Chasing Fire

head start, she thought; they’d had no choice. The dragon ran strong and free.
    She called in to request retardant drops, and received a brief, unsatisfying report on Yangtree.
    They were working on him.
    She felt the change in the wind, just a flutter, and saw the fire grab its tail to ride. A cut to the west now, still north of Trigger’s crew, she noted, but moving toward them.
    She circled around, contacting him by radio.
    “She’s shifting, curling back toward you.”
    “We’ve got a Cat line here, a good, wide one. I don’t think she can jump it. Escape route due south.”
    “They’re bringing mud. I just called to tell them to dump a load west, down your flank. Stay clear.”
    “Roger that. Cards just got here with reinforcements. We’re going to hold this line, Swede.”
    “After the mud drops, I’m going to get an air report. I want to take four from your team, same from mine, get them up to the head. Squeeze it. But if she jumps the road, get gone.”
    “Bet your ass. And watch yours.”
    As she worked her way through the fire, she coordinated with Gibbons, with base, kept her ears and eyes peeled for the tankers. She cut east, eyes smarting with smoke, then jumped back, skidding onto her back as a burning limb thick as a man’s thigh crashed to the ground in front of her.
    It caught fresh fuel on the forest floor, ignited with a whoosh to claw at the soles of her boots before she scrambled clear.
    “Widowmaker,” she shouted to Gibbons. “I’m good, but I’m going to be busy for a minute.”
    She beat at the fresh flames, chopping at the ground to smother what she could with dirt. She heard the thunder of a tanker, muttered curses as she fought her small, personal war.
    “I’m clear.” Shoveling, stomping, she signaled Gibbons, then the tanker pilot. “I’m clear.”
    And ran.
    The thick pink rain fell, smothering flame, billowing smoke, thudding onto the ground, the trees, with heavy splats. She sprinted for shelter as globs of it struck her helmet, her jacket. A volley of firebrands sent her on a zigzagging dash for higher, clearer ground.
    She heard the telltale roar at her back, felt the ground shimmy under her feet. Following instinct, she leaped through the undulating curtain of fire, all but heard it slam shut behind her before the blowup burst. Rocks skidded under her feet as she pushed herself up an incline above the hungry, murderous blaze.
    “I’m clear.” She shouted it as her radio popped with voices. “Had a little detour.”
    She wheezed in a breath, wheezed one out. “Give me a minute to orient.”
    A wall of fire, solid as steel, cut off her route back to her team.
    She pulled out her compass to confirm direction, accepted that her hand shook lightly.
    Cut across to Trigger’s line, she calculated, regroup, then circle down and around to her own.
    She relayed her plan, then took a moment to hydrate and settle her nerves.
    Back on the line, Gull looked straight into Gibbons’s eyes.
    “Is she hurt?”
    “She says no. She’s playing it down, but I think she had a close one.” He swiped at sweat. “She’s cutting over to Trig, then she’ll circle around back to us. The mud knocked it back some on their flank, and they’re working the pumps up toward the head. They’re in good position.”
    He shook his head. “We can’t say the same. The wind’s whipping her up this way. Elf, take Gull, Stovic and Dobie and get these pumps up there. Follow the Cat line. Start drowning her. I’ll send you up four more as soon as we get the men.”
    “Spot!” Libby shouted, and two of the team leaped to action.
    “We’re getting hammered over here,” Gibbons told Trigger over the radio. “Can you spare anybody?”
    “Give you two. That’ll be three when Swede gets around.”
    “Tell them to hump it!”
     
     
    GULL MANNED the hose and swore the force of water only made the fire dance. The wind chose sides, blew flames into massive walls.
    “L.B.’s sending in another load, and pulling in jumpers from Idaho,” Janis told him.
    “Did Rowan make it to Trigger?”
    “Rowan changed tactics. She’s doubling back to Gibbons. We’ve got to catch this thing here, catch her here, or fall back.” She yanked out her radio. “Gibbons, we need help up here.”
    “I’m waiting on Matt and Cards from Trigger’s line. And the Swede. Fresh jumpers coming. ETA’s thirty.”
    “Thirty’s no good. I need more hands or we’re pulling back.”
    “Your call, Elf.