Firestorm - Ellie Masters Page 0,71

it always like this after a fire?”

“Not usually this bad, but all the deadwood dehydrated in the heat, providing the perfect fuel to feed the fires. It was incendiary.” I rub Knight’s neck, giving him a light pat. “As bad as it looks, as quiet as it feels, there are signs of life.” I point out little shoots of green poking through the soot. “Fast growing grass come first. Birds and small mammals will follow. Seedlings will sprout and a new forest will emerge from the ashes.”

“You spouting the circle of life crap,” Cage says.

“It is what it is,” I say.

We ride through the devastation, each of us caught up in our thoughts.

This is why I volunteer as a firefighter. To prevent horrific scenes such as this. But this is a part of life, devastation followed by life.

Everything works in a circle.

Hot and sweaty, the horses climb up the hills as the sun beats down on us and heats the air. The horses plod onward, putting their heads down and hearts into the effort. I listen to the steady clopping of hooves, the gentle switching of tails, and their soft snorts as they work.

It’s a gorgeous day and the summer heat on my back is welcome. The leather reins rub between my fingers. I ride often and am protected from blisters by the rough callouses on my skin. Brody and Cage wear thick gloves. Their time away from La Rouge has softened their hands.

Knight’s neck lathers in thick sweat which clings to the short, stiff hairs of his summer coat. Foam leaks from his mouth as he works the copper snaffle in his mouth.

Gently, I lean down and pat his neck. “Good boy.”

He responds with a change in gait, trotting a few steps before settling back down to lead the way.

It takes a few hours, but we make it to the ridge a little after noon. We had a generous breakfast, but my stomach rumbles and I’m glad I had the foresight to pack snacks into my bag before setting out.

We come upon the primitive campsite, identifiable by the soot-covered ring around the fire pit. I hop off Knight and tie him to a nearby trunk which is covered in black soot. Normally, I would let him graze, but there’s nothing alive. Brody climbs off his horse and Cage follows. They tie their horses and join me by the fire pit.

“Shit.” Brody shades his eyes against the glare of the sun. “This place…it gives me chills.”

I nod in agreement, although the last time I was here the entire place had been engulfed in ghastly red and raging orange as flames tore through the woodland. The unfettered flames hungrily devoured the vegetation and licked their way up the trunks of trees while they chewed through the underbrush.

“It smells.” Cage walked toward the fire ring. He stops and sniffs the air. “That acrid scent is potent. I’m surprised it’s still so thick.”

“It’ll last for a while, at least until the forest recovers,” I explain.

“And you were here?” Brody turns in a circle, surveying the destruction.

I point toward the edge of the ridge. “We rappelled down over there and dug the trenches which prevented the fire from spreading deeper into the forest.”

That was back-breaking work, but saved the main part of the forest. Denied that avenue, the fire poured down the hills where it destroyed not just forest, but several acres of our family’s land and chewed through several homes where the homeowners had failed to maintain an adequate firebreak.

Grady and his team from Station 13 fought those blazes, trying to get in front of the fire to cut what firebreaks they could to limit the damage and starve the fire.

I agree with Cage. An acrid scent lingers in the air. It’s pungent and noxious.

My helitack team worked endlessly through that night, putting in a twenty-four hour shift before taking a break. Four hours later, we were back at it, trying to save as much as we could. Days later, the fire ended leaving behind death and destruction.

Brody walks around the campsite, surveying the damage. “This is surreal.”

“Yeah.” I join him and glance around the area. Any confidence I have in finding Evelyn’s phone fades. We’re looking for the impossible.

But my brothers give it their best. We stay up on the ridge for hours, kicking through the ash, turning over every stone, but as the sun begins to dip toward the horizon we decide to call it. I don’t like walking the horses