Chapter 7

The fire camp looks like a ghost town, save for all the tents. Matt and I have spent the last two and a half hours getting rocked side to side as gusts of wind slam against the rig. At first, it was almost comical watching these guys try to set up their tents while getting pummeled with sheets of rain. One guy even had his rain fly ripped out of his hands. It flew up into the air, and neither of us saw it come back down. Another guy didn’t have a tent, just rolled himself in a tarp. It must be miserable out there. I fan my fingers in front of the heat vents, grateful to be warm and dry.

Eventually, the crews got inside their tents, and we haven’t seen a soul since. The wind and rain have eased up some, but according to radar, this thing isn’t done kicking our asses yet. Until then, Matt and I have been hanging out in the cab trying to pass the time, and we’re growing bored. We’ve done a couple training drills in the back. He tested me on where everything is located; I could do it with my eyes closed at this point.

“Lefty Lucy is gonna win. I’m tellin’ ya,” Matt says.

“No way. Righty Heidi is about to hit two other drops and power up. You’re gonna get smoked.”

We’ve been racing raindrops down the windshield of the ambo since we’ve run out of things to keep us occupied. I’ve won seventeen races. He’s won twelve.

“You’re not gonna catch up,” I tease. My drop hits the windshield wiper first. “Eighteen!”

“You cheat.” He laughs, then leans forward, looking toward the camp, searching for any signs of life. When there’s nothing, he sighs. “Wanna watch another movie?”

I shrug. Matt came prepared with a couple downloaded on his phone. We watched a few yesterday, but they’re all starring Rob Schnieder, and there’s only so much a person can take.

Radio static fills the cab with a division announcement, and we pause our conversation to listen.

“Due to flooding and heavy storms moving in, we’ll be relocating crews to nearby lodging. Resources will be self-sufficient for the first few days, so make sure your crews have everything they'll need. A local summer camp has generously offered to provide dormitories. You will respect the host’s property and not act like degenerates. A radio briefing will be conducted over the command channel at 1900 for crews at the new facility. For now, orders are to wait out the storm. If we don’t get a break in the weather or conditions don’t improve, we’ll start to demob resources. Any questions?”

The corners of my mouth curve into a smile. That means hot showers and a toilet . I lived in my car long enough, I don’t need to live out of an ambulance too.

I can only imagine the bellyaching from the hotshots who boast about being filthy and sleeping on the ground as if it’ll earn them a medal—they’re one of a kind. But seeing how the gravel lot is turning into a mudhole, I’m sure the forest is ten times worse. That should put them in a good mood.

The radio crackles again.

“Copy. Division, can we take the canoes over to the girls’ camp for a sleepover? ”

The query is not granted a response from Operations… I assume that one was from one of the hotshots.

Once we receive our orders, Matt plugs in the coordinates to our GPS, and the voice command prompts with our first direction—there’s only one road in or out of this place.

We load up, secure our gear, and strap down the gurneys to prepare for the move. The camp is alive again, disassembling tents, tarps, and loading up folding tables. After a bit, a few hotshots take off in the bulky seafoam-green buggies, and headlights bounce down the gravel exit.

A couple more work trucks depart, and within a few minutes, we’re on our way, rolling down the smooth mirrored-black asphalt as more sheets of rain splash across the windshield. Wipers tear back and forth, struggling to keep up with the onslaught of precipitation. Out the passenger window, plumes of smoke from the fire can still be seen hanging thick in the humid air. It’s hard to wrap my mind around a job that has you running into a burning forest armed with only a shovel, axe, and the occasional chainsaw. Unreal.

After about half an hour on the highway, we’re taken off the main drag to another gravel road where a large gate hangs open. Our rig slows as we clunk over the metal grate and continue down a narrow path. This one is in much better condition than the road we left behind at the previous encampment.

We round the bend and are greeted by a huge log gateway sign at least twenty feet tall. A wooden plaque hangs from the horizontal log overhead, and it reminds me of the ones I saw at ranches on my drive across the country. I lean forward and squint through the rain to make out the name: CAMP BLUE SKY .

A fine dose of irony.

The rig jerks as it bounces over washed-out divots, and eventually, we make our way toward a three-story building with lap siding. It’s one of several like it. This is one of two with the exterior lights on. Matt ducks his head, peering at the carved sign staked out in front of the building. Hummingbird Hall.

“This is it.”

