Firestorm (15 page)

“McCabe’s not quite ready to go fight the fire alone!” Alf shouted to the young men, laughing as he did so.

“Smokejumper target in sight,” Mike’s voice came over Logan’s radio.

Logan looked out the doorway again, this time with a firm grip on the bar above. “Where exactly does Wagner think we’ll land?” he
shouted to the spotter, scanning the acres of trees below him. The arm of fire that they were to put out was clearly visible. The proposed landing zone below it was not.

“Looks like an unbroken timber landing for you boys,” the spotter yelled, still scanning for a suitable site. When none was found, he tossed his crepe-paper streamer, and both men watched as it fell.

“I’d say you have about a ten-mile-per-hour cross wind,” the spotter said. Because mountain winds could make it difficult to keep a parachute upright or could throw smokejumpers into an unscheduled patch of trees, any winds above fifteen miles per hour negated a jump.

No excuse now
, Logan said to himself.
But at least Anderson had a postage stamp
. He rose and walked back to his team, speaking mostly to the rookies, but giving Alf a meaningful glance. “We’ve got unbroken timber!” he shouted above the aircraft noise. “We’ll take it on, just like in training. Remember, be ready for your landing, keep your eyes open, and find the best landing spot. We’ll reconvene on the ground!”

They exited the Sherpa in a professional manner, with Alf leading and Logan in the rear. Logan watched with satisfaction as his three teammates’ drogues deployed below, with the huge rectangular chutes not far behind. He looked up and watched as his own chute opened, and he sent up his customary prayer of thanks for every inch of the 350 square feet of nylon above him. Then he turned his attention to the trees that were rushing toward him and began to plan his landing.

Reyne was busy, very busy. She and Larry, the meteorologist, were working to prepare a special weather forecast for the fire command
center, checking with the National Weather Service on the hour as well as conducting their own studies. They were in the process of sending up weather balloons when Thomas bellowed at her. “Reyne! What do you have for me? I need answers!”

“We’re trying to get a read, Thomas. Give us five minutes.”

“You’ve got four.”

Reyne scowled and looked over at Larry, who immediately checked his portable forecast unit. The temporary setup could still give a cursory read on humidity, temperature, air stability, and wind speed and direction. By factoring in long-term factors like the fire’s climatic influence on forest fuels, they would be able to give Thomas a summary on the fire environment and Reyne would be better able to make judgment calls on the fire’s behavior.

She frowned as they made note of the hot, dry weather with gusty winds. “Perfect, just perfect,” Reyne said sarcastically. “All we need now is for the Weather Service to call with a forecast of lightning storms.”

The phone rang, as if on cue. “Maybe that’s them,” Larry quipped, smiling at her. He shook his head to dispel her fears when the person on the other end began speaking.

Reyne turned her attention to a new batch of aerial shots. The fire was building, all right, even beyond the average major conflagration. If they kept up at this rate, the ninety thousand acres that had already been burned would seem like child’s play. Larry hung up.

“Tell me you have good news for me,” she said.

“I do.” Larry was jubilant. “We were right on our readings. It’s bad now, but we’ve got rain on the way. In twenty-four to thirty-six hours we’ll be doused.”

“Excellent!” Reyne paced, thinking fast. “So our initial plan to
herd the Devil into the valley is right on target. If we can get him in and keep him there, then all we have to do is wait for Mother Nature to put him out.”

“Sounds right on to me. Now, the only other concern I’d have is the potential for other lightning fires to begin. The Weather Service isn’t forecasting thunderstorms, just showers, but I think we ought to be prepared for anything. I’d hate to kill this fire just to begin fighting another one. Let’s plan to nip any others in the bud.”

“Good,” she agreed. “Let’s go tell Wagner.”

Logan grunted as the trees rushed up at him, bracing for the inevitable impact. He hit, rolled, and stood, muttering a prayer of thanks for the thick, fire-resistant Kevlar material from which their suits were made. It was the same material that bulletproof vests were made of, and Logan had had many opportunities to be thankful for its protection.

Quickly stuffing his chute into his pack, Logan paused to look around. He had managed to land in a relatively clear spot among the trees. But he was worried about one of the rookies, Andy, who had drifted into a thick stand of lodgepole pine.

