Into the Black

Dana signed on with the Lolo Hotshots as the only female on the crew. One guy was a perv, two believed farting was hysterical, a handful were hardened misogynists, and the rest treated you the way you wanted to be treated. All had your back if you needed it. And then, there was Troy.

Troy was the person in the center of every crew picture, even if he had to wedge in. His hurricane-force persona combined with raven-black hair and country-boy smile made more than one guy say, “Watch out for Troy. He’s a real player.”

Just what I need, Dana groused.

Dana and Troy didn’t spend much time working together since they were in different squads. He was a rooster, though, and she was the sole hen on the crew, so Dana’s antennae were always up. 

*

The crew paused on a ridge, and Troy lay next to her and re-arranged an item in his line gear and used it as a pillow. His Pulaski, a combination ax and hoe, lay next to him. Dana sucked from a long tube attached to a water bladder in her pack. It was 3:00 p.m. and her throat was parched and raw from the smoke-filled air. She lay sprawled in the dirt with her leather gloves on her chest and her head propped on a log. They were frazzled trying to beat the beast back. With the climate changing, the fires burned hotter, and each day’s perils made them wonder how much longer they could protect the sheds, barns, and McMansions encroaching on the headwaters of each valley.

“When was the first time you went into the black?” Troy asked. He was referring to the burned-over portion of a fire; it could be charred lodgepole pine, wheatgrass, shrubby manzanita, or whatever. The blackened ground was their safety zone—a place they could escape as a last resort. A site that wouldn’t feed the oncoming flames.

She was surprised Troy asked a question. He hadn’t shown much interest in her beyond basic fireline exchanges. “I’m not sure,” Dana said. “I think it was on the Gemini Fire.” She fingered her necklace.

“Why are you always fiddling with that thing?” Troy asked.

She had not realized she was touching the necklace. “I don’t know.” Tucking it under her fraying cotton shirt, she offered, “A habit I picked up.” She didn’t want to go into too much detail: how she found the cheap necklace at a garage sale, how the “S” in the circle didn’t stand for a middle name, a boyfriend’s name, or anything like that. To her, it meant “survivor” and it was a talisman, crazy in a way, to help keep the demons at bay.

“Kind of like a lucky charm, right?” Troy said.

“I guess so.”

Their crew boss walked up to them, a cloud of dust trailing him. “We’re pulling out,” the boss said. “The fire’s getting unpredictable, and the forecast calls for steadily increasing wind.”

Dana looked at the half-mile of line they had just carved out for seven hours. They were abandoning it. It was the right call.

“We’ll regroup and tackle it again tomorrow from a safer place,” the crew boss said.

*

The next morning before they got in the rigs, the crew boss called Troy and Dana over. “Troy, I’d like you to be lookout for the crew today. Take Dana with you and show her the ropes.” A burst of chatter blared on his radio and he turned the volume down. “We gotta build her cred in camp.”

Dana wondered how awkward it might get after several hours staring at a fire with Troy. Thankful for the opportunity to gain new experience, Dana shrugged. How bad could it be?

Dana and Troy huffed their way through the woods, crossed a steep ravine, and traveled up a ridge. Now three-quarters of a mile from the crew, they had a good view of the terrain and the fire down the valley in front of them. Their crew depended on the two of them keeping an eye on the flames.

“I know one thing,” Troy said. “We’re not going back the way we came if there’s a problem. We’d never make it out of that ravine.”

Dana stared down at the couloir and its tangle of downed timber, boulders, and thick brush. “No shit.”

Troy scanned the area on the other side of the ridge from the fire’s direction. “There’s a small meadow down there. It’s not as big as I’d like it to be, but it’s our best option for our safety zone.” He handed her the binos. “What do you think?”

“I wish it was a few hundred yards closer and 30 yards wider.”

“Me too,” Troy said.

“What’s the crew’s trigger point?” Dana asked.

“When the fire reaches the bottom of our ravine, the crew’s gotta get the hell out. The fire will sweep right up that like a chimney.”

Dana was aware of how fast a fire, pushed by wind, could travel up a steep slope. The names of fires where crews perished trying to outrun a wall of flame were seared into the minds of firefighters.

They parked themselves against several large boulders and smaller rocks as the morning heat built. For the next few hours, a carousel of air tankers dropped retardant and helicopters slung buckets of water on the blaze. The fire swatted away those efforts as smoke and flames rolled up from the valley and grew in size and intensity, like a pot ready to boil over. Steady banter flowed over the crew and air-to-ground radio channels, relaying fire behavior, weather data, and crew locations.

