Fire Season

Chapter Ten

As the second day of their exile drew to a close, Anders was aware of a growing sense of expectation among the crew. He thought it was unduly optimistic-they wouldn’t even be missed until that night-but he knew that both Virgil and Kesia hoped their spouses would alert the authorities.

Anders realized, too, that his own activities had certainly added to this sense that rescue was certain to come quickly. After helping Dr. Emberly with checking the fish traps and more foraging, he’d asked to be excused.

“It’s not that I’m not interested, Dr. Emberly,” he said, looking at the four rather strange-looking “fish” they’d taken from the traps. It was a good thing the SFS guidebook assured them this species was edible, because based on appearance alone, Anders would have had serious doubts. “But I have some ideas how we might make it easier for us to be found.”

“Why don’t you just call me Calida,” she suggested. “It seems ridiculous to use titles while we’re all stranded here.”

“Because my dad wouldn’t like it,” Anders replied promptly. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll call you Doctor Calida.”

“Done,” she said. “Now, what is it you have in mind?”

After listening to Anders outline his plans, Dr. Calida had agreed. “But be careful up in the trees.”

Figuring that talking to Dr. Calida counted as asking permission, Anders avoided talking to his father. Dr. Whittaker-Dad had glowered when any of his underlings had addressed him by anything except this title-was behaving really strangely. Not only was he insisting on maintaining the academic hierarchy, but he was carrying on with his fieldwork as if nothing else was important.

When Anders had questioned him about this, privately, so as not to cause any embarrassment, Dad had smiled fondly and all but patted him on the head.

“You go ahead and play at camping adventure if you’d like,” he said, his tone so warm and affectionate that Anders wondered if he somehow imagined they were on holiday at their mountain cabin. “I’m here to work and so are the others. We’re learning a great deal. Dr. Emberly has already recorded some fascinating evidence that the treecats may be in transition from a purely hunter-gatherer lifestyle to one with elements of agriculture. She wouldn’t have had the opportunity to learn this without our current situation. Even if we’d waited only a few weeks for permission to come here, much of the evidence-such as those patches of near-lettuce-would have grown beyond the point where we could record the treecats’ use of them.”

Anders could tell he wasn’t going to get through, so he went on with his plans, embarrassingly aware that there was a certain adventure story quality to them. Experimentation had shown that for someone of his weight, walking on the surface of the bog was relatively safe-as long as he didn’t stick his foot on one of those areas where only a thin screen of vegetation covered the sucking mud beneath. Dr. Calida had explained that in more normal situations traversing the bog would not have been as safe.

“I’m guessing,” she said, “that in addition to the wetlands providing the treecats with drinking water, an interesting variety of useful plants, and fresh fish, the bog also provided a natural moat. A creature as heavy as a hexapuma would think twice or even three times before crossing that area. The risk of getting trapped would be too great.”

After consulting his SFS guide book to make certain he would not be exposing himself to any toxic saps, Anders cut a quantity of undergrowth from the edges of the bog in which the air-van had sunk. This he dragged out onto the bog itself and arranged it on a slight rise in a large X pattern. He was very careful where he stepped, but even so, his shoes-the only pair he had brought with him-got thoroughly muddy, and he had reason to be glad that he’d packed extra socks.

He was also reassured to know that Dacey Emberly was keeping watch on him from her perch in the treetops. The elderly painter might be less than active, but she was earning the gratitude of the expedition. Not only was she tending to the unconscious Langston Nez, but she minded the pots simmering on the cookstove-fresh food could not be prepared as quickly as the camping staples Anders had been familiar with before this. She also had assigned herself the role of watch-not only for aerial traffic, of which there was depressingly little, but also for ground-level hazards.

“I don’t know much about Sphinx,” Dacey said, “but I haven’t associated with a xenobiologist all these years without learning that water always draws the wild things. Though that area’s dry for a bog, it’s still plenty wet to provide drinking water.”

When Anders expressed concern that despite his efforts to place it safely, his brushwood X would simply doom another vehicle to land and sink, Dacey had chuckled.

