Off Season (11 page)

“How
you'd
lose sleep,” Kia said, cutting me off.

“Fine, how
I'd
lose sleep,” I agreed. Kia could always sleep. “But you can't tell me that you didn't think that whatever game we were getting ready to play was the most important thing in the world.”

She shrugged, but didn't disagree.

“And I think about how crucial every shot seemed. Do or
die
plays. Sudden
death
overtime. And now look around.”

I scanned the scene surrounding us. The air was becoming more smoke filled and I thought that I could even see the glare of flames in the distance.

“We're going to be okay, Nick.”

I looked over at her. “You know, I think you're right. At least I want to believe you're right.” I paused. “This is real. Makes all those basketball games seem pretty unimportant, doesn't it?”

“I guess it does,” she admitted.

We waded out of the water and flopped down on the dusty shore.

“My father always says that the best thing about sports is that it prepares you for difficult times, teaches you life lessons,” I said. “I can't figure out how anything I was ever taught on a court could help me here … can you?”

Kia didn't answer.

“I can't think of how a good hook shot would help right now,” I said.

“It would be nice to have a team here now.” Kia said. “At least a team of firefighters.”

“They'd know what to do. They'd have a plan and plays, just like a team,” I agreed.

“And I bet they have a leader, a guy like a coach or captain, who tells everybody what they have to do and how to do it,” Kia added.

“That would be the fire chief … they must have a fire chief. The people on the team don't just go and do whatever they want.”

“It won't be that long until the firefighters are here,” Kia said. “It's been almost three hours since Debbie radioed in, and they said they'd be here in six hours, so that means that they'll be here in less then three hours.”

“That was before we reported the second fire — and that's if the radio was even working after the crash — so they have to fight their way through the first fire and then get through the landslide and — ”

“I get the idea,” Kia said. “It could be a lot longer. If only we had somebody who could tell us what to do and then we could do it.”

I looked up to where Ned sat with his mother. “Maybe we do,” I said softly. “Maybe we do.”

“I've read lots of books about forest fires,” Ned admitted, “but I've never even been near one before.”

“But you know how to fight them, right?” Kia asked. “You know what to do.”

“I know the principles and practices of forest fires and their management and control.”

“What?” Kia asked.

“He knows what to do,” I said.

“We both know what to do,” Debbie said. “You don't live with a park ranger all those years without picking up a few things, but it's not practical for us to even think about putting out this fire.”

“I'm not thinking about putting anything out,” I said. “I just want to know what we can do to protect ourselves until the real fighters come.”

“Couldn't we go in the water and just keep our heads above the water?” Kia asked. “The water can't burn.”

“You wouldn't burn, but you could suffocate,” Ned said.

“Suffocate?”

“Have no air to breathe. The fire doesn't just burn wood. It uses the air as fuel too. It draws off all the oxygen and leaves just smoke and gases that we can't breathe.”

That sounded awful. A shiver went through my entire body.

“There has to be something that we can do,” Kia said. “What would real firefighters do if they were here with us right now? Would they be sitting around, doing nothing?”

“No, of course not,” Ned said. “They'd be making a firebreak at least.”

“That's right … you mentioned that to me when we were hiking … that's what the tools were for.”

“What's a firebreak?” Kia asked.

“A firebreak is also known as a fire line or a fireguard and — ”

“We don't care what the different names are!” I snapped. “Just tell us
what
it is!”

“A firebreak is a place in the forest, like a long line, where there's nothing for the fire to burn, just open ground, and when the fire hits that line it stops because it has no more fuel.”

“And how do you make a firebreak?” I asked.

“Often they use a technique involving a backfire and a bulldozer to clear away enough — ”

“You and your father didn't bring a bulldozer on you when we went on that hike,” I said.

“It doesn't have to be a bulldozer,” Ned protested. “You can make a break with rakes and shovels and a chainsaw.”

“And you have all of that stuff back at your house, right?” Kia asked.

Ned nodded.

I looked around at the court. The back was protected by the creek and cliff.

“The water and rocks are a firebreak, aren't they?” I asked.

Again Ned nodded.

“So we're protected from that side. Could we build a firebreak on the other three sides?” I asked.

“That would be no problem for a squad of firefighters.”

“That wasn't what I asked!”

“I … I don't know … but we could try.”

“That's all I wanted to hear. Then let's try.”

***

There was a loud “bang” and I jumped into the air.

“What was that?” I demanded.

“A tree exploding,” Ned said. “The fire superheats all the sap and then the top sort of blows off.”

“Is that dangerous?”

“Very.”

We moved up the road toward their house. Kia had stayed behind to watch Debbie and the animals. Two of us could carry all the things we'd need.

It was an eerie feeling moving up the road and away from the relative safety of the basketball court. It was strange. We were walking toward a fire, knowing that another fire was moving in from behind us as well.

As we moved up the road the smoke became thicker. I could taste it in my mouth. And there was a sound, sort of like the wind but different … more like a “whooshing” sort of noise.

“What is that sound?” I asked.

“That's the fire. It's not far from here now.”

That wasn't what I wanted to hear. “How much farther is your house?” It seemed like
we'd walked for a lot longer than I thought we should have.

“Not far now. We should be able to see it when we reach the top of this hill.”

I remembered when we first arrived and Debbie stopped the truck right up there and we had our first look at the house, partially hidden, nestled in among the trees. It all looked so peaceful. What was it going to look like now? I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and prepared myself for the worst.

“Oh my goodness,” Ned gasped.

My eyes popped open. It looked like the whole horizon was on fire! There was a wall of flames in the distance shooting up into the blackened sky.

