Firestorm (13 page)

“Yes. I went. Yesterday.” Beth raised her eyes to look directly into Reyne’s. “He didn’t give me good news, Reyne. The cancer has spread. It’s in my bones. My chest. Even my legs.”

Reyne set her coffee cup down so hard the liquid splashed over the edge. The coffee stayed where it had spilled, forming tiny rivulets that rounded and rolled for a second, then stopped. Reyne stared at it, not caring that it might damage the finish. She was sure that if she saw herself in the mirror she would be sporting the same pale shade of gray-green that her friends wore. “I … I’m so sorry, Beth. What else did he say? What do you do now?”

Beth wearily took a sip of coffee and leaned back. Each movement was evidently torture for her. “I’m not going to do anything. I’m going to die. And I don’t want to be in the hospital during my last days.”

The trio was silent for several minutes. Reyne felt confused, angry at her friend’s words. “How can you say that?” she asked, her tone pleading. “You’ve fought for so long …” Her mind raced, searching for the right argument. “What happened to the Beth who fought this back the first time? A year ago you told me you’d do anything to have more time with Matt and Hope.”

Beth closed her eyes as if she’d received a physical blow.

“I’m sorry, Beth,” Reyne said, “but have you thought this through? About what you’re giving up?”

Beth took a deep breath before responding. “I think you know me better than that, Reyne. You know I’d do anything to stay with Matt … with Hope. With you guys.” She looked at them both, her brown eyes bright with tears. They looked enormous in her thin face. “I did want more time with you all. I prayed for it. And God answered that prayer. I’ve had a whole year.”

Silence enfolded them like a stiff curtain. Then Reyne finally ventured another question. “How long, Beth? How long did he say you had?”

“Two, maybe three months.”

“And there’s nothing you can do? You’re not going to do any more chemotherapy?”

“Matt and I are talking about it. But at this stage they can’t promise it’ll do much good, and I’m not sure I’m willing to spend my last days going through all that for nothing. I’d rather spend every second possible with Hope and Matthew and you two.”

Tears came to her eyes and spilled over at last, her face shrouded in pain. “I don’t want to say good-bye,” she managed through her tears. “I have so much more I want to do!”

Tears ran down Reyne and Rachel’s faces, too, as they nodded, listening. Reyne reached out to hug Beth, and Rachel went around the sofa to stroke her hair. For a long time, the three just sat together, holding one another and sniffling.

“It’s just not fair,” Reyne said at last. “We thought you had beaten it. It’s just not fair.” Her voice cracked as more tears came.

Beth sat up suddenly and wiped her face. Rachel brought a box of tissues from the bathroom, and they all sat there trying to get control of themselves.

“Sorry, Beth,” Reyne said, grabbing yet another Kleenex from its box. “We’re supposed to be the strong ones, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling through her own swollen eyes, “I think that’s the way it’s supposed to go.”

“So, my friend,” Rachel said, “what can we do to help?”

And for the next two hours, the three did nothing but pray.

R
eyne wasn’t surprised when she didn’t hear from Logan during the next few days. She knew that the Colorado fire was spreading, eating up new acreage as the dry summer wind drove it onward. And she was even less surprised to hear Thomas Wagner’s voice on the phone by midweek.

“We need you here, Reyne,” Thomas said over the crackling of the phone line. “Get your bags packed, ’cause I’ve just name-requested you. You can expect your orders shortly. We’ve got four new fronts to battle, and I need more hands on deck.”

“I’ll be ready,” she said without hesitation. She was excited to see Logan—if indeed she managed to find him in the chaos of the fire camp. But the adrenaline was pumping through her veins at the prospect of going to
work
. She had always hated the dragon and welcomed the chance to help pound him out—even from the relative safety of the command center. And now he was more than just a nameless monster. He was a constant threat to the man she loved.

A helicopter took off from Elk Horn International three hours later, whisking Reyne and more supplies off to the base camp south of Denver. A slim, tall rookie was there to meet her. He stooped under the helicopter’s whopping blades to help her out and carry her things.

As they exited the immediate area, he introduced himself. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Jamie Pickering, temporarily assigned to the general at this fire camp.”

