1. Kaci

Perspiration trickles down my forehead, and I wipe the back of my hand across my brow. My eyes sting, and I don't know if it's because of the sweat reaching them or from the smoke that I can't seem to outrun.

The heat at my back makes me jog faster down the gravel road, kicking up rocks and covering my bright pink Converse shoes in dust.

Fear and exertion have my heart hammering against my rib cage and my chest squeezing tight. My breath is labored, and I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up. My lungs feel like they're going to explode, but fear keeps me going.

I curse my own stupidity for not getting the battery changed on my old Honda after the last safety inspection. It seemed like such a big expense at the time, and the car was working fine so I didn't see the point.

Until I pulled into the bushes an hour ago for an emergency pee stop and the damn thing wouldn't start again. My cell didn't have reception, and it was while I was waiting for a car to pass and bail me out that I smelled the smoke.

I grabbed my backpack out of the car and set off down the winding road I had come from. When the access road turned onto the main mountain road I could see the flames, their orange tendrils licking at the undergrowth on one side of the ridge.

I didn't wait to see how fast it was spreading. I hadn't passed a single car on the road, and my damn phone had no signal. I began to jog.

Somewhere along the way, I shrugged off my backpack as the heat of the flames and the exertion--because I'm not usually a girl who jogs--covered me in sticky sweat.

I curse my stupidity for driving an old car, for having an old phone on the cheapest network that's useless outside of the city, for coming to the remote side of the mountain to the most secluded area on a fool's errand to track down a recluse.

If my phone had signal, I'd be able to find information about how bad the fire is and which way it's spreading. But my phone's a useless brick. I clutch it in my hand, checking it sporadically as I run and cursing my city girl thinking for not bringing a better means of communication and for coming to a mountain during the hottest summer on record.

The road twists and turns, and I'm sure I'm heading back toward the flames which take no notice of roadways.

Smoke stings my eyes and I pull my t-shirt up to cover my mouth, trying not to breathe it in.

I'm going to die here.

The thought sits in my weary bones. A fact that brings me a certain amount of solace. I'll see Ben again. I'll see Mom again.

But who will look after Pixie?

It's thoughts of my cat that keeps me going. The one animate thing in this world who depends on me. The only living thing that would miss me.

She's being looked after by my neighbor for the few days that I'm here on this crazy mission. Mrs. Hamser loves cats and would probably take Pixie in, but she already has a mean ginger tom cat who's always getting in fights.

I have to get home. I can't leave Pixie to that fate. No matter how keen I am to see Ben and Mom again. I can't leave Pixie to be ripped to shreds by the horny tom cat next door.

The road turns again and the air is fresh here, the smoke less thick. If I can get ahead of the fire, I've got a chance.

I'm not a runner. My body jiggles with the unfamiliar movement, and my worn Converse aren't meant for jogging down gravel roads. My lungs burn but I keep going, stumbling on the uneven surface of the remote mountain road.

I round the next bend and the road doubles back, heading toward a dark cloud of thick smoke. I pull up short, coughing into my t-shirt.

There's a trail behind me that leads into the woods and away from the road and the smoke. I don't know which direction it goes, but if I stay here I'll die on the road.

I take the trail, running with one hand holding my t-shirt over my face. There's less smoke here, but the trees are dense and my lungs ache and my feet stumble over the roots of trees.

I can't tell if the fire is behind me anymore or if I'm running toward it, and maybe this is how it ends.

I offer up a silent apology to Pixie that I'm not going to make it.

I'm coming, Ben.

I stumble along the path, running blindly. My phone slips out of my hand, but I don't stop to find it.

I keep running with tears streaming down my face and mixing with the sweat.

I'm coming, Ben. I'm coming.

My lungs might burst, and my legs feel like they're about to give away. I can no longer see the path or know which way I'm running. If the fire doesn't get me, then my heart exploding will.

My foot catches on a root, and I throw my arms out to get my balance as my legs give out under me. My head whacks against the trunk of a tree, and I slump to the forest floor.

I'm coming, Ben, is the last thought I have before I black out.