“Don’t you worry about that. I’ve been spotting wood rats-and even a smaller critter or two Calida tells me might not yet be in the official zoological record. I got pictures, even!” She turned serious. “Honestly, I’m not going to miss something the size of an air car. If one comes here, I’m going to holler so loud that, first, they don’t fail to know we’re here, and, second, they set down somewhere else.”

Making the X, especially under the demands of fifteen percent added gravity, wore Anders out thoroughly enough that he didn’t get on to the next part of his plan until the third day. That day, after once again helping Dr. Calida with the foraging, then helping Dacey with cleaning and turning the still unconscious Langston Nez, Anders set off on a slow climb to the top of one of the highest of the picketwood trees.

He’d had to argue with his father about this part of his plan-not because Dr. Whittaker was worried about Anders falling, but because he was concerned about contamination of the treecat habitat. In the end, Anders won, but only when he promised that the blazing he planned to do would not be permanent. That meant he’d need to carry even the post for the flag he planned to erect with him-adding to both his weight and to the awkwardness of his climb. At least the “flag” itself would not be too heavy.

Most of what Langston Nez had tossed out of the sinking van had been gear brought along for the expedition, rather than the personal property of the crew. Dr. Whittaker had not stopped grumbling that his goodie bag had gone to the bottom, but at least the bag containing his and Anders’ clothing had made it out. Poor Virgil didn’t have even a change of clothes until Anders gave him some. Neither of the Emberlys’ clothes had made it out, but Langston had made a point of making sure that the small satchel in which Dacey kept her medications-along with her painting supplies and camera-had been among the first he retrieved.

That meant all three women were at least partially dressed out of Kesia Guyen’s rather flashy wardrobe. Happily, Kesia was very full-figured, so although her clothing hung loosely on the two Emberly women, it did fit. Now Kesia’s bag supplied what Anders needed for his treetop expedition.

“Good thing I like scarves,” she said, pulling out half a dozen, “and that they roll up so small I always keep a supply tucked in my travel bag.”

She’d grinned at him. “Nothing like a scarf to change your appearance when you’re short on other clothes. I bet your mama knows that.”

Now some of those scarves were stuffed into the front of Anders’ shirt as he began his laborious climb toward the top of the picketwood, the flagpole he’d shaped from a sapling lace willow strapped to his back and hanging down behind like a tail.

Here and there, as he climbed, Anders saw evidence of the treecats’ past use of the tree. He might have been defeated in one place where sometime in the distant past a branch had broken off, leaving no hand- or footholds, but he used a vibro-blade to cut himself toeholds.

More than once during that climb, Anders wished he could switch on his counter-grav unit. It would have carried him to his destination much more quickly-and if he had lost his grip, his fall would have been of much lesser consequence. However, he didn’t do so. Already he was regretting the extra power he’d used when picking near-pine pods with Dr. Calida. Dacey kept watch over the stack of power packets, but even with setting the counter-grav units at minimum, that stack was diminishing rapidly.

Soon, Anders thought, someone is going to have to go without. It can’t be Langston or Dacey. Why do I think Dad’s going to have excuses why it can’t be him? I’m guessing Virgil will volunteer. He’s still feeling stupidly guilty over the problem with the uni-links-even though Dad’s as much to blame. Or maybe Dad will suggest that since I’m not a “real” part of the expedition, I can do without. Maybe he’d even be right.

When he reached the top of the picketwood tree, Anders braced himself and began tying the scarves into long, brilliantly colored streamers at the narrow end of his pole. Then, holding short lengths of rope in his mouth, he lashed the flagpole into place. He’d practiced this part when he was lower down, but he hadn’t counted on the steady press of the wind that tried to wrestle the length of lace willow from his hands.

The streamers snapped in the occasional cross-draft, one stinging him across his face like a whip. Eventually, however, he got the flagpole into place. When he did, the scarves-most of which were at least a meter wide-billowed out and flew, defiant slashes of unnatural color against the Sphinxian sky.

He stayed up at the top of the picketwood for a while, watching, hoping, he knew against hope, to see some air car that he could wave down. But the sky remained empty, and once again Anders found himself regretting an SFS policy that restricted use not only of some wild lands, but of the airspace above them.

