Chasing Fire

along.”
    Her heart thumped as he studied her, and running didn’t seem like such a stupid idea after all. Then he swung his head away as if bored with her, and lumbered away.
    “I love the wilderness and all it holds,” she reminded herself when she worked up enough spit to swallow.
    She hiked another quarter of a mile before her heart settled down again. And still, she cast occasional cautious looks over her shoulder until she heard the muffled buzz of chain saws.
    She picked up her speed and met up with the fresh saw line.
    After a quick update with Yangtree, she joined the line. She’d give them an hour before hiking up and around again.
    “Pretty day, huh?” Gull commented as they sliced a downed tree into logs.
    She glanced up, and through a few windows in the smoke, the sky was a bold blue. “She’s a beauty.”
    “Nice one for a picnic.”
    Rowan stamped out a spot the size of a dinner plate that kindled at her feet. “Champagne picnic. I always wanted to have one of those.”
    “Too bad I didn’t bring a bottle with me.”
    She settled for water, then mopped her face. “We’re going to do it. I’m starting to feel it.”
    “The picnic?”
    “The fire’s a little more immediate. You’ve got a good hand with the saw. Keep it up.”
    She headed up to confer with Yangtree again over the maps, then, ripping open a cookie wrapper, headed back into the smoke.
    While she gobbled the cookie, she considered the bear—and told herself he was well east by now. She clawed her way up the ridge, checked the time when she met the hotshot line.
    Just noon. Five hours into the day, and damn good progress.
    She cut up and over, her legs burning and rubbery, to check on the pumpers.
    Arcs of water struck the blaze, liquid arrows aimed to kill. Rowan gave in, bent over, resting her hands on her screaming thighs. She couldn’t say how many miles she’d covered so far that day, but she was damn sure she felt every inch of it.
    She pushed herself up, made her way over to Gibbons. “Yangtree’s line is moving up well. He should meet up with the hotshots within the hour. She tried to swish her tail, but they’ve got that under control. Idaho’s on call if you need more on the hoses.”
    “We’re holding her. We’re going to pump her hard, go through the neck here. If you get those lines down, cut them across, we’ll have her.”
    “I want to pull out the fusees, start a backfire here.” She dug out her map. “We could fold her back in on herself, and she’d be out of fuel.”
    “I like it. But it’s your call.”
    “Then I’m making it.” She pulled her radio. “Yangtree, we’re going with the backfire. Split ten off, lead them up. I’m circling back down. Keep drowning that bitch, Gib.”
    Rowan stuffed calories into her system by way of an energy bar, hydrated with water as she backtracked. And considered herself lucky when she didn’t repeat her encounter with a bear. Nothing stirred in the trees, in the brush. She cut across a trail where the trees still towered—trees they fought to save—and the wildflowers poked their heads toward the smoke-choked sky. Birds had taken wing so no song, no chatter played through the silence.
    But the fire muttered and growled, shooting its flames up like angry fists and kicking feet.
    She followed its flank, thought of the wildflowers, took their hope with her as she hiked to the man-made burn she’d ordered.
    At Yangtree’s orders, Gull peeled off from the saw line to deal with spot fires the main blaze spat across the border. Most of his team were too weary for conversation, and as speed added a factor, breath for chat was in limited supply.
    Water consumed poured off in sweat; food gulped down burned off and left a constant, nagging hunger.
    The trick, he knew from his years as a hotshot, was not to think about it, about anything but the fire, and the next step toward killing it.
    “Get your fusees.” Gibbons relayed the information in a voice harsh from shouting and smoke. “We’re going to burn her ass, pull her back till she eats herself.”
    Gull looked back toward the direction of the tail. Their line was holding, the cross with the hotshots’ cut off her flank—so far. Spot fires flared up, but she’d lost her edge of steam here.
    He considered the timing and strategy of the backfire dead-on. Despite his fatigue, it pleased him when Yangtree pulled him off the line and sent him down with a team to control the backfire.
    With the