Hero's Journey (2 page)

Hero started out sniffing the ground around the cabin in what Eric called his perimeter—the area Eric could maintain around the cabin. It seemed to act like an invisible fence for the puppy. Hero never wandered from that fifty-foot space unless Eric released him.

“I'm always careful,” Stella replied as she always did.

She waved to him where he stood on the covered porch in front of the door. She put on her helmet, climbed on the vintage 1979 Harley that had belonged to her father, and kick-started it. The engine chugged to life.

The eighty-inch black motorcycle had seen better days but she and her father had freshly rebuilt the motor before she'd left home. The transmission was getting a little tired but it still raced down the road like a champ.

The bike clunked into gear as she went into the first turn of the sharply twisting mountain road. The wind rustled past her and through the almost leafless trees on either side of the narrow road.

She loved the feeling of freedom the motorcycle gave her. People, especially her mother and Eric, didn't like that she wanted to ride it. That was too bad. At least she had her father's blessing. He'd ridden it across the country when he'd been in college. He appreciated her love of the Harley, so much that he'd only say she could borrow it.

Stella passed Patrick Dorner's old pickup chugging up the road to the cabin. His long chimney brushes stuck out behind the truck. He waved as he passed her, knowing she might not be there when he'd arrive.

She thought about going back to the cabin to make sure Eric let him in to do the job, but she was already late for drills and decided to go on.

She couldn't check up on every little thing. Eric was always expressing his dismay with things she requested of him. He'd face her wrath if the chimney wasn't cleaned when she got back.

Instead she focused on her group of volunteers, who were already assembling in front of the firehouse when she arrived. She parked her bike in the back beside the bright red Cherokee that bore her name and her title as fire chief.

They were practicing with hoses today—always a difficult skill. Her team had a harder time with almost everything because they weren't full-time firefighters. Back home, they could drill whenever they weren't fighting fires. In Sweet Pepper, everyone had full-time jobs that they needed to support themselves. Stella was the only paid member of the fire brigade. Her volunteers were truck drivers, waitresses, librarians, and from other occupations. She could only ask so much of them. As it was, there were hours of training a few days every week.

As she rounded the corner of the building, she saw a large puff of black smoke come out of the back door. The firehouse appeared to be on fire.

“Fire!” Stella yelled, hoping her team in front would hear her.

The firehouse had only recently been rebuilt following a fire. The last blaze had destroyed the log structure that had resembled her cabin. Eric had been devastated over the loss.

The town was quick to rebuild. The new firehouse was more modern, a standard frame building constructed on the foundation of the original and covered in vinyl siding.

She ran back to the door where she'd seen the black smoke, prepared to do whatever was needed to fight the fire. The last time, the fire brigade had been lucky. Eric had been able to get the fire trucks out of the building. Without his influence now, the pumper and engine could be destroyed along with their gear.

Tagger Reamis, a retired firefighter from the original 1970s fire brigade, came staggering out. He was a small, delicately featured man with grizzled gray hair. His placid demeanor and comedic side hid an occasional problem with alcohol. He was also a Vietnam vet who'd been great friends with Eric.

He coughed and wheezed for a minute or two—the deep, hacking sounds that Stella associated with smoke inhalation. His eyes were watering and his hands were shaking.

“Are you all right? Do we need an ambulance? What happened?” she asked in quick succession.

“I was trying to adjust the flame on the gas grill,” he confessed. “I know I wasn't supposed to do it, but I took it inside to cook some chicken for lunch because it looked like either rain or snow. Sorry, Chief.”

Stella looked inside the doorway. All she could see was smoke, but she could hear other voices inside. The team had also seen the problem. “Stay here, Tagger. I'll be right back.”

“Don't worry, Chief.” He coughed and sputtered. “I'll be right here. I ain't going anywhere anytime soon.”

Stella ventured inside, keeping her head low and trying not to take deep breaths. Nothing seemed to be damaged. She couldn't actually see flames. Maybe it was okay.

The first person she came across was Ricky Hutchins. He was about ten years younger than her. He was also her right-hand man in the group and drove the engine.

The smoke was still so thick that even though she recognized him, she could only barely see his slightly curly blond hair or his ready smile and blue eyes. He held a fire extinguisher in one hand.

“I turned off the gas and got the grill out, Chief. I think it's still okay. I'll take a look at it later. Just wanted to make sure nothing was damaged in here.”

“Let's get the doors and windows open to air it out,” she said. “We won't know anything until we can see without the smoke.”

“Those grills are foolproof.” JC Burris had a wide grin on his dark face. “How could that fool screw it up?”

