The Scarlet Springs Town Council and the fire department had spent the past century and a half trying to prepare for the Next Big One, educating the public about wildland fire, urging homeowners to clear fuels from around their homes, and installing a reverse 911 system. So far, every fire that had started near town had been snuffed before it could do any damage.
“Dispatch to forty-two.”
“Go ahead, Dispatch.”
“The sheriff’s department said the fire has already been called in and relayed to Scarlet FD, as well as the Rocky Mountain Control Center.”
That was good news.
Hawke and his crew would be on top of it in no time.
Matt went on. “We’re in the evac zone this time, so they want us to be ready to get out if necessary. I told them to feel free to use our space to fight this thing.”
“Great idea.”
The parking lot would make a great fire camp, and the slopes, which were cleared of trees and vegetation, were perfect safety zones.
“In the meantime, I want someone watching that smoke column. It’s much too close for comfort. The wind is going to kick up this afternoon, and it could come our way. I don’t want anyone on our crew to get caught in a runaway blaze.”
“Copy that.” Jesse dug his smartphone out of his pocket.
He wanted to warn Ellie, to tell her to be ready just in case.
Chapter 3
Eric strodethrough the firehouse toward his locker shouting orders to Silver. “I want eyes on Bear. Someone locate him and bring him here until the fire is controlled. If you can’t find him, I want to know.”
From what Eric had gleaned from the calls, the fire was on Forest County’s Haley Preserve property next to Tungsten Creek. Bear lived somewhere out there, coming into town to offer his blessing to passersby in exchange for a warm meal. He’d been part of the community for as long as Eric could remember. No one knew how old he was. He’d just always been here. Big like his namesake, Bear had the mind of a child—except when it came to the Bible, which he knew chapter and verse. The residents of Scarlet watched over him, sheltering him during blizzards, making sure he got medical care, buying him meals.
Eric wouldnotlose him to a wildfire.
“You got it, chief.” Silver stopped outside the locker room. “Do you need a ride to the Boulder County airport?”
“No.” That would lose him an hour. “The helo is picking me up at the hospital.”
Mountain Memorial had the only helipad in the area. It was the fastest way for him to get airborne. He needed to see the fire for himself, get a look at the terrain before he put a crew out there or called for resources.
Right now, he wasn’t even sure where the fire was.
Eric stepped into the locker room, opened his locker, and got into his wildland firefighting gear—brush pants, fire resistant T-shirt, brush shirt, boots—his mind running through a list of campgrounds, known transient camps, and private property west of town. All reports so far said the fire was small—a single column of white smoke. With any luck, they’d have it out in a few hours before the temperature rose, relative humidity dropped, and the winds fanned it into a threat to life and property.
Eric had spent part of every day since becoming fire chief planning for the worst-case scenario. He’d pored over maps and observed the topography around Scarlet, filing away his observations every time he went out on a call, went climbing, or drove through the mountains. He’d memorized the locations of streets, dirt roads, meadows, lakes, creeks, and trails—anything that might serve as a fire break. And he’d prayed that the next big one would never come.
Fires in Colorado’s mountains could be treacherous, in part because of unpredictable weather, but also because of the terrain. Fire burned more quickly uphill than down. If the slope was steep enough, the top of the fire column could ignite fuels high above it. Eric had seen fire consume a steep mountainside in a matter of minutes, seeming to leap and roll uphill, incinerating everything in its path. Canyons, draws, and saddles—they could change a fire’s behavior, funneling flames and super-heated gases.
That was the thing about fire. It wasn’t evil. It didn’t have a hidden agenda. It just went where weather, topography, and fuels enabled it to go. That didn’t mean fire behavior was always easy to predict, but it wasn’t rocket science, either.
He finished dressing, grabbed a wildland pack, a weather kit, and a charged radio, and left through the open bay door, driving himself to the hospital and parking near the helipad. The helo itself was privately owned. It had been hired by the National Forest Service to fly over the state’s vast stretches of wilderness to watch for fires.
Eric heard it before he saw it—a retired AH-1F that had seen service in Vietnam. It came into view to the east, its red and white paint a contrast to the blue sky. Eric stayed by his vehicle until the craft had touched down. He ducked down and ran through the rotor wash, then climbed through the open door into the back, settling his pack on the floor and buckling in.
He pulled on his headset, gave the pilot a thumbs-up. “Let’s chase smoke.”
Terry Robertson, fire chief for the Forest County fire crew, turned to look back at him, his voice sounding tinny in Eric’s earphones. “We could see the smoke coming in. It doesn’t look like much. A single hand crew can probably put it out by suppertime.”
Robertson was a good guy, but he’d been doing this job for too long. He loved the ceremonies and pomp that came with his position, but he no longer had the belly for making tough calls. It was as if a part of him had already retired, even while he still wore the uniform.
Eric tried logic first. “Let’s get a look at the terrain before we commit any crews. There’s a cold front coming through this afternoon. We need to hook it before that wind hits.”