At last Anders made his slow, careful way down. That evening over a dinner that included some interesting results of Dr. Calida’s foraging combined with the last of their supplies, speculation was rife as to when they would be located.

“Tomorrow, certainly,” Dr. Whittaker said. “Last night we didn’t report in as planned. Certainly, some searching was done today. Indeed, I’m surprised we haven’t been located already.”

His tone was disapproving, as if with an entire planet to search, the SFS should have homed in on them at once. No one reminded Dr. Whittaker that the SFS had no idea where to look, but from the expressions on various faces, Anders was certain he was not the only one who remembered.

Despite Dr. Whittaker’s confident assertions, the fourth day of their castaway existence passed without their being found. On the fifth day, morale was distinctly low.

On the third day, Kesia Guyen had done her part to solve the question of who had access to the increasingly diminished supply of power packs for the counter-grav units by refusing to have anything more to do with surveying the remnants of the treecat community.

“I do have training in fieldwork,” she said, “but my primary skills are linguistic. I’ve had it with climbing trees, knowing I’ll bust my butt-or something a lot less well-padded-if I fall. I’m going to go sit with Dacey and turn my belt unit off unless I absolutely need to move.”

Anders watched in trepidation as Dr. Whittaker-he just couldn’t think of him as “Dad” when he got this way-ballooned up like a ship’s captain facing incipient mutiny.

Then Langston Nez coughed. The injured man had been doing more of this. The stuff coming up his throat didn’t look good: thick, viscous, and the color of mud. Anders tried to believe that it was good that some of this stuff was coming out, but it was hard to convince himself. Langston only had a low-grade fever, the sort even a minor system irritation like an allergy could cause. Nonetheless, his cheeks were hollow and his eyes-which occasionally fluttered open, but never seemed to see them-were sunken.

“Perhaps,” Dr. Whittaker said, “that is a good choice, Kesia. Dacey has been doing triple duty. Maybe if the two of you work together, you’d be able to get a bit more liquid into Langston. Water is more important than food for survival.”

Dr. Calida continued her researches, but since these supplied the bulk of their food, no one suggested she stop. Anders had assigned himself as her assistant, but to do his part to preserve power for the counter-grav units, he always slept (or tried to) with his unit turned off. There was no more soaring aloft lighter than his surroundings to pick nuts or seed pods.

Breakfast that morning was slim: small portions of a grilled fish-thing mixed with a strong-tasting fungus. The fungus smelled like old boots, but actually tasted sort of buttery. Marjorie Harrington’s notes commented that it was full of protein, though the entry ended, “Unless we can breed a variation that eliminates the odor but not the nutritional value, this fungus is likely to be-like the durian fruit of Old Terra-only appreciated by gourmets.”

Choking down his portion, Anders had to agree.

When they returned for lunch-bringing with them the strange array of plants that would be all they had for dinner unless the new location to which they’d moved the fish traps proved a lucky one-they found Dr. Whittaker in full rant.

“What I can’t understand,” he said, “is why no one has thought to look for us here! Surely, Ranger Jedrusinski must recall she showed us this place. By now-we’ve been missing for five days.”

“Three,” mouthed Kesia, who was becoming distinctly mutinous.

In spite of the linguist’s constant jokes about how John was going to love her newly slimmed self, it was clear that Kesia worried how he was taking her being missing. Apparently, John Qin hadn’t gotten where he had in business without having a strong sense of what was due to him and his.

Virgil’s situation was worse because-unlike Kesia who, maybe because of her husband’s relatively well-to-do station, had decided she could defy Dr. Whittaker-Virgil clearly felt his dependence strongly. Doubtless he was all too aware of the impending baby and knew this was not a time for him to go looking for work.

Even when twilight forced them in from their field work, Virgil would sit cataloging artifacts or photo-images by the light of one of the low-power light units with which they were fortunately well-supplied. Virgil rarely mentioned Peony Rose, but Anders had seen how frequently he glanced at her picture on his uni-link when he thought no one was looking.