A massive circular driveway sits in front, stretching between the matching lodges, probably used as a bus drop-off for campers. Matt finds a place to park toward the end of the row. It’s not a parking lot, but it’s been turned into one with all the other federal trucks and buggies.

We park a few spaces away and unlatch our seat belts, then Matt’s phone buzzes in the car mount, and a text notification flashes. He plucks it from the cradle and swipes his finger across the screen. “Guys are talking about getting a poker game going in a bit,” he mutters, tapping out a reply “Do you play Hold’em?”

“I think I know how to play. Are they betting?” If so, I’m out.

“Probably just snacks and stuff. I’ve got a bag of beef jerky and a few other things.”

I’ve got a box of off-brand Pop-Tarts and a couple packs of Ramen noodles, but I’d rather not lose them. However, I’m willing to part with my bags of homemade caramel corn… It's cheap to make, but the last batch made so much, and I’m getting tired of eating it.

“Sure.”

I throw my pack over my shoulder, grab my water bottle, and hop out at the same time Matt does. We run toward the front entry of the building, doing our best to dodge puddles. Once inside, I shake off the droplets and survey our temporary living quarters. Stale air and petrichor envelop the space. Along the wall, muddy boots are placed in rows near the vestibule, with a few bags of gear piled together.

The entrance opens into a spacious lobby of sorts with vaulted ceilings. To the right is a large staircase going up, surrounded by a couple sofas and coffee tables. Burly footfalls and voices from the floor above tell me people are getting settled into rooms.

Matt heads upstairs, and I wander the main floor since it’s vacant. Opposite the staircase are propped-open double doors, and above the doorway is a small wood sign that reads MESS HALL. Inside, at least twenty circle tables have chairs flipped upside down on the surfaces.

My footsteps echo as I continue down the hall. On the left are two bathrooms. On the right is a large interior shop window that seems to be some gift shop or canteen. A child-size mannequin sits behind the glass, modeling a sweatshirt and bandana with CAMP BLUE SKY embroidery. A couple rustic wooden crates sit nearby, displaying other memorabilia and trinkets. There’re no religious undertones, it’s just… summer camp.

Around the hallway corner are a few more doors. One looks to be the entrance to the kitchen. I peek inside the lit room, observing the stainless-steel counters and commercial cooking equipment. A few silver tables sit in the center of the room for food prep. On top are brown cardboard boxes, polka-dotted with dark spots from raindrops after being transported. I recognize them as boxes of food from the staging camp, likely provided by whichever catering company offered the lowest bid to the federal government. My stomach growls, and I exit through the doorway, rounding the last section of the horseshoe-shaped hallway and heading up the stairs.

Matt calls my name from the landing above, startling me. “Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I saved you a room at the end of the hall. Might want to put your stuff in there before someone else tries to steal it.”

I nod and hoist my backpack higher on my shoulder. “Thanks!”

At the top of the stairs is a loft-style seating area open to below, and two hallways shoot off, following a similar U-shaped blueprint from the main floor .

“We’re up one more.”

The top floor is identical to the other. It appears most rooms contain three sets of bunk beds. Matt points to a door at the end of the hall, right across from the bathroom. “That one’s yours, I’ll be next door.”

“Awesome. Thanks for snagging it.”

I’m not sure if Matt has anybody else sharing a room with him, but I assume I’ll have my own space. Not because I’m a woman, but because I’m not a hotshot. I get the impression we’re sequestered toward the end here. Which makes sense. We’re here for a training technicality, and so far, I haven’t treated so much as a blister. These hard asses could slice off a finger and would probably duct tape it back on before coming to see us.

Unlike some of the other rooms I saw, mine has two bunk beds and one single. I drop my bag onto the single bed and flop down on one of the lower bunk cots.

I sigh, closing my eyes and thanking the universe for where I am. Hidden away.

“Cards?” I jolt upright, hitting my head on the bunk above mine.

“Shit!” I wince and rub the tender spot on my forehead. I need to move over to the single bed. When I crack open an eyelid, Matt is in the hallway wincing right along with me.

“Dude, you gotta lighten up. I’ll try to stomp around more next time.”

“Put a bell around your neck.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed, ducking my head this time. “Yeah, you can deal me in. I’m just gonna put on a dry shirt first. Where is everybody playing?”

“I heard somebody say cafeteria.”

I nod. “Be down in a sec.”