Smoke clouds ascended to the jet stream and billowed to the north and west. Dana always imagined faces in the clouds; she saw Uncle Don and his malicious smile as he cornered her in the basement bathroom. She knew the words: Stop. Don’t. No. Quick gasps left her suffocated and mute. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.

Springing to her feet, she grabbed several egg-sized rocks and threw them down the ravine with such force she grunted, Unnhh, after each throw.

“What was that all about?” Troy asked.

In her fury, she had forgotten Troy was there. Like she had blacked out and snapped back to consciousness. Dana dropped the last stone. “Nothing,” Dana lied. “I just like throwing rocks.”

Troy looked at her. “That was a little weird. I know firefighting is pretty tough, especially for a lone chica, but you’re wrapped pretty tight by any standard.”

Dana sat down again. “Maybe so.”

“Big talker too.” Troy sucked down half a water bottle. “How’d you get into this racket?” He asked.

“I guess I needed a mental diversion.” Dana had battled with herself ever since her bathroom entrapment, and there were times she wasn’t sure she was going to win. It was a titanic effort to keep from collapsing like a star sucked into a black hole. She medicated by dosing with long runs, solo backpacks, and Cross Fit. “Exercise helps. What about you?”

“Small town. Single mom. Not many choices and the ones I made didn’t always turn out so hot. Mostly juvenile stuff: racing cars, drinking beer, goofing around. Nothing that got me tossed in jail.” Troy shuffled his feet, his boot plowing a pile of stones. “With hotshot OT, the money is good and like most of us, a shot of adrenaline doesn’t hurt now and then. The other option was the military, but I’m not cut out for that.”

Dana studied Troy from behind the shield of her reflective sunglasses. Maybe the guys on the crew were busting her balls about Troy.

They ate their boxed lunches while Troy periodically picked up the binoculars to offer play-by-play. “I think the New Mexico crew is working the line on the next ridge.” He pointed to a helicopter maneuvering with a bucket. “They’re gonna drop water down the hill from them to cool things off.”

Dana wanted to shout into the radio, “Go home. None of this is working! It’s bigger than us!” After years witnessing burns with increasing fury, she could spot a futile effort. All the he-man, can-do bullshit never ceased. She shook her head. The climate was changing but nothing else was.

Troy watched the fire with growing concern. He’d stop and assess the wind direction and strength. “I don’t like the looks of this.” A steady breeze rustled the trees near them, and more black smoke roiled from the basin below. Suddenly, a whole side of the valley ignited in a fireball with a thunder carrying to the ridge.

“Jesus!” Dana said.

Troy keyed the radio mic to update the crew. “Guys, this is blowing up. Stay on your toes. You may need to leave in a hurry.”

Troy bit his lip as he peered into the binoculars. Dana knew he was gauging the fire’s distance to the ravine—the trigger point—where the crew needed to be alerted.

The wind asserted itself again and the fire shot ahead, consuming five acres in the time it took to inhale and exhale. Flames spiraled and embers rained down near them, creating small spot fires. “Pull the plug, guys. It’s making a run,” Troy yelled into the radio. “Dana, grab your stuff. We need to get out of here too.”

Dana had close calls before, but this fire had a mind of its own. It grew bigger and faster than any fire she’d ever observed before. We have an escape route and a safety zone. It calmed her momentarily, but she couldn’t shake her premonition: this was different.

They picked up their tools and line gear and Troy scurried off over downed logs, busting through the brush. She tried to keep up with him, carrying a Pulaski in one hand and 35 pounds on her back. Troy stopped and waved his hand. “C’mon!” When she caught up with him, he said, “You lead, and I’ll follow so we can stick together better. But move your butt.” He grinned and shoved her forward. A branch whipped her face, stinging her cheek, without slowing her. She couldn’t see the fire but knew from the size of the embers pelting the ground, the smoke building in the woods, and the hellish roar, that it must have crested the ridge.

After scampering a half-mile or more, they stopped at the safety zone, each of them hunched over catching their breath. The fire, buoyed by a late-afternoon wind, pushed flames through the upper area they had just passed through.

“We need to clear this out,” Troy said. “We can’t outrun this.”

They grubbed down to bare soil, ripping the grass and anything else that could burn and cast it aside.

Dana studied the small meadow. It was tight—the fire might get too close. Her arms pumped as she scraped and chopped, fueled by an overdose of adrenaline. She didn’t want to look up again. Fear pulsed through her. Dig! Dig! Dig! A bull elk ran into their small clearing, the whites of its eyes flashed, and nostrils flared in the smothering smoke, before it clattered off. Dana wanted to climb on its back—except she couldn’t leave Troy. They were in this together, for better or worse.