I heard Dacey and Kesia talking. The first trimester is the riskiest time for a pregnancy. Morning sickness can just be the body adjusting, but Dacey said sometimes it means the body’s having trouble keeping the baby. Virgil’s got to know this. He must be mad with worry.

Now, as Dr. Whittaker continued his harangue against the SFS in general and Ranger Jedrusinski in particular, Anders could see that Kesia was about to get herself into trouble. He couldn’t let her do that. She’d done more than Dad to make certain they were comfortable. She was the one who had fixed Langston’s counter-grav unit. She was the one who told stories at night, when they were all worn out but needed something to feed the soul as well as the body before they could sleep. Now she was helping with Langston, cleaning him and nursing water into him with infinite patience.

Anders couldn’t let Kesia say anything that would irrevocably ruin her chances at academic advancement-or worse, create a situation in which she might have to bring his dad up against some sort of review board to prove her rights. That wouldn’t help either of them. Academics could be as touchy as the military about hierarchies-and the rules were a lot less clear-cut.

“Dad,” Anders said, speaking over whatever Kesia had been about to say. “You’re wrong and you know you are. I was along that day, don’t forget. Ranger Jedrusinski took us to dozens of places related to treecats in one way or another.”

“Yes. But this was the only real site. Surely, if she used her pea brain for something other than keeping lists of rules and regulations, she would remember this very important area and think to direct the search there.”

“She’d also remember,” Anders said, hands on hips, chin thrust upwards in defiance, “that this was the one and only place among all those locations that you were expressly forbidden to come back to. I suppose if she was a less direct sort of person she’d realize you couldn’t resist the temptation, but my guess is that if and when the SFS does start retracing those locations, this will be the last place they’ll look precisely because they wouldn’t think you’d be slime enough to betray their trust.”

That did it. Anders knew it. Despite the circle of watching adults, Dad actually took a step toward Anders, his hand raised to wallop him as he hadn’t done since Anders was old enough to understand words. Something was shattering in Dad, breaking the shell of civilization.

Behind Dad, Virgil was taking cautious steps forward, obviously prepared to intervene. Anders shook his head to stop Virgil. After all, wasn’t he doing this especially for him and Kesia?

“Dad,” Anders said, fumbling for words that would slow his father before he did something foolish, but at the same time reluctant to relinquish his position. “Dad…I’m sorry, but…”

“Anders, I’ve put up with enough of your insubordination!”

Dr. Whittaker’s hand continued inexorably toward Anders. Was it really moving in slow motion? Anders watched, horrified, knowing exactly how that meaty fist would feel, especially with all the extra force of Sphinx’s gravity behind it.

That last realization awoke Anders’ sense of self-preservation. He dropped his hand to his counter-grav unit, switching up the power just long enough so that he could dodge out of the way. Dr. Whittaker’s hand swept through open air, the violence of the gesture enough to cause him to stumble and fall forward. Anders started running, his feet still unnaturally light.

Dr. Whittaker struggled to his feet, rage fading into confusion. “Anders…I…Anders, come back here!

But Anders was already gone.

Stephanie-and Jessica, who was sleeping in her room-were awakened slightly before dawn by Stephanie’s dad. Richard Harrington looked grim.

“Steph, get up and moving. The search has been called off, but you’re still needed-more than ever, in fact.”

“What? Called off?”

“You’ll get briefing from the SFS with more details than I have,” he said, giving her a quick hug then hurrying for the door. “A lightning strike last night in the foothills north of here set off what’s rapidly becoming a raging fire. I’m going to wake up Karl. Your mom set out food before she left to go save some experimental plants that could be threatened if the fire moves west. I’m off to my clinic in town. They’re bringing the injured to me there since Twin Forks is likely to remain a safe point.”

“Right, Dad. Thanks!”

Stephanie had rolled out of bed and was now pulling on her clothes. Jessica was doing the same. Faster than Stephanie would have thought possible, they were dressed and downstairs.

Karl joined them a moment later.

“Grab that stuff,” he said, pointing to the array of protein bars and fruit Marjorie Harrington had set out. “I’ll get the car. Time enough to eat once we’re moving.”

