“Austin Taylor!”
They drove on through town and up the highway toward home.
“God, look at this.” Austin glanced around at charred tree trunks and stone chimneys that marked the homes of friends and neighbors.
“Oh, Austin. It’s terrible.”
“It’s going to be okay.” He turned the corner onto their street. “A year from now…”
“Oh, my God!” Lexi squealed, pointing. “It’s there! It’s still there!”
Their house stood by itself in the middle of the block, the orange-red tint on the exterior and the surrounding vegetation telling the story. The fire had burned to within ten feet of the house before it had been stopped.
“It looks like we took a direct hit from one of the slurry bombers.”
“Thank God! Thank you, slurry bomber pilot!”
Austin turned into the driveway. “Honey, we’re home.”
Pain woke Eric.He heard himself moan, opened his eyes.
Nate West was standing beside his hospital bed.
“Hey.”
“Hey, brother.” Nate pushed the call button. “He needs a bolus of morphine.”
“I’ll be in to check on him in a—”
“Now.”
“Thanks, man.”
Eric closed his eyes, breathed. It did no more to relieve his pain than it had Vicki’s when she’d been in labor.
Nate rested a hand against his shoulder. “Hang on. She’s coming.”
The nurse entered the room. “So, you’re having some pain?”
Eric couldn’t respond without shouting, so Nate answered for him.
“He needs morphine.”
A few minutes later, Eric was floating. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Happy to help.” Nate grinned. “You’re looking good, man.”
“Good to see you, too.”
He and Nate had gone to high school together. Eric had gone off to fight wildfires, while Nate had joined the Marines. Eric had always respected the man.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better than I was a few minutes ago.”
“I bet.” The burn scars on the right side of Nate’s face were proof that he knew more about what Eric was going through than Eric did. “Joaquin Ramirez told me what happened. He says you saved his life and the pilot’s.”
“How is he?”