He was a large, strong man who worked at the pepper factory in town. Sweet Pepper was famous for its hot peppers outside the town too. Hottest, sweetest peppers in the world.

“A better question might be why he had the grill
inside
the building in the first place,” Petey Stanze said in an impatient tone.

She was Stella's co-assistant chief—a ninety-pound waitress who was always out in front during fire calls and drills. She was tough and determined.

Stella had made Petey and Ricky assistant chiefs in the vain hope that they'd both quit fighting to see who was going to be the one to replace her when she left. Neither one of them was old enough or experienced enough to be taken seriously when she headed home again.

There was no guarantee that the town council would accept her recommendation for them to become joint heads of the group. But that was the best she could do.

As the smoke began to clear, Stella couldn't see any damage that had been done to the firehouse. She'd sent firefighter Allen Wise out to check on Tagger. The full-time barber came back to tell her that the older man seemed to be fine.

“His cough is going away. I don't think he got much smoke. I couldn't see anywhere that he'd been burned.”

Stella thanked him. She liked Allen. He was a calming force in a group of strongly opinionated people, and he had no ambitions other than to serve his community. He was good at helping keep the peace.

“Who brought the grill inside?” Kent Norris was coming in from the street. He'd picked up some of the story as he'd passed other members of the fire brigade.

“Everything is okay,” Stella assured him. “It was an accident.”

Kent was a big-rig driver who drove the pumper/ladder truck for the group. It always followed the engine to calls in case there wasn't enough water or a hydrant wasn't available.

“Don't tell me—Tagger. Where is he? Did he asphyxiate himself?”

“He's fine,” Stella said. “He had a hard time with the grill. That's all.”

“What kind of question is that for a firefighter to ask anyway?” Royce Pope inserted his large frame between Kent and Stella. “Man, we're supposed to be the good guys, remember?” His broad face looked concerned.

“Just asking.” Kent shrugged and walked away.

“Everything is fine.” Stella tried to calm the situation. Everyone in the fire brigade was a little touchy about fires in the firehouse after the first house had burned down. She couldn't blame them. She was a little edgy too.

Firefighters weren't supposed to lose their home.

“Let's get things going outside and the rest of the smoke will blow out. I'll check on Tagger and you guys get the hoses. I'll meet you in front.”

There was a lot of muttering and whispering as the crew started to do as they were told. Stella had made it clear from the beginning, as her chief had done with her, that her word was law. Disagreements were to be expected but in the end, there was only one way. Hers.

Out back, Tagger was sitting at the old picnic table they'd used for lunches over the summer. It had been built by the previous fire brigade but was still usable, as were the storage buildings.

The weather had been damp and cold recently so there weren't any outside lunches these days. The group really needed a long table and some chairs for the kitchen area inside. Now they had to eat in shifts if all of them were there, otherwise several of the firefighters had to eat standing up.

Stella had asked for funds for this purpose from the town council, but after the expense of rebuilding the firehouse and purchasing new equipment for the fire brigade, it wasn't going to happen for a while. Maybe not while she was there.

“Are you all right?” she asked Tagger.

Sometimes the sixty-year-old seemed as though he were in a fog. Other times, he was as sharp as any other member of the team. To most of them, he was more like a mascot than anything else. Everyone enjoyed his old stories about the first fire brigade and his time in Vietnam. His favorite pastime seemed to be building the legend of Eric Gamlyn.

She was glad she could count on him to man their communications a few nights a week. Someone had to be on duty twenty-four hours a day. Some of the others who questioned his place there didn't realize that they'd have to fill his spot if he left.

“I'm fine, Chief.” He shrugged. “I feel kind of stupid is all. I don't know what I was thinking bringing that grill inside. Even if it hadn't caught fire, I could've killed everyone with carbon monoxide. I'm sorry.”

Stella sat beside him. “We all do stupid things sometimes.” She didn't bother to deny it was stupid. He certainly knew better. “I'm glad you're okay.”

“You know, I could always count on Chief Gamlyn to tell me when I was doing something wrong. He always kept me straight.” He heaved a heavy sigh that shook his thin frame. “I don't understand why I never see his ghost anymore. He should've been here. Is he still up at the cabin?”

Stella didn't like trading ghost stories with the people in Sweet Pepper. They believed strongly in the local ghosts they'd grown up with. She wasn't even sure she believed in the ghost she lived with. Besides, they knew a lot more stories than she did. Usually, she kept information about Eric to herself, no matter how many people asked her about him.

She made an exception for Tagger. “I see him and talk to him every day. I don't know why he's not here at the firehouse anymore. He's trying to figure it out too. Any ideas?”