Stephanie, Karl, and Jessica arrived at the SFS regional headquarters in Twin Forks and hurried inside. Even though the fire was hundreds of kilometers distant, the smoke overhead was thick enough that the light of the rising sun was dampened into an artificial twilight. A faint, not completely unpleasant scent of burning wood tinged the air.

Inside the station, they saw that the largest meeting room had been transformed into command central for those working the fire. There they found Frank Lethbridge in charge of immediate operations.

Although he had cleaned up some, the ranger had evidently already been out at the fire. Grime clung beneath his fingernails and had settled into the creases of his face. He smelled strongly of smoke. When they came in, he was just finishing talking to a woman in an SFS uniform-Assistant Ranger Geraldine something or other. Stephanie had met her a few times, but didn’t know her well.

“Go and triage that latest group of volunteers,” Lethbridge was saying. “Remember, even those who can’t be cleared to go out to the fire itself can help. We’re going to need pilots to shuttle people back and forth from the various fire areas. We’re going to need people to man relief stations in the safety zones. Oh! And someone needs to take a van to the warehouse and bring out more of those emergency kits-the ones with a suit, shelter, and a Pulaski. Have them bring some bladder bags and drip torches, too, but be careful who gets those-especially the torches. Oh! If you find anyone with experience flying heavier vehicles, send them to Smitty. He’s coordinating the water drops.”

Geraldine hurried out, giving the three young people a quick, tight nod as she passed.

As was so often the case in times of crisis, momentarily, the room was empty.

Frank Lethbridge greeted them with a weary nod. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I’ve got a job picked out for you already.”

He indicated a holomap. “Here’s the head of the fire. It’s moving northwest, picking up speed as the winds rise. As you can see, although the lightning strike hit within a Forestry Service district, if it continues in that direction, it’s going to threaten Hayestown and the Painter settlement, as well as several smaller holdings. We’re hoping to use branches of the Weeping River as an anchor point from which to build a fire line.

“What I want you to do is go south. We’ve had a report that there was a second lightning strike down that way. The level of heat and smoke from the main fire is intense enough that it’s reducing our ability to tell how this secondary fire is spreading. However, we do have reports the wind is shifting from the original northwestern push, acquiring a southern dimension.”

Stephanie frowned. “You didn’t call us out at dawn just to put us away from where we’re needed, did you? If that’s the way it is, I’d like permission to go back to looking for the missing xenoanthropological crew.”

She knew she was being rude, but the food her mom had put out seemed to have filled her belly without giving her any strength. Worry washed through her like waves against a cliff, battering her normal composure to sand.

Lethbridge shook his head. “Stephanie, this is not make-work. You and Karl have shown yourselves capable both of being methodical and taking initiative when needed. Right now, we have ample strong backs. What we need are people who can take a look at forest conditions and decide how serious the situation is. Usually, I’d delegate a couple of rangers, but right now, with the main fire encroaching on so many human habitations we’re getting lots of volunteers and we need the rangers to brief and coordinate them.”

Karl cut in. “And that’s one job we can’t do. No one would take us seriously. Right, Frank? I mean, Ranger Lethbridge…”

“Right,” Lethbridge said. “But we do take you seriously. Can you handle this?” He gave a tired grin. “And ‘Frank’s’ okay as long as it’s just us…”

Stephanie nodded slowly. “But the xenoanthropologists…Yesterday their being missing was a major crisis with not only personal but political ramifications. Today they’re just being forgotten?”

Frank glanced at the hologram of the fire. Updated from satellite feed, it was a living map. For now, the fire showed as clouds of thick white and gray smoke, an angry red glow beneath. From her training, Stephanie knew how quickly that red might climb to the treetops. If the wind caught it, then what was already a wildfire would mutate into something far worse-a crown fire, spreading from treetop to treetop, capable of leaping both human-made control lines and natural barriers such as rivers.

Whatever Frank saw in that image, apparently it reassured him that he could spend a little more time explaining the situation to the probationary rangers and their friend.

“You’re not the only ones who are worried. We are, too. Last night, Chief Ranger Shelton had the spouses of two of the missing people in his office demanding a full-scale search be mounted. The woman was weeping and looking sick. The man was threatening lawsuits. Only Dr. Hobbard’s powers of persuasion are keeping them from taking the story to the newsies.”

