‘Take that!’ I heard him shout, addressing the flames, punctuated by fits of coughing. ‘And that!’
Something flared to my right. A line of fire was eating its way along the tree line, heading toward the road. I aimed my nozzle at the foot of the flames and fired again and again, watching with satisfaction as the fire fizzled out.
But there was no time to gloat. Just beyond the blaze I’d just extinguished, another one had taken hold, feeding on dry palm fronds and crackling merrily. I dashed over to it, drenched the palms with water, and waited to make sure it was thoroughly out before moving on to the next outbreak. No sooner had I doused one area than flames would pop up again somewhere else.
‘Paul! Over here!’ I yelled, but I couldn’t take time to wait for his answer.
Chasing red-hot embers, I staggered over broken rocks and zigzagged through the underbrush. Vines clawed at my ankles like the devil’s hands, and I tore them free. With sweat running down my forehead and into my eyes, I chased one line of fire down a rotten log, stamping on the flames in frustration as they flared up again around my feet. Sparks from the blazing underbrush spiraled up, turning to ash, disintegrating into powder which found its way into my nose and mouth. I snatched the scarf from my head and used it to mop my forehead, my nose and lips, before moving on to the next hot spot.
I tripped over a rock, staggered, and grabbed the trunk of a tree to keep from falling. Poisonwood? I didn’t notice or care. Trying to keep myself between the fire and the safety of the road, I crashed through the underbrush, attacking flare-ups to my left, flare-ups to my right. Carrying the backpack grew easier and easier. I credited the adrenaline.
Where the hell was Paul?
Where the hell was I, for that matter?
I paused for a moment to take stock of my surroundings, but because of the smoke my world was limited to a ten-foot radius from where I stood, breathing air so hot that it made my lungs ache.
Eyes streaming, I squinted into the smoke. A wall of trees, now, fire glowing hotly at their roots. Where the hell was the road?
‘Paul!’ I screamed, my lungs seared with the effort. ‘Anybody!’
Disoriented, I staggered away from the flames, keeping the wind at my back. But the fire seemed to be making its own wind now, first blowing this way, then that, so how could I be sure I was heading in the right direction?
I tripped over a stump and fell to my knees under the weight of the backpack sprayer. I rested there for a moment, then used my hands to push myself into a sitting position. Hot, so hot! My skin tingled as sweat evaporated almost the instant it appeared. Using a bit of my precious water, I dampened my head scarf and tied it around my nose and mouth. Annie Oakley became wild-west desperado.
On my feet again, I kept moving, using the water to douse any flames along the way, clearing my path. When water began to drizzle from the nozzle, I worked the pump harder. And harder.
Damn, damn, damn! Adrenaline had nothing to do with it, you idiot. My backpack was lighter because I running out of water.
I slipped the harness from my left shoulder, tipped the tank so the remaining liquid drooled out of the hose and on to the scarf I had bunched up in my hand.
I am going to die, I thought, as I used the scarf to wipe my face. I’m going to die, but not of the fire. I’m going to die of stupidity.
How could I have let myself get separated from Paul?
I pressed the scarf against my forehead and used it to soothe my eyes. Its coolness was miraculously calming. Spread it over your nose, Hannah. Breathe in. Breathe out. Try not to cough. Breathe in. Breathe out. Think!
You have a radio!
I worked the hand-held out of my fanny pack and pressed the talk button, silently apologizing to listeners for the call signs Paul and I had assigned to one another. ‘Rhett, Rhett, this is Scarlet, come in.’
Paul answered right away, forgetting everything he knew about proper radio etiquette. ‘Hannah, my God, where the hell are you?’
‘I don’t know exactly,’ I croaked. ‘One minute the road was behind me, the next it had disappeared.’
‘Look around! Can you see anything?’
‘Smoke.’
Stay calm, Hannah. Think. Sign on hotel-room door: If you encounter smoke en route, crouch or crawl low to the ground.
I dropped to my knees, put my head to the ground and squinted into the distance. ‘I see a fence! Looks like it’s made out of branches lashed together. Wait a minute.’ Crouching, I crab-walked over for a closer look. ‘And believe it or not, there’s an old bathtub.’
My throat was so parched that every word was an effort. I stuck the nozzle in my mouth and sucked the last few drops of water out of my tank, then pressed the button again. ‘I’m going to clap. See if you can hear me.’
I hadn’t clapped so hard since seeing The Producers on Broadway.
My radio crackled. ‘I hear you! Keep clapping!’
I clapped for minutes, hours, days.
I clapped for my life.
EIGHT
I’VE SEEN FIRE AND I’VE SEEN RAINI’VE SEEN SUNNY DAYS THAT I THOUGHT WOULD NEVER ENDI’VE SEEN LONELY TIMES WHEN I COULD NOT FIND A FRIENDBUT I ALWAYS THOUGHT THAT I’D SEE YOU AGAIN.James Taylor, Fire And Rain, 1970
I was so busy clapping that I saw it before I heard it, growling and grinding, emerging like an illusion out of the smoke: the old Massey Ferguson, ropes coiled neatly on either side of its radiator grill, with Mimi behind the wheel.
‘Heard you on the radio,’ she shouted over the clanking of the engine as I scrambled gratefully aboard. ‘Figured you’d be over here. We use that old bathtub as an emergency watering trough.’
Since Mimi occupied the only seat on the elderly tractor, I sat cross-legged on one of its steel fenders, hanging on to a rope tied to the steel sunroof as Mimi lurched over potholes and leaped over logs.
‘You know what’s scary?’ Mimi shouted as she slammed the gear shift forward.
‘This is pretty scary!’ I said, hiking out to keep my head from bashing into the sunroof as she drove over a boulder.
‘It’s what it says in the operations manual for this thing.’
‘What’s that?’ I shouted back.
‘“Avoid steep hills and sharp turns.” So here we are, doing everything but Immelmans.’
I couldn’t help but laugh.
As it turned out, I hadn’t wandered very far from the crossroad at all. In what seemed like no time, we were back. Paul was still pacing, radio pressed to his ear.
When Mimi brought the tractor to a grinding halt, I hopped down and ran, backpack sprayer and all, straight into my husband’s arms.
‘Don’t you ever do that to me again, Hannah, do you hear? You can’t do everything single-handed.’ He had dropped his radio and was squeezing me so tight I could barely breathe.
‘No chance of that,’ I muttered into his shirt. ‘Your hug is going to kill me.’
From her perch on the tractor seat, Mimi said, ‘I’ll drive you back to the base. Other volunteers are coming in…’ She paused. ‘Ah, here’s Avenar with some of them now. Great timing. We can take the truck.’
I shrugged out of the backpack and set it next to the water jugs for refilling, then climbed into the cab of Mimi’s truck next to Paul, feeling suddenly stiff, sore and not nearly as young as I used to be. While we waited for Mimi to consult with the caretaker, Paul reached over and took my hand. ‘I was really worried, you know. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.’
I rested my head against his shoulder. ‘Ditto, ditto.’
I felt Paul tense. ‘Jeez, Hannah! You’ve got first-degree burns.’