She held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Jamie. I’m Reyne Oldre. Who has ICS assigned as incident commander here?”

“Commander Wagner, ma’am.”

Reyne grinned, picturing Thomas eating up his new title. Back when they had fought Oxbow in Idaho, Thomas had been fire boss, and later she had heard he had been made operations chief. Obviously, Thomas had gained numerous points on his ICS red card—the method by which the ICS kept track of experience and assigned duties—since that fateful day years ago. Making it all the way to Type I Incident Commander qualified him and his team to take on the largest of fires.

Reyne pushed memories of Oxbow out of her mind, focusing on the huge fire camp in front of them. She scanned the area for Logan, ignoring the slim chances of actually seeing him, and noted the hundreds of yellow Forest Service–issue tents as well as the numerous personally owned tents beside them. It was practically a small city, a typical sight for firefighters at the height of fire season.
But it’s only June
, she thought.

Jamie showed her to her private tent, where she quickly dropped off her personal belongings. She kept her soft-sided briefcase with her.

They reached the Incident Command Center, and Reyne smiled as she ducked inside and caught sight of Thomas. Jamie sighed audibly beside her as they watched the grizzled commander blast another rookie for messing up on some duty. “Welcome to Incident Command, ma’am,” Jamie said, glancing from her to Thomas. He clearly did not want to get any closer to his boss than necessary. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, Jamie. Thank you. I think I can take it from here.” She
watched the young man scramble away, then looked back to find Thomas still chewing out the other youth. “Hey, Wagner,” she said loudly, hoping to distract him from his obvious displeasure. “I hear there’s a way to earn an honest living here!”

All eyes turned to her, the tent growing momentarily quiet as they checked out the new arrival. Reyne was the only woman in a crowd of twenty or more men.

“Oldre! Finally!” Thomas turned to meet her halfway and swept her up into a huge bear hug. “So I have to pull rank and order you here to get a look at ya now, huh?”

“I just want to feel needed, Thomas—you know that,” she said with a grin.

“Yeah, right. Well, you’re needed, all right,” he said, nodding toward the bank of computers, shortwave radios, telephones, and the team of men who had already returned to their duties. “We’ve reached Type I status,” he said, referring to the escalating nature of the fire. A Type I fire was a major conflagration. “We’ve got the extended team—including yourself—arriving today, and more ground troops.”

They walked over to a wall covered with maps. Thomas picked up an infrared aerial shot of one blaze among many that made up the fire they were fighting. They had dubbed it Devil’s Head—after the campground in which it started. Already the name was being shortened to “the Devil.”

Thomas handed Reyne the infrared photo. “It’s old—last night’s.” He motioned toward the Pike National Forest topographical map in front of them. “As you know, the fire’s been burning for over two weeks,” he began, looking grim. “We thought we had it sealed up last week, but then we got this infernal high-pressure system, and the Devil’s had
us
by the tail since then.”

“How many ground troops do you have in?” she asked, studying the map and then looking at the aerial photo again.

“We’ll have a thousand by nightfall.”

“And how many smokejumpers?” It was odd that there were smokejumpers left here at all. Typically, jumpers were used in remote places to ward off small fires, not on a Type I fire running over a couple of weeks. Silently she prayed that the Elk Horn crew had not been moved on to another fire.

Thomas gave her a quick glance. “Four squads of six. Logan McCabe’s heading ’em all up. We’ve got so many remote flanks and startups on this one that we still need ’em.”

“And you have fire like this on all fronts?” she asked, gesturing toward the photo in her hands.

“On two fronts it’s that bad. On the two others, it’s worse.”

Reyne nodded, staring down at the photo, knowing what it meant. Fires typically died down at night as low-pressure systems moved in. But last night, according to the photo, Devil’s Head had been driving fires to crowning in places, creating a spectacular, if deadly, bonfire of the forest.

“I assume we’re going to have a command team meeting shortly?”

“At 2100 hours. Until then, I’d appreciate it if you could man the field radio and monitor the west flank division. I lost my red-carded man to a flu bug this afternoon.”

“You’ve got it. Show me where to sit.”

