Chasing Fire

even as he yelped in shock and pain and lost his footing.
    “How bad? How bad?” she shouted, grabbing him as he staggered. She saw for herself the point embedded in his cheek, half an inch below his right eye. Blood spilled down to his jaw.
    “For fuck’s sake,” he managed. “Get it out.”
    “Hold on. Just hold on.”
    Dobie trotted up. “What’re you two . . . Jesus, Cards, how the hell did you do that?”
    “Hold his hands,” Rowan ordered as she dug into her pack.
    “What?”
    “Get behind him and hold his hands down. I think it’s going to hurt when I pull it out.” She set a boot on either side of Cards’s legs, pulled off her right glove. She clamped her fingers on the inch of jagged wood protruding from his cheek. “On three now. Get ready. One. Two—”
    She yanked on two, watched the blood slop out, watched his eyes go a little glassy. Quickly, she pressed the pad of gauze she’d taken out of her pack to the wound.
    “You’ve got a hell of a hole in your face,” she told him.
    “You said on three.”
    “Yeah, well, I lost count. Dobie, hold the pad, keep the pressure on. I have to clean that out.”
    “We don’t have time for that,” Cards objected. “Just tape it over. We’ll worry about it later.”
    “Two minutes. Lean back against Dobie.”
    She tossed the bloody pad aside, poured water over the wound, hoping to flush out tiny splinters. “And try not to scream like a girl,” she added, following up the water with a hefty dose of peroxide.
    “Goddamn it, Ro! Goddamn, fucking shit!”
    Ruthless, she waited while the peroxide bubbled out dirt and wood, then doused it with more water. She coated another pad with antibiotic cream, added another, then taped it over what she noted was a hole in his cheek the size of a marble.
    “We can get you out to the west.”
    “Screw that. I’m not packing out. It was just a damn splinter.”
    “Yeah.” Dobie held up the three-inch spear of wood. “If you’re fifty feet tall. I saved it for you.”
    “Holy shit, that’s a fucking missile. I got hit with a wood missile. In the face. My luck,” he said in disgust, “has been for shit all season.” He waved off Rowan’s extended hand. “I can stand on my own.”
    He wobbled a moment, then steadied.
    “Take some of the ibuprofen in your PG bag. If you’re sure you’re fit, I want you to go switch off to scout spots. You’re not running a saw, Cards. You know better. Switch off, or I’ll have to report the injury to Ops.”
    “I’m not leaving this here until she’s dead.”
    “Then switch off. If that hole in your ugly face bleeds through those pads, have one of your team change it.”
    “Yeah, yeah.” He touched his fingers to the pad. “You’d think I cut off a leg,” he muttered, but headed down the line. When he’d gone far enough, she pulled out her radio, contacted Gull. “Cards is headed to you. He had a minor injury. I want one of you to head up to me, and he’ll take your place down there.”
    “Copy that.”
    “Okay, Dobie, get that saw working. And watch out for flying wood missiles. I don’t want any more drama.”
    The backfire held. It took another ten hours, but reports from head to tail called the fire contained.
    The sunset ignited the sky as she hiked back to camp. It reminded her of watching the sun set with Gull. Of bullets and blind hate. She dropped down to eat, wishing she could find that euphoria that always rose in her once a fire surrendered.
    Yangtree sat down beside her. “We’re going to get some food in our bellies before we start mop-up. Ops has eight on tap for that. It’s up to you since he was on your team, but I think Cards should demob, get that wound looked at proper.”
    “Agreed. I’m going to pack out with him. If they can send eight, let’s spring eight from camp.”
    “My thinking, too. I tell you, Ro, I say I’m too old for this, but I’m starting to mean it. I might just ask your daddy for a job come the end of the season.”
    “Hell. Cards is the one with the hole in his face.”
    He looked toward the west, the setting sun, the black mountain. “I’m thinking I may want to see what it’s like to sit on my own porch on a summer night, drink a beer, with some female company if I can get it, and not have to think about fire.”
    “You’ll always think about fire, and sitting on a porch, you’d wish you were here.”
    He gave her a pat on the knee as he rose. “It might be time to find out.”
    She