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“Definitely a car. Didn’t see anyone. Nowhere for me to land.”
“I’m on it.”
There’s a slight pause in Old Man Grover’s voice as I drive, adjusting my direction, foot coming down harder on the accelerator. “Flames are still coming in that I saw.”
I’m close to where he told me, and if someone’s injured . . .
“Got it. I’ll call it in, but let them know where I’m going too.”
“There’s a storm coming, and the old forestry cabin up on Fuller Hill is out of the fire’s range, but—”
“Got it.”
I end the radio call.
Some fucking tourist, gotta be, thinking they can outrun flames, smoke, and heat and probably got caught on the end of the fire and panicked, and now . . . I sigh. Dead? Injured? Who the hell knows?
Don’t call me a hero, I’m not and I’ll fight anyone over that. Heroism belongs to my dad, brother, mom for putting up with us, and my baby sister. I just run my garage and enjoy the sweetness found in a woman—no strings, not anymore—but I also don’t turn tail and run.
I’m gonna have to go through the flames.
Sighing, I decide to let Isaac know. “Isaac?” I call his name and wait for him to answer. When he does, I speak into the radio, “Checking out something Grover saw. Be in touch.”
“Mack—”
“I’m good. See ya on the flip side.” I know what he’s going to say and don’t need to hear it. I’ve heard it plenty of times before.
The flames roar up ahead, the heat searing through the glass and the smoke is so thick it could be night. The world takes on a nightmarish quality as I floor it through the inferno. I could take another road, but to tick safety boxes I might as well let anyone in that car burn to death.
This part isn’t being tackled yet because this part has nowhere to go once it reaches the backburn and the wild brushland. The cabin Grover mentioned is isolated.
I come out on the other side of Armageddon into a smoke and smoldering hellscape where fires flare and burn out and jump like wild, live things. It’s going to burn too when the wind changes again. Which it will.
Then that car I’m headed to is going to cook whoever’s inside.
I grab my gloves and pull them on as I drive. Going around a curve, I see the car.
A fucking Audi. Jesus.
Just what I figured.
Rich people.
I screech to a halt, throw open my door, and check the area. The fire’s burning behind me at a reasonable distance, but the shifting wind isn’t a good omen. Right now, that wind’s on my side, it’s what made the drive here so bad. Paint on my truck is peeling and blistering, and through the gloves, the metal is hot. The reflective gear in the windows is still holding.
The crash isn’t as bad as I feared, but I’m gonna have to tow it.
Inside, it’s a dreamland of airbags and in the driver’s seat I can make out a figure through the thick smoke and swirling embers.
“Hey?”
No answer. I grab the tow chain and attach it to the vehicle, then hurry to the driver.
Whoever the driver is coughs, and an arm moves weakly.
Being a volunteer firefighter, my skill set is pretty basic to what they teach EMTs and full-blown paramedics. I know some states have it different, but here, you have your different classes. I only got certified as an EMT-B. And with everything going on and not knowing what the hell could potentially be wrong with whoever’s in the car, my skills will have to be enough right now.
I have to move whoever it is so I can get the fuck out of Dodge before we’re both toast. My phone’s ringing and my radio’s squawking, but I ignore them both, thank you very fucking much. Right now, getting the driver out is more important.
