I looked down. No wonder my arms had been tingling. They were lobster red, like a bad sunburn. ‘That’s what aloe is for,’ I said, just managing to smile.
Feeling a combination of regret and relief, I watched through the truck’s scuzzy windshield as two new recruits suited up in the backpack sprayers Paul and I had so recently carried. My mind drifted, thoughts swirling like smoke. I closed my eyes, surrendering to sleep.
Something went plip on the windshield. Plip-plip, leaving splotches the size of a quarter. Plip-plip-plip-plip.
‘Rain?’ As I struggled to sit up, the drops fell faster, beating a tinny tattoo on the roof of the truck.
‘Rain!’ I wrenched open the door and slid off the worn vinyl seat to the ground. I spread my arms, welcoming its cooling balm. I raised my face to the sky, and opened my mouth, savoring each raindrop as it landed on my tongue.
‘Rain! Rain! Rain!’ I grabbed Paul’s hands, dragged him out of the truck, and waltzed him around in a circle, laughing like a raving looney. ‘Chaac, the rain god, has heard our prayers!’
As if to prove he was really in charge, Chaac sent thunder, too, deafening claps that boomed, rumbled and echoed across the sky. He ripped open the clouds, and the showers turned to deluge. Along with Mimi and the other volunteers we laughed, cheered and hugged one another. If some of us were weeping, it would have been impossible to tell as water streamed from our hair, down our foreheads and into our eyes. Everyone was gratefully soaked to the skin.
Down in the forest the flames sizzled, sputtered and died. The tree bark hissed and steamed.
‘God be praised!’ someone sang out. ‘It’s over!’
‘It’s not over until it’s over,’ Mimi commented as we rattled along the old logging road in her truck. She tipped her head, squinting up at the leaden sky through the swathe that the windshield wipers, set on frantic, labored to keep clear. ‘Lightning is one of our worst enemies, although if this monsoon continues, I think we’ll be safe for a while.’
She turned to look at me. ‘You got a ride back to Marsh Harbour?’
‘We came with Jeff Key,’ I told her. ‘He’s supposed to be working on the fence line at the eastern edge of the preserve.’
‘Right.’ Mimi slammed on the brakes, executed a neat, three-point turn, then headed down the road in the opposite direction. ‘They will have done all they can for now, may even be heading back. Wouldn’t be surprised if we met them halfway.’
We had covered less than a mile before Mimi brought the truck to a halt and set the emergency brake. ‘This is as far as we can go without the tractor. Always hoping someone will donate an all-terrain vehicle. Ha ha.’
The rain had let up some, so we climbed out of the truck and stood on the edge of the road. The trees that surrounded us were charred, but no longer smoldering. ‘The path starts over there.’ Mimi pointed. ‘Fire burned through a couple of days ago, so it shouldn’t be a problem.’ She captured an errant shirt tail in each hand and tied them in a knot at her waist, as if girding her loins for battle. ‘Wait here. I’ll be right back.’
Paul gave my sleeve a surreptitious tug, locked his eyes on mine. I’d been married to the man for too long not to know what he was thinking. Mimi might heft five-gallon jugs, pull fence, convince a wild horse to stand still while she trims its hooves, leap tall buildings in a single bound… but he was too much of a gentleman to let her go off into the woods on her own. ‘Mind if I come along?’
Mimi shrugged. ‘If you’d like.’ She turned to me. ‘Hannah?’
‘I’d rather stay in the truck, if you don’t mind. I’m a bit chilled.’
Paul’s face was inches from mine, concern written all over it. ‘Are you sure, Hannah?’
‘Of course, I’m sure. I’m feeling chilly, is all.’ I waved him off. ‘Go! I’ll be fine.’
After they left I huddled on the seat, hugging my knees with Mimi’s towel wrapped tightly around my shoulders, like a shawl. I stared out the window through a thin curtain of rain. My breath was fogging the inside of the window, so I used a corner of the towel to clear a peephole in the glass.
To my right was the forest, to my left the fence line, and beyond it, a vast expanse of field I assumed to be part of the old Bahamas Star Farm property. It must have been the fence line Mimi had been talking about. A strip about six feet wide had been cleared along the fence as far as I could see in both directions.
Through the trees, charred and smoking, an oasis of green that had miraculously escaped the flames stood out like an emerald on a lump of coal. I climbed out of the truck and jogged over to the fence for a closer look. In the thick foliage, something moved. A flash of brown? I wiped the rain out of my eyes. Yes, and a glint of white. Could it be the horses?
Ash covered the forest floor like snow, but the rain had turned it into gray mud that sucked at the soles of my shoes as I ran. When I got back to the truck, I climbed into the flatbed and hoisted myself on to the roof. I stood on tiptoe, shielding my eyes from the downpour, scanning the bushes for any sign of the horses.
And then I saw them, the stallions Hadar and Achenar, grazing happily on poisonwood. The horses had survived!
I clambered down from the truck and ran back through the soggy, still-warm undergrowth to find and tell Mimi. In my haste, I tripped over a log, falling headlong into the mud. I swore, picked myself up and wiped my hands on my jeans. Damn log. I gave it an impatient kick.
I should have hurt my toe with that kick. I should have been limping around, nursing my foot. But this felt like kicking a soccer ball gone flat. Curious, I stooped down, then reeled back.
It wasn’t a log. It was a body, or what was left of one after the fire. Its knees were drawn up into the fetal position, its elbows bent, hands clenched. The skin was charred, like a burned marshmallow, and where the intense heat had caused the skin to split open, it had peeled back, revealing ugly patches of red, roasted flesh. There wasn’t much left of the face to recognize – no nose, no ears. When caught by the fire, the man had been wearing jeans. What remained of his shirt was fused to the skin on his chest. One twisted foot still wore a tennis shoe; the remains of the other shoe lay on the ground nearby.
This could have been me.
I had to get out of there.
I ran back the way I had come, back to the truck, where I staggered around to the back and with one hand holding on to the tailgate, I quietly parted company with my Goombay Punch.
Six o’clock had come and gone by the time the ferry dropped us off on the dock at Windswept. Heavy footed, we trudged up the dock together, with Paul’s arm draped loosely over my shoulder. I dragged myself up the steps to the porch and collapsed on a lounge chair. ‘I’m so tired!’
‘Move over,’ my husband said.
‘And I stink.’
He ignored me and sat down, then nuzzled my neck. ‘Not really. You smell woodsy, like a campfire with a bit of eau de creosote thrown in.’
I snuggled against him, trying vainly to disassociate myself from the horror in the woods. I shivered and buried my face in his chest. Overwhelmed by heat, smoke, soot and stress, I began to cry. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said after a while, swiping at my streaming nose with the back of my hand.
Paul cupped my chin, turned my face to his and wiped the tears away from my cheeks with his thumb. ‘No need to apologize, Hannah. It’s not your fault.’
‘That poor fellow.’ I stopped and looked at my husband, fresh tears cooling on my cheeks. ‘Oh, God, Paul. I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman!’
After my embarrassing performance with the Goombay punch, I had been grateful when Mimi took charge. From the back of her truck, she produced a blue tarp which Paul and Jeff helped spread over the body, anchoring the corners with rocks.