morning… My internal GPS whizzes. Where did I camp the night before last? Closer to home. Closer to the vineyards…
I push the thought out of my mind.
Can’t go there.
Not that it matters. Right now I’m with an expert, but flames surround us. How does he think he’s going to get me out of here?
“Here.” He hands me eye gear and an oxygen mask and tank. “Put this on.”
I obey, and he helps me get it set up. He sprays his extinguisher over several of the fire streaks and gestures for me to follow him.
The heat is all around me now. My parka is sweltering. My eyes are protected by the mask, and I inhale sweet breaths of oxygen.
Still, the air is thick, and embers land on my parka, burning tiny holes into the fabric.
We trudge and trudge, until finally, we find a natural break.
Exhaustion weighs on me.
The fireman removes his mask. “We’re good here for a while. The wind has picked up, and the fire’s moving away.”
Moving away? Moving toward my grapes, he means. I take off my mask and inhale. The air is still smoky.
“I know,” the fireman says, as if reading my mind. “But we need to conserve the O2 while we can.”
I nod.
“You okay? Any burns?”
I shake my head. “I need to go.”
“Find a tree.”
“I don’t mean I have to piss. I need to go. My property is right in the fire’s path. I’ve got to—”
“There’s nowhere to go, Steel. We’re here until I get word. Take off your pack and stay a while.”