Frank pressed his eyes closed, and Stephanie guessed that he’d been present for the unpleasant scene.

“By then, however, we knew the fire which had been reported that afternoon was turning nasty, so Chief Ranger Shelton decided that the search for the xenoanthropologists must be given lower priority. If Dr. Whittaker and his team are still alive-and I sincerely hope they are-the area where they went down is quite distant from that threatened by the fire. Basically, they’re safer wherever they are than we are right here. Right now many square kilometers of forest are threatened. That’s bad enough, but if the fire gets any further out of control, then hundreds of humans’ lives are at risk. When you weigh that against seven people, it’s a pretty cold equation.”

He paused and indicated the fire. “Are you going to follow orders, Probationary Ranger Harrington, or would you like to be released from duty?”

Heart beating strongly in her ears, Stephanie struggled against the impulse to pull out her treasured badge and throw it on the table. But that grand gesture would be far from grand. It would be a fit of temper, worthy of a child, not of a young woman who wanted to live up to the trust that badge-an emblem of a post Chief Ranger Shelton had created for her and Karl-implied.

Stephanie gave a smile that she hoped would show nothing of her inner turmoil and said. “That southern fire needs checking out. Can we have a kit for Jessica, too?”

Frank Lethbridge gave her a lopsided grin, one that revealed for the first time how much he had dreaded that Stephanie would elect to follow the prompts of her own considerable will.

“Absolutely. Report in as you find how the southern fire is spreading. You’ll have access to a version of the data here, so you’ll be able to see when we need updating. Otherwise, consider yourselves free agents. As I said, what we need is your capacity for taking initiative.”

When they collected a kit for Jessica, they were also issued bladder bags already loaded with a mixture of fire-retardant chemicals and water.

“I’m giving you,” Geraldine said, “a pair of drip torches. You know how to use the torch?”

Karl nodded. “We’ve had training.”

“Right. Just…be careful if you have to use them, okay?”

“We will.” Karl flashed a grin. “We have no desire to have the next big one called the Zivonik/Harrington fire.”

When they were back in the air car, Stephanie suggested they get into their fire-suits as they drove.

“If we need them,” she said, “it’s going to be when we don’t want to waste time getting into them.”

Karl immediately set the auto-pilot-they were in open space, speeding over the green canopy of a forest that did not yet know its danger-and pulled his suit on over his clothes. As Stephanie did the same, she glanced to the backseat to see if Jessica needed help. The other girl was doing fine, but Stephanie found herself feeling just a tiny bit jealous of the interesting way Jessica’s fire-suit emphasized her curvaceous figure.

On me, she thought, the darn thing just covers over what little curve I’ve got!

Lionheart bleeked in what Stephanie was certain was amusement.

Jessica looked up from where she had been fastening the ankle tabs on her suit. “What will we do with Lionheart if we need to go out?”

Stephanie stroked the treecat’s thick gray fur along his back, trying to hide her concern.

“I’ll try to convince him to stay in the air car, but the decision is going to be his. He’s not a pet or a child. He’s a person-a grown-up person. If I’m going to respect that, I’m going to need to allow him to make his own choices.”

“But what if he gets burned? We have these suits and goggles and respirators, but what about him?”

“Lionheart’s pretty smart about avoiding danger,” Stephanie said. “When Karl and I did our training classes, one of the things we learned to do was use a fire shelter.”

She held up a package not much larger than a folded man’s shirt. “Have you ever seen one of these?”

“No, I haven’t. How could something that small be a shelter?”

“It’s made of light thermwall material, so it folds down pretty tight. Like our fire-suits, the material is fire-resistant and protects against radiant heat. Okay, imagine the following situation. We’re out there taking a look at a tongue of a fire, judging how great a risk it offers.”

“Right.”

“The wind shifts-winds do that a lot during fires because the heat of the fire itself creates wind-suddenly, though you’d been standing ten meters from the fire, you realize a tongue of fire too wide for you to safely make it through, even in your suit, has cut you off from a safe point. Worse, you can see the flames are coming toward you. You rip open this packet and pull this tab. It opens up into a small tent. You crawl inside and seal it shut. The flames race over you, leaving you maybe a bit hotter, but unburnt. When the flames have passed, you come out and get to safety.”