The wind grew as if the fire spawned its own. Twigs and pine needles flew by. Trees exploded sending flames hundreds of feet in the air. A deafening roar surrounded them.

“Get in your shelter!” Troy yelled.

Dana could barely hear him, only 10 feet away. “What?”

Troy pointed to the five-pound, aluminum-coated fabric fire shelter they carried on their line gear belts. Once inside, it deflected the worst of the heat. “Get in!” He repeated.

“What about you?” She screamed, her voice carrying into the trees.

“I’ve got to burn this off,” Troy said. He pointed to the grass surrounding their small, excavated area. “We need to be in the black.”

Dana pulled the water bladder from her pack and dropped it at her feet. She grabbed the fire shelter from its compartment and tossed her gear and Pulaski away so they wouldn’t ignite close to the deployed shelter. She had practiced this for years and while part of it was reflex, there was no simulating this terror. The wind whipped the fabric shelter, blowing so hard she had to stand on the bottom of the shelter and pull it over her like a cape. Before she lay down with the shelter draped over, she glanced at Troy, an apparition in the smoke-choked clearing. He had lit a fusee—essentially a road flare—and touched the knee-high grass which burned quick and hot, leaving a protective singed area around them.

Inside the shelter it was less smokey and hot, but enough smoke and heat had entered with her that she coughed and her face glowed. She had her hardhat, gloves, water, and a fire-resistant shroud pulled up all the way over her eyeballs to keep the smoke out. Life had come down to a few possessions. Her eyes and throat burned, and the realization that most firefighters die from heat-damaged lungs and airways, not from burns, terrified her, but all she could think about was Troy. Where was he?

A disembodied voice called, and she felt a tug on her shelter. “Let me in,” Troy hollered.

Dana was stunned. Troy had his own shelter. What happened to his? The shelters were designed for one person, and two people partnering lessened the odds for both. But there was no way she was going to deny him since it was not survivable outside.

Troy wedged into the shelter, half on top of Dana. “It fucking blew away. I had the shelter out, it was in my hand, and then it was gone.”

“Let’s seal this along the ground so more smoke doesn’t get in,” Dana said. They were side-by-side yet still yelling over the fire’s thundering. The turbulence kicked up by the blaze threatened to tear the shelter off them. Trees crashed in the wind and detonated in blasts as the fire devoured everything in its path. “Jesus, Troy, are we gonna die?”

Troy looked at her and shoved her head down. “Dig a hole in the dirt with your hands and get your mouth as close to the ground as possible.” He dug as well, as the heat built inside their shelter and the wind screamed. Giant embers pelted the shelter, rattling it like hail. “We’re gonna make it.”

Dana didn’t want to die but this was certainly hell. Entombed in a thin, shiny shelter, she focused on slow breathing and trying to stay calm. Troy’s weight pressed down on one side, insulating her from that side of the fire. It reminded her of Uncle Don cramming her against the bathroom vanity. Hands searching, grabbing. The stink of his beer breath.

Trees crashed to the ground nearby and it brought her back to poor Troy; he must be roasting worse than she was. She sipped water and passed the mouthpiece to him.

“Thanks, I didn’t have time to grab my water.” Troy said. “I’ve got to call and let the boss know we’ve deployed our shelter and we’re okay.” Coughing several times, he spoke into the radio, letting them know the time of deployment.

Over a connection crackling with static, they made out, “Thank God. Hang in there.”

They settled into survival mode, listening to flames cauterizing every flammable object. She had signed up to fight fires hoping the backbreaking work and fire line rush would purge Uncle Don from her brain. It wasn’t working.

“You know, I’m not a jerk like you might think, “Troy said.

“I never said you were a jerk.” The inferno surged overhead, and Dana imagined they were in an aluminum-lined confessional. Or coffin. She welcomed the conversation—anything from dwelling on the hellscape outside.

“Did you believe it?”

Dana realized Troy wanted to know. “Honestly, I don’t know what to think anymore.” She reflected on all the fires they’d been on together. He had left her alone—never condescended or harassed, which was all she asked of anyone. Firefighting allowed her to shunt memories and focus on primal thoughts: watch your step and don’t get burned alive. Look where that had gotten her.

“I like to enjoy life. It’s way too short to dwell on the bad shit,” Troy said.

“Maybe you could give me a few lessons on that,” said Dana as she shifted her body so her arm wasn’t numb.