Thomas got her situated, filling her in on the crew bosses, their teams, and their current situation, then handed her the sick man’s transmission log. Within minutes she was up to speed and radioing the crew bosses to introduce herself. As she talked with each of them,
joking and laughing like an old friend, Reyne had to admit that being back on the fire scene felt good.
No place like combat to connect people
.

She was quickly immersed in her temporary duty, studying the maps and monitoring her teams, advising them as advanced reports came in to the command center. The hours melted away like minutes until it was time to grab a quick, late dinner and meet with the command team.

As she walked into the “cafeteria,” or mess tent, she was greeted by a shout. She looked around and spotted Buddy Taylor, an old friend from her college days on the fire line. In his typical adolescent exuberance—even at age twenty-nine—he had stepped up on his crowded picnic table and was quickly making his way toward her, dancing around plates and glasses and leaving a wake of chaos behind him.

Buddy was about six foot two and weighed a sturdy two hundred pounds, so his delicate prancing was all the more hilarious to onlookers. When he finally reached the end of the last table and jumped to the ground in front of Reyne, the entire cafeteria full of men and women were looking their way, laughing and cheering for Buddy. He was obviously the clown here, as he had been everywhere she had known him.

Egged on by their applause and shouts, Buddy picked Reyne up in his arms and introduced her. “Have no fear, boys and girls!” he shouted. “Fire Specialist Reyne Oldre has arrived!” The entire tent erupted into louder applause.

“You know what a fire specialist on the scene means?” he yelled, looking at Reyne proudly as if she were a hard-won trophy.

“TYPE ONE FIRE!” the crowd yelled as one. Their battle had
become a full-fledged war, and the title change was fuel to their fire.

Reyne felt the creeping blush on her face and begged Buddy to put her down. She was laughing, half in enjoyment, half in embarrassment, when he whirled her in a circle, gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek that would make Bugs Bunny proud, and then carefully set her down. As she gained her equilibrium, leaning heavily on his arm and laughing at his next words, she glanced up to her left.

Logan stood there, surrounded by his team. His look was grim. It was one of those moments where the world seemed to stand still—where only two people existed on earth.

Logan looked exhausted. Soot coated his face where his hasty washing had missed, and his eyes looked strained and red. But to Reyne, he looked like the handsomest man on earth.

Until he turned his back and walked out without a word to her.

Reyne glanced at Buddy, confused, then embarrassed. The rowdy mess tent had fallen silent as everyone watched the spectacle at the entrance. Was it Buddy that had upset him? Or something else?

She walked out after Logan, determined not to run after him, but just as determined to get to the bottom of the problem immediately. As soon as she cleared the tent, she yelled after the broad-shouldered, Nomex-shirted man who strode away from her. “Logan!”

He stopped short and looked up, as if saying a quick prayer for patience, then turned. Reyne felt her brow furrow and her heart pound. She walked right up to him, her anger building. “What was that? We haven’t seen one another for two weeks and you can’t say a word to me? What is going on with you?”

“I could ask you a few questions myself!” he said, obviously struggling not to shout. His expression was furious. “I was thinking
about grabbing a bite to eat and then giving you a call, and then what do I see? Buddy Taylor’s hands all over you, and you leaning all over him!”

Reyne sputtered, aghast at his unfair assessment of what had transpired. “What are you talking about? Did you see the whole thing? Or did you just walk in for the last part?”

“What did I miss?” he spat out. “Did he kiss you first? And why are you here, anyway? To see your
boyfriend
or to check up on me?”

Reyne shook her head as if to shake out the incredible things she was hearing. She took a deep breath. “Look, Logan, you are obviously very tired and unable to be a good or reasonable judge of what’s going on.” She sighed, unable to believe that their reunion was spoiled. “I was so looking forward to seeing you! I’ve missed you so much!”

She looked up at him. His face softened, but she was not ready to let him off the hook. “But you are being a total jerk right now, so when you’re ready to apologize, you can look
me
up.”

With that, she turned her back and walked back to the cafeteria tent, grabbed an apple from the stack at the end of the line, then left to find a quiet place to eat it before her meeting.