“But what if the flames don’t pass?” Jessica asked. “Do I just sit in there and cook?”

Karl chuckled. “Unless you set your tent up on top of a pile of brush or a tree trunk or in a grove of trees or something, the flames will pass. No matter how powerful a fire may seem when you look at something like the holomap Ranger Lethbridge had, fires need at least four conditions or they can’t exist. Steph?”

Dutifully, Stephanie recited: “Oxygen, fuel, heat, and a self-sustained chemical reaction. Eliminate any of these and the fire will die. That’s called the ‘fire tetrahedron.’ An easier version to remember is the ‘fire triangle’-oxygen, fuel, and heat.”

“So in that lovely little story you told,” Jessica said, “I’ve had the brains not to put my tent right in the middle of a heap of fuel. Oxygen can’t really be eliminated out in the open and there would be plenty of heat, but once the fire burns up the fuel, then it can’t stay there. Right?”

“You’ve got it,” Stephanie said. “Moreover, as your teammates, we’d be doing what we could to help. The bladder bags contain water mixed with various fire-suppressant chemicals. Water eliminates heat as well. We’d spray it in the area around your shelter.”

“So these bladder bags are basically like the fire extinguisher we have in the kitchen at home?”

“Pretty much, but the sprayer has a lot more range and the chemicals have been tailored to deal with a fire that will have unlimited oxygen, unlike a structure fire, where the structure itself can dampen the fire for a time. They’re also equipped to be quickly refilled, unlike your home extinguisher, which is pretty much a one-use item.”

Jessica nodded. “You started this because I asked about how Lionheart would deal with a fire. Did you teach him how to use a fire shelter?”

“We did,” Stephanie said. “It wasn’t easy, because he has a treecat’s ingrained caution regarding fire, but he’s smart. Once he saw the demonstration a few times, I think he figured out how useful such shelters could be.”

“That reminds me,” Jessica said. “I wanted to ask about the last piece of equipment you were given, that drip torch. It sounded to me like the ranger was actually suggesting you might need to start a fire. That sounds crazy.”

“It does,” Stephanie agreed, “but using fire to fight fire is an old technique and one that still has its place. Remember how I said that ‘fuel’ is one of the key elements in creating a fire-ready condition?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if you eliminate fuel, you can eliminate one of the directions in which the fire can spread. Sometimes you can do that by soaking the fuel in advance of the fire. Sometimes firebreaks are built-either with tools or, if there’s time, using machinery. You cut away the trees, limbs, and snags, leaving nothing but bare dirt. When fire gets to the break it’s stopped. If the fire isn’t too fierce, sometimes even a line made with the side of a boot-as long as it clears the area down to bare dirt or rock-can create a large enough break.”

Karl took over. “But there are times when it’s faster to burn the fuels up in advance of the fire. That works well with ‘light’ fuels like grass, leaves, pine needles, and dry slash. You make certain you have a fire line around them, then burn out the middle. When the main fire arrives, it finds bare earth where a meadow full of yummy dried grass would have been.”

Jessica shuddered. “It sounds horrible, transforming a meadow into a burnt waste.”

“The fire would have done it anyhow,” Stephanie said, “and this way the forest on the other side is protected.”

“Mostly, these days,” Karl said, “fire is used for clearing a safe zone. That’s what that Franchitti idiot said he was doing when he started the fire a few weeks ago.”

He glanced at the navigation screen and made a few adjustments.

“We’re closing in on the southern side of the fire. I’m going to bring us down beneath the canopy now. Time to stop talking and start watching.”

Stephanie nodded and turned her attention to the window. Lionheart climbed into her lap, equally intent.

Yet even as Stephanie turned her attention to charting the spread of a tongue of the secondary fire, a sense that she was partaking in a deep betrayal filled her. She shouldn’t be here. She should be out there, searching for someone. For one someone. For Anders.

There were times when being smart enough to know where duty lay distinctly sucked.