When Logan found him, he grew more concerned. The man’s parachute was caught in the canopy, but not firmly anchored, so he couldn’t clip his letdown gear and descend. To complicate matters, Andy thought he had broken an arm, so he couldn’t get a decent grip on the tree trunk to cut and climb.

Logan picked up his radio and pressed the intercom button. “Command center, this is smokejumper team six. We have an injured smokejumper, command center. Repeat, we have an injured smokejumper, over.”

Logan studied Andy’s face, noticing the grim look of pain. “Command center, we will need a medevac chopper. Do you read? Over.”

“We read you, McCabe. Medevac chopper will meet you a half-mile east at the ridge clearing in half an hour. Over.”

“Very good, command center. We’ll see you there. Over.”

Logan stripped off his Kevlar suit and climbed the tree. In the pouch that he and Reyne had developed and that he now carried on his chest was an air compression system that, when activated, shot out a harpoonlike dart and rope. He reached Andy’s level, aimed at a nearby tree trunk, and shot off the dart. It entered the ripe bark and, when Logan yanked on it, shot out several spokes that firmly embedded it in the tree.

“What’s that?” Andy asked. “Looks like spy paraphernalia.”

“Yeah,” Logan said with a grin, tying off the other end of the rope on his tree and creating a firm letdown line for Andy’s descension hardware. “Ain’t it great?”

Logan climbed back down the tree and watched as Andy painstakingly made his way down one-handed. In addition to his broken arm, Andy had injured the ligament of his right knee. But he got down safely, at least.

Their pouch had saved the day! Logan cheered inwardly. All his work with Reyne had paid off.
In more ways than one
, he thought with a grin.

When the helicopter touched down at the fire camp, Reyne raced to meet it. As soon as Logan disembarked, she ran to embrace him, and never had his arms about her felt better. She had heard the radio reports about the rescued smokejumper and had been so worried
that Logan was the injured party. They stood there, just the two of them, holding each other while their hair blew about in wild fashion and workers unloaded the helicopter.

Reyne drew back and looked up into Logan’s bright blue eyes. He looked very dashing with a smudge of soot across his cheek and an exultant expression upon his face. “It worked!” he yelled over the helicopter’s noise. “The pouch! That’s how I got Andy down!”

“Great!” she responded, feeling no enthusiasm. She was more concerned with the prospect of panicking every time she heard that a smokejumper was injured. Of being apart most of the coming months. “How are we going to do this all summer?” Reyne shouted to him. But her voice did not carry. And she already knew the answer.

“What?” he yelled, bending to hear her.

“Nothing!” she said into his ear. “We can talk later.”

He studied her with concern but nodded. Then, placing his hand on her lower back, he ushered her away from the helicopter, which was being refueled. The blades never stopped whirring; the chopper took off on another assignment within fifteen minutes.

T
hat night the entire fire camp celebrated. The smokejumper teams had been most effective doing what they did best—serving as initial strike teams to stop minor fires from becoming major. They had put out each arm of the fire that threatened to overcome the line. A nearby team had hiked in after Logan evacuated Andy and had taken care of their assignment in their stead. With the coming rain and with Devil’s Head being successfully turned toward the valley, it looked like the month-old fight was all but over.

As an impromptu band congregated and the weary firefighters began singing and dancing in the camp’s “streets,” Logan pulled Reyne close for their own slow dance that ignored the crazy, fast rhythm of the current song. She did not care that they were a spectacle, a glutton for punishment among the ranks. She only cared that Logan was close and safe and that he was holding her.

Reyne leaned her head back to look up into his eyes. He gave her an intense look, staring back at her, not saying anything. There was no need for words. They said everything with their steady, unwavering gaze.

She was the first to break their loving glance, bending to rest her cheek on his chest. She felt safe. Loved. Exhilarated. And she could think of nothing but returning to Elk Horn. She wanted to spend hours tinkering under their trucks or gardening or hiking. Or spending evenings on her front porch with their friends, laughing, playing,
talking.
Our friends …
Reyne resolutely pushed thoughts of Beth’s illness from her mind. She wanted to focus only on Logan, for the moment anyway.