Troy’s head mashed against hers. There was no space to move away. He smelled of smoke, sweat, and dirt. Dana’s breaths came in small, ragged inhalations as her head grew woozy. Her lightheadedness passed. It pissed her off that Uncle Don stole her ability to enjoy intimacy, and it angered her even more that she continued to let it piss her off.

“Are you okay?” Troy asked. “We got this, right?” His arm draped over her, a gloved hand by her waist. He turned his head to look at her directly. “Right?”

Troy’s blackened face glistened, and she stared into his smoke-reddened eyes. Flecks of dirt and ash dotted his face.

Troy must have known she was frayed. “Think of your family and friends,” Troy said. “They’ll want to see you again. I know mine will.”

Dana knew the game; everyone had talked during shelter deployment training about staying positive, and she appreciated Troy for helping her focus. It helped when you’re stuck in a seven-foot silver cocoon with flames whirlpooling around you.

The shelter almost pulled from their grip as the whirlwind increased. Smoke and hot air came in through several small tears where the shelter had been folded. An eerie orange glow swept back and forth through the slits. It took all of Dana’s effort to keep from snapping; the heat and smoke, the unnerving crescendo, and the helplessness threatened her sanity. She lost all sense of time—how long had they been inside?

She sensed Troy was also struggling. In his position, he took a lot of heat and grew quieter while his breathing became more labored. With her face pushed in the dirt, she squeezed his forearm with her gloved hand. He signaled back by squeezing hers.

Her body had tensed for so long trying to hold the shelter down, an ache burned in Dana’s arms and legs. The wind and heat had died down. “Take a look outside, Troy. Can we leave?”

Troy peered out the bottom of the shelter and smoke and heat slipped in. “Not yet, but it’s better. The flame front has passed.”

*

“How long have we been here?” Dana asked

“I’m not sure. But I’ll check.” Troy wasn’t wearing his watch; it had gotten too hot on his wrist. He pulled it from the dirt. “Forty-five minutes,” Troy said.

“More like 45 fucking hours,” Dana said.

Fifteen minutes later, they crawled out of their shelter, coughing and wheezing in the smoke. “Holy shit,” Dana said. All around were blackened trees, tendrils of flame curling from them. The sun was barely visible in the gloom and Dana sank to her knees and wept, thrilled to be alive, thankful Troy had been with her. She wasn’t sure if she could have survived without him—the solace of another human in a fire-breathing, lifeless world.

Troy kneeled and hugged her. “I was scared shitless,” Troy said.  “Don’t tell anybody.” He smiled and wiped her tears with a ragged handkerchief.

They stayed like that, smoke wafting past. It had been a long time since she leaned into a man’s hug and welcomed it, letting it flow through her. Tears washed a path through the soot and dirt on Dana’s face, and black snot flowed from her nose. She hated to show weakness to Troy or anyone else on her crew. She had fought so hard to keep it together and none of that mattered now.

Troy pulled off his Nomex neck shroud and Dana saw a layer of skin attached to it. “Oww! Fuck!” Troy yelped.

The back of Troy’s neck was a blistered mess from the radiant heat that had passed through the shelter. He dropped the shroud on the ground.

“Jesus, Troy. We need to get those burns treated. Don’t even think about taking your shirt off until you’re back in town.” She marveled at Troy’s stoicism. He had borne the brunt of the heat with his body so close to the protective lining.

“We need to let the crew know we’re alive,” Troy said. He helped Dana to her feet. Troy announced over the radio, “We’re out, we made it.”

“Fantastic!” The crew boss whooped. They heard the boss shout to the others on their crew, “They’re out!” Followed by a loud cheer. “Can a chopper land where you’re at?”

Troy looked around at the scorched surroundings, engulfed in a netherworld between day and night. “I think so, once the smoke clears,” he said.

Dana staggered around their clearing in disbelief.  Her mind raced back to the heart of the fire’s attack, and she doubted she could handle the psychological torment again. She nudged the remnants of her smoldering pack with her foot. In many ways, that pack was part of her. She bent down and picked up one of the few items left unburned: a Swiss army knife, a gift from the crew after her first season as a hotshot. Dana picked it up with her gloved hand and let it cool before putting it in her shirt pocket. She was taking so little and leaving so much behind.

 “Don’t go anywhere. You need to be checked out by a medical team,” the crew boss said.

She was done. Flat-out done. Done with Uncle Don’s skeletons. Done with fires blow-torched by banshee winds that made them sprint up mountains and consume valleys in seconds. And push firefighters to the brink. She couldn’t deal with this anymore on her own.

Dana yanked the chain from her neck and flung it deep into the black. It tumbled in an arc and landed with a small puff of ash.

Troy turned to her and said, “Help is on the way.”