Tagger scratched his head, his face furrowed in thought. “It might be the new building. I haven't seen him since the fire. He built the cabin and the firehouse at the same time, you know. I used to watch him coming down from the mountain, a twelve-foot log under each arm. He had special feelings for this place.”

Stella couldn't help but smile. Stories like this about Eric were widespread. He was a giant among men, according to local people like Tagger. He'd built the firehouse and his cabin single-handed, at the same time that he'd turned the Little Pigeon River because he didn't like the way it was flowing.

Eric had become a myth and a folklore hero.

“Maybe that's it,” she agreed.

“Or it could be because we had to move his body out of the wall. That could do it. My grandmother used to say she saw her mother making supper in the kitchen every night until the church moved the graveyard where she was buried. She never saw her again. Haunts don't like to be messed with.”

It was an interesting theory. Stella didn't like thinking back to the day they'd found Eric's remains in the firehouse wall.

Until then, everyone thought he'd been killed in one of the worst fires in sweet Pepper, a grain silo fire. To find out he'd been murdered, his body stuffed into the firehouse wall, was depressing for everyone. It had made him seem less heroic, and more a victim.

Stella knew Eric mourned the loss of what the tightly knit community thought of him. He wouldn't admit it. He didn't have to. She knew he felt it.

She'd promised herself she'd stay on in Sweet Pepper until the mystery of what had happened to him was solved. It was getting harder. Her job and her life in Chicago couldn't wait forever for her to get back.

“Chief, will you take me up to the cabin to talk to Eric again sometime?” Tagger asked with the anticipation of a child who wants to go to Disney World.

“Sure. I know he'd be glad to see you. There aren't many of us who can see and hear him.” She wasn't actually sure Tagger
could
see or hear him, at least not the way she could. She'd never seen them together. She didn't want to argue with him. It was easier to play along, as she did with most of the ghost stories floating around Sweet Pepper.

Tears clouded his faded brown eyes. “You know, he saved my life more than once. He deserved better, Chief. He helped a lot of people in his life.”

“I know.” She put her hand on his shoulder as she stood up. “Do you feel like doing some hose drills out front?”

He sniffed a little, wiped his eyes and nose on his shirtsleeve, and then smiled. “You know I only watch and add a few suggestions every now and again.”

“I know. Everyone counts on you for that.”

They walked together to the front of the firehouse, around the slightly scorched grill that had been pushed to the side of the building.

Stella ignored it. It was past the season to cook outside anyway. Someone would have to clean it up and test it by next summer before they used it again.

Tagger had his problems, yet since he'd joined the new fire brigade, she'd seen him change, become more coherent. The fire brigade needed him, and he needed them.

The volunteers already had the hoses out front. They mostly used a three-quarter-inch but had brought the two-inch hose out as well. The smaller hose took two people when it was on because of the high pressure. The larger hose took three people, but could also be mounted and swung into place.

Sweet Pepper's librarian, Banyin Watts, had arrived with high school football hero, Bert Wando, while Stella had been in back. Banyin was a taller, heavier, less intense version of Petey, with a husband who wasn't keen on her being a firefighter. She saw it as her community responsibility. She'd encouraged her husband to join too—no takers on that yet.

Bert was a tall, broad-shouldered senior whose father was the mayor of Sweet Pepper. He was a good firefighter—when he was there. His father had loaded him up with work and special projects, besides his school and sports obligations. It was hard for Bert to do everything that was expected of him.

“Have you seen Hero?” Kimmie and David Spratt, their married firefighters, joined them. They were wearing their bunker coats and boots but were obviously less concerned with hose practice than they were with finding the puppy. Sylvia sat between them looking every bit as concerned.

“He's usually here for practice,” David reminded Stella.

“I know.” Stella glanced at her watch. Hero might not leave the cabin while Patrick was working. Or Eric might not have thought to release him from the perimeter while he was busy spying on the chimney sweep. Either scenario was possible.

Stella decided on her excuse. “He's at the cabin keeping an eye on the chimney sweep for me. He'll be here next time we practice.”

Kimmie didn't look any less unhappy for the explanation. She explained to Sylvia. The tall, thin Dalmatian whined and lay down on the pavement, her paws over her eyes.

Stella laughed at her, wondering if there were humans who could really talk to animals. A few months ago, the thought might not have crossed her mind.

A few months ago, she hadn't lived with a ghost either. It had changed her perspective on a lot of things.

“Let's get started.” She rallied the firefighters. They were going to have to move ahead without Hero. Drills were too important to her team's physical and mental well-being. Firefighters needed training on a regular basis if they were going to be prepared when they went out on a call.

Practices were hard to schedule into everyone's busy lives. There was no time to go to the cabin and retrieve the puppy.