Firestorm - Ellie Masters Page 0,95

California, and the San Rios fire looks to be the worst fire in recent history. I don’t begin to worry until the fourth day when we get the news one of the fire crews was overrun by the fire.

Brody and Cage tell me not to worry, but that’s impossible, especially with the strain in their expressions. They’re putting on a brave face for my benefit, but they’re worried about their brother.

26

Asher

Fire snaps all arounds us, crackling as it chews through dry tinder. Summer, and the long drought, have not been kind to the land. Everything is dry, ripe kindling to feed a voracious fire, and we’ve got the beast of all fires marching over the mountains.

Hundreds of acres have fallen and we’re dead set on saving what we can. This bitch of a forest fire, however, mocks our efforts to put her out. She roars with fury all around us and spits at our pathetic attempts to contain and control her voracious appetite.

Every county in the state lends support. We even have several hotshot groups from out of state involved in the effort.

My friend, Grady is somewhere in this mess with his team. As for me, my helitack crew rappels in and out of trouble spots, where we help to hold the line.

This fire is officially large enough to be called a true firestorm, meaning it draws in enough fresh air that it’s develop its own weather system.

We’re in the middle of a vortex and losing ground. Grady’s out there with his team, cutting the line, fighting the fire with grit and determination.

We’ve been fighting this fire for four days and ease into the fourth night. It’s been over a day since I last spoke to Grady. Two since I spoke to Evelyn.

Grady sounds much like me. He’s tired and running on fumes. Evelyn is supportive, but worried for my safety.

Right now, my team and I stare down a ridge. In the darkness, flames are all we see. Small breaks in the smoke give us glimpses of the night sky. Stars shine down on us, oblivious to the battle we wage. Shifting winds place us all in danger. We’ve already had one team overrun, but so far, no lives lost.

A tree explodes somewhere down the ridge, splintering from the inside out as the sap inside of it superheats. There’s a flash of orange which marks the spot. A terrible roar rumbles in the air, fire chewing through vegetation, sucking in oxygen, drawing in more fuel to sustain its burn.

Smokey takes a call over the radio. His expression flattens, turns grim. “Another team has been overrun.”

It’s what we all fear, getting caught in the middle of the flames. Our kits include fire blankets designed to protect a man caught in the open. They give us five minutes to survive. Three-hundred seconds of harrowing fear while we pray the fire rolls through and past.

Life is measured in a matter of heartbeats. We all train with the blankets, using warehouses to simulate fire. I hate those drills. The intense heat and suffocating breath is a slow, painful way to die.

I send a prayer for the team caught in the fire.

“Who’s down there?” I turn to Smokey, certain he knows which team is overrun.

Smokey gives a slow shake of his head. “Men from Fire Station 13.”

Our entire team stops what we’re doing. Fire Station 13 serves our town. Grady is on that team.

I look down the ridge and into the inferno. My best friend is down there and there’s shit I can do.

I’ve never felt so helpless.

The radio crackles, HQ asking everyone to report in. Smokey answers the call giving our position and stats.

An explosion rips through the air. Not the sound of a tree being ripped apart from the inside out, but what sounds like a bomb going off. I know what that sound is from. It’s the sound of a gas tank exploding and we’re not that far from it.

We all exchange looks. The same thought goes through our minds. Grady and his team are hunkered down somewhere down there.

How much time do they have? Not long.

“Over there!” Dice points down in the valley. “Gasoline explosion. Our boys are down there.”

We gather together. Tarzan and Highball stand beside me. Dirt, soot, and sweat cover our faces, turning them black. We’re thirty-four hours into what should’ve been a twenty-four-hour shift. We would stop, but we can’t. If we don’t hold the line, this fire destroys everything.

In the middle of the firestorm, a tendril