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The night started out with a briefing from the National Interagency Fire Center, a short lecture about the upcoming fire season.
“We’re gearing up for a whopper fire season,” the man said. “All of this rain promoted growth during the spring, which is providing fuel to burn during the dry season. Now with the Santa Ana winds early this year, we have to be on alert. So far it’s been quiet. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
“Great. Now I have to worry about fire while I’m gone.”
“You might be back before it starts,” Devon said, patting his back. “Let’s get through one trauma before we start worrying about fire season.”
“I wish it were Saturday,” Mike whined, getting in place for shift report. “I want to know where I’m going and for how long.”
“Don’t wish your life away,” Devon hissed.
“Would the Bobbsey twins care to share their concerns for tonight?” the chief, George McGrew, called out, teasing the men.
“No, sir,” Mike replied.
“Yes, sir, I care to share,” Devon said.
“Devon, shut the hell up,” Mike moaned.
“Mike here,” he said, pointing to Mike, “Mike got orders today. He’s going to ship out.”
“No way,” the chief said, backing right down. “This is not news I want to hear. When and where?”
“I’ll find out Saturday,” Mike said, thinking,I wish there was a fire to fight.
“Let me know. You know your job is safe here no matter what happens.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mike said.
After they were dismissed, his fellow firefighters surrounded him, patting his back and giving him advice, asking questions he couldn’t answer. He’d never even been on an airplane, let alone to a foreign country. Feeling like the proverbial provincial bumpkin, Mike excused himself from the cluster of well-meaning advice givers and went to begin his chores for the night.
Trying to keep his mind from taking over, he was determined not to call Aisling. Now that he was awake, he desperately wanted to talk to her, to tell her how much he loved her, that no matter what happened, she’d always be the love of his life. That night, when she’d come into the bedroom to wake him up and get into bed herself, he’d managed to find the right words.
“I wish I was better at this,” he’d said. “I think you’re so great, Aisling. I know how lucky I am to have you. I’m sorry that it’s taking this to make me show you what you mean to me. I’m going to try harder.”
“Mike, you’re just fine,” Aisling said, grabbing him to hug. “Stop putting yourself down. You’re just nervous about leaving. Hopefully, it won’t be one of those ridiculous tours that last a year or more that I keep hearing about.”
Keeping busy was key. He managed not to call her but followed Devon around all night while they polished trucks and did equipment repairs. At three, he fell asleep during their dinner break.
“Let him sleep,” Rick Jackson said to Devon. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
“Why’s that?” Devon asked, frowning. Rick was known for creepy premonitions that sometimes came true.
“He has a dark blue aura. It’s not right, a young, healthy guy like that. He should be all lit up.” He turned to Devon and pointed. “Like you.”
The chief of the night crew was an older guy who had little tolerance for anything not science based, and when he heard Rick talking to Devon about auras, he was irked.
“Don’t start with that shit,” George snapped. “Unless you got something positive to say, I don’t want to hear it around here, you got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Rick said, and left the room.
But Mike had heard what Rick said, and when George and Devon left the room, he went after Rick. “What did you mean about my aura?”
“No way. I’ll piss George off.”
“I won’t tell him we talked. What did it mean about having a dark blue aura?”
“I was wrong,” Rick replied. “Just forget it.”
