Boone
Leaving Margot and Amelia sits heavily in the back of my mind.
But what could I do? No one can get out here to help. The landslide took care of that, and I haven’t heard the excavation team working on our end.
The sheriff would have stopped by to let me know and check up on me. He knows I’m extremely self-sufficient, like most folks out here, but I expect to see him in the next day or so.
I can’t just let it keep burning.
It has to be controlled, or it could easily take out a few hundred acres before hitting water.
With a thirty-pound fire extinguisher under each arm, I’m thankful that I have my helmet with the large full spectrum flashlight.
Even though I know these woods like the back of my hand, carrying these large extinguishers in the dark is far from ideal.
There’s been so many times that I’ve played with the idea of burning all of it.
The helmet, clothing and all—it’s paraphernalia that just taunts me and reminds me of everything I’ve lost.
Burning it in a respectful pyre to my friends sounds like a great idea.
But how could that possibly help?
Life goes on, and I know they would expect me not to be a self-absorbed asshole and deal with it. We all knew every time we went out on a call that the potential of not coming back was there.
But I can’t help but think—just like families with suicidal members—it’s the survivors who pay. And pay and pay.
Tripping over a root, one fire extinguisher almost jerks totally out of my arms.
“Fuck!” Concentrate, you stupid fucker.
My arms burn, and my hands turn numb, right along with my legs. I’m exhausted.
I can smell the fire long before I’m close.
I estimate it to be a little less than a mile away. It’s been a slow trip in the dark.
As I drop the extinguishers, I glance at my watch. Just over twenty minutes.
Not too bad.
I know exactly where it is.
Like I said, I know most of these woods like the back of my hand. Especially within a mile perimeter of my place.
As I come into the clearing where the fire is, I’m relieved to see that it hasn’t begun to spread much farther.
It’s about thirty feet in diameter, but this meadow is a good hundred by fifty.
I need to keep it right here and away from the big trees.
It really couldn’t have started in a better place to be able to contain it.
Pulling the pin and engaging the fire extinguisher, my training kicks in.
Taking into account the wind and size, I start creating a fire line with the suppressant foam. When I encounter areas that have already burned, I incorporate them into the fire line to save on my extinguisher. It takes time, but it’s definitely working—the fire is burning itself out.
It’s a good thing there wasn’t more wind, or it would have been far gone by the time I reached it. Anything I would have done would have been useless.
It probably only takes about an hour to put out, but I still keep circling, stamping out hotspots.
My heavy firefighter boots are perfect for this, although they made the trek through the woods torture—and I’m not looking forward to the walk back.
It’s been a long time since I’ve worn them.
All I want is to go back.
I wonder how Margot and Amelia are doing.
I’m sure Margot has been keeping an eye on the fire out the window. I don’t want her to worry about me any longer than she has to.
I feel kinda bad about waking Amelia up, but I haven’t ever had to worry about a little kid before. I don’t even have younger brothers and sisters.
I know a lot of people who seem to have built-in quiet mannerisms, and that’s always been totally missing for me.
Sweating and filthy, I’m still cursing as I locate the area it obviously started.
It’s clear that the fire started on the north edge of the burn. It also looks like it’s in a bit of a depression.
My training and senses have fully kicked in at this point.
Slowing down in the area, I shine my light and picked my way through in a grid pattern.
I’m almost afraid to look, but it would be pointless to be out here for so long and not bother.
There it is!
Wait…I can’t fucking believe it.
No fucking way.
This means something entirely different is going on.
There is a very clear pattern for a pyrotechnic fuse.
A delay fuse like that, also known as a rocket or hobby fuse, can be purchased easily.
It looks like they planned to give themselves a ten-minute head start to get out of the area.
This is a little bit more elaborate than something kids could’ve pulled off.
So, if it wasn’t a natural fire or kids, what does that leave me with?
Of course, it leaves me with Amelia’s “bad man in the woods” as the culprit. The bad man who is watching our cabin.
Goddammit.
This was all a distraction.
I have to get back!
I’ve been gone way too long already.
Running back there, I have fifteen million terrible things running through my head with a whole lot of horrible suspicions mixed in.
My feet scream in my boots. They don’t give at all. It’s your feet that give.
They will be a mess by the time I get back. But all I can think about is Margot and Amelia. It spurs me into a faster run.
This person obviously has some kind of weird fascination with fire.
Could he possibly be the same person who set the fire in Margot’s dorm all those years ago? If so, could it potentially be a sick college stalker? Or is there something more menacing going on?
There are so many other options that I don’t even want to consider at this moment.
I know it’s immature.
Having tunnel vision is limiting and stupid.
How ironic that the series of events—starting with the fire in Margot’s dorm—have influenced my life choices to such a great degree.
If it wasn’t for Margot’s fire when I was in university with her, I may have never seriously pursued firefighting as a career.
The sense of purpose, and the fact that you feel like you’re truly making a difference in life, are what drew me away from Wall Street and into firefighting full-time.
Who really cares what the biggest businesses in the world are making and losing on a daily basis? I know I don’t.
What’s more important than lives you can potentially save? To feel like you are truly influencing and saving someone is hard to describe. It’s uplifting and inspiring.
My lungs burn, and I cough. Pausing, I spit up the black phlegm from my lungs. Just another lovely side effect of putting out a fire without a respirator. But I need to hurry.
I refuse to totally dwell on what could be going on back at the cabin right now.
Everything must be alright. I keep telling my petrified subconscious that there is no other option.
As I take off running again, pushing my body to its limits, I chant this mantra: “I’ll be there in time.”
There is no other choice.