“We have to … have to go back,” I sputtered.

“We still have time.”

“But you told me how fast a fire can travel.”

“It can only travel fast if there's a strong wind, and there's almost no wind,” Ned explained.

“I do feel some wind,” I said. “But it feels like it's blowing
toward
the fire.”

“That's not wind.”

“If it's not the wind then what is it?” I asked.

“Remember when I mentioned that fires use up air.”

“Yeah?”

“The oxygen that's being burned by the fire has to be replaced. It sucks in air from the area surrounding the fire. That's what you feel.”

“And you're sure we have time?” I asked again.

“We do … but let's move faster anyway.”

We rushed down the hill and circled around the side of the house to the toolshed. The house blocked out my view of the fire, and if it hadn't been for the foul, burning smell it would have seemed like there wasn't even a fire there.

Ned opened up the shed and started pulling things off the shelves and hooks.

“Here, take these,” he said, handing me two rakes and a shovel. “Can you carry more?”

“I can carry half of whatever needs to be carried.”

He handed me another shovel and pulled down a chainsaw, laying it on the floor of the shed. Next he grabbed a big can of gas. He handed it to me. It was heavy. Somehow it didn't seem like a great idea to have anything flammable around, but I knew he'd need that to power the chainsaw. He then grabbed a large
round container with a nozzle on the front. It looked sort of like another gasoline can, but different.

Ned slung the chainsaw over his shoulder, picked up the strange container in one hand and an axe in the other.

“Since I don't see a bulldozer, I guess this will have to do. Let's get going.”

Kia went first with the rake. She was pushing before her anything that was loose … leaves, pine needles, branches. It was amazing how much stuff littered the forest floor.

I followed behind with my shovel. What she couldn't rake, I tried to dig out. Tufts of grass, plants, small bushes — some of those I just grabbed and ripped out of the ground. Then Ned followed me. He was using the axe or chainsaw to cut down whatever couldn't be raked or ripped out of the ground. He cut the tops off with the chainsaw and then took the axe and chopped off the last little bit standing above ground. I couldn't imagine my mother even letting me hold a chainsaw. But of course it was different with Ned. He'd grown up in the bush and he knew exactly what he was doing.

I stopped and looked back at what we'd done. In thirty minutes we'd managed to clear a whole five-foot-wide line — actually a whole semicircle around the court, touching the creek on both sides. On the other side of the fire- break the bushes, grass, leaves and pine needles were starting to accumulate into a long pile, parallel to the break.

Debbie hobbled over. Her leg was looking more swollen and the expression on her face left no doubt how painful each attempt to put weight on her leg must be.

“You're all doing a wonderful job!” she said. “I just wish I could do something to help.”

“Does this look alright, what we're doing?” Kia asked.

“It looks fine,” she said. “Ned?”

He nodded his head. “Just like the diagram in the book, except the open space needs to be bigger, wider.”

“How much wider?” I asked. This had taken a tremendous amount of work and I was feeling tired and hot. It wasn't just that the midday sun was shining down on us, but I thought the wind was hot … much hotter than it would have been if there wasn't a fire.

“It has to be a lot wider. Ideally we need
between fifty and a hundred feet,” he said.

“We can never clear that much space!” Kia said. “Never!”

“She's right, Ned. It would take days.”

“And we don't have days. Look how much closer the fire's moved.”

She was right. Looking up the slope there were places where the road was already blocked from view by the smoke and flames. It looked like the two fires, one moving from the south and the other from the north, had met right across from us. We were now locked into a circle in the center — a center that was becoming smaller and smaller and –

“Look!” I screamed in shock as a deer — no, two deer, three, four — leaped across the road and thundered down the slope, dodging around the bushes, heading straight toward us! At the last second they cut off to the side and ran into the water, coming to a stop in the middle of the small creek. All four just froze there, their mouths open, panting, the only movement being their chests heaving up and down.

“I hadn't even thought of all the animals,” Kia said. “Where have they all gone?”

“Those that can run have taken off,” Ned said. “Others have just … have just…” he
let his sentence trail off and he looked toward the ground. There was no doubt what he was trying to say.

The deer continued to stand there, staring up at the fire, ignoring us as if we weren't even there.

“I've read about this sort of thing happening,” Ned said. “It was written by a smoke jumper in Alaska who witnessed a deer and a cougar, practically standing side by side, watching the fire and not even bothering with one another. Isn't that fascinating?”

“Yeah, right, but you were saying you knew what to do next … how to clear the rest of the firebreak.”

“Oh yeah, right.”

“What can we do to help?” Kia asked.

“Nothing. There's nothing you can do. Maybe you two should just go and get a drink … wet down your clothes … help my mother get a drink. I'll take care of things.”

“Okay, sure,” I said.

I dragged myself toward the stream. My legs felt heavy and I was having to work to draw in a full breath. Between the smoke and the heat and dust and hard work I felt exhausted. I collapsed beside the creek, splashing water into my face.

Kia had gone over and helped Debbie to her feet. I felt badly. I should have helped too. I tried to stand up and my legs just gave way and I fell back down. Debbie, her arm around Kia's shoulders, limped over, and the two of them slumped to the ground beside me.

“I'm sorry,” I muttered. “I wanted to help, but I'm just so tired.”

“You all must be exhausted,” Debbie said. “And I'm the one who should be sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Kia asked.

“For not being able to help and — ”

“That's not your fault, you're hurt,” Kia said.

“And for getting hurt. If I'd been driving more carefully the accident wouldn't have happened.”

“That wasn't your fault either,” I said. “You couldn't know about the landslide, and it was just there when we turned the corner.”