“I was so worried,” she muttered, not quite sure she wanted to broach the subject at all.

“What?” he asked tenderly.

“I was so worried,” she said, looking up at him and speaking more clearly. “When I heard a jumper was injured, I immediately assumed it was you.” Reyne shook her head as Logan began to speak. “I know it doesn’t make sense. After all, you’re the one that’s leading those crews up there. But Logan, I’m just so scared. I have these dreams … these awful dreams.”

He tilted her head back up so he could meet her eyes. “Of what?”

“Oxbow,” she said with a sigh, dropping her chin, unable to meet his gaze. She looked away but pulled him close, listening to his heartbeat for a moment before going on. “I dream that when I emerge from the fire shelter, you’re there. You’re one of the guys that didn’t make it. It’s so vivid, so real to me, that it’s like it actually happened. I wake up crying, all sweaty sometimes.”

“Oh, Reyne—”

“No.” She broke away from him, setting her hands on her hips with her back to him. “I know it’s stupid. Somehow my worst fears have fused with my worst memories. It makes sense. And yet it doesn’t. You’re the best at what you do,” she said, looking back over her shoulder. “I know you are, Logan. But you’ve made your way into my heart, and I’m scared to death that something is going to happen to you.”

Logan took a step toward her, placing his big hands on her slim shoulders. “Nothing’s going to happen, Reyne. You’re just going to
have to trust. Who knows? Maybe dispatch will send us both home tomorrow and we’ll while away the summer planting trees for the forestry company and working on your pocket weather kit.”

She turned to him, embracing him fiercely. “Sometimes I think we should both retire from fire,” she said softly, “Walk away. Find another line of work.”

He pulled her arms from him and looked at her. “No way, Reyne. We both love this. You do; I can tell. You’ve got to get hold of this fear thing and get past it, or it will rip us apart. ’Cause I’m staying in the game. I’ve got to.”

She swallowed hard, trying to decipher all that she was feeling. “What if it’s not just fear, Logan? What if God is telling me this? Asking us to get out?”

“Whoa,” he said. “I haven’t heard that.” He sighed heavily. “I’m not saying that it isn’t possible, Reyne. But until you can tell me that yes, you’re sure that the Lord is telling you this and it’s not just old nightmares plaguing your present life, or until he tells me the same thing, I can’t honestly consider it.”

She bristled. “Are you telling me that you’d shut out God’s leading?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Didn’t you just hear me? I said that God would have to tell me the same thing or you would have to stand there and tell me that you’re sure, not just mention it as a convenient excuse to avoid dealing with your old issues.”

“Is that what you think this is? You think I need to see some therapist or something?”

“Maybe that’d be a good idea. Reyne, I—”

“I get concerned about the man I love, and you think I should see a counselor?”

“Reyne, that’s not fair. I was only—”

“Look,” she said, holding up her hands. “We’re not getting anywhere here. Let’s just talk tomorrow.”

Thomas had reconvened the command team the next morning, passing on the interagency’s dispatch assignments. They met outside, enjoying the milder weather that the rain had brought and the partially blue sky. Briskly, he made the announcement. His core command team would be heading to Idaho with him to fight a Type II fire near the Oxbow burn of two years ago. Reyne swallowed hard when she heard the location. Others were given alternate details.

Reyne was going home to Elk Horn. Alone. She left the meeting and saw Logan waiting for her nearby. With some trepidation, she approached. Would he be returning with her?
Please, God
. Could they spend some time just being together instead of fighting some infernal fire away from home?

He looked down at her tenderly and drew her into his arms for a brief hug. “I’m sorry we argued last night, love. I’m not quite sure
why
we were arguing.”

Reyne could only nod, feeling responsible for her harsh words but not quite ready to admit it. “They’re sending me home.” She took a deep breath. “What about you guys?”

He looked her straight in the eye. “We’re going to the interagency fire command center in Boise to be on standby for more assignments. That will give my rookies the opportunity to be around a pro BLM jumper base, learn some tricks of the trade. I’ve heard that there’s a good one going outside of Idaho Falls—”