“What do we do with them?”
“Can’t leave them. They’ll die.” Ryan glanced around. No sign of mama wolf.
“I’ll get my day-pack.” Gunnar handed him the pup and strolled to his gear, a short distance away.
“Bring water and a Visine bottle.”
The pups were dehydrated and ravenous. They nosed Ryan’s glove aggressively for a drink. He removed his gloves. Their fur felt soft, but the tiny teeth and claws were razor-sharp.
Gunnar returned with his daypack and canteen. He unscrewed the cap and poured water in it. The dark pup licked greedily but couldn’t get the hang of lapping it.
“Pour out the Visine, rinse the bottle and put water and sugar in it,” instructed Ryan. “We’ll give them droplets.” He scrutinized their packed equipment. “Stuff these little guys in your pack. We’ll take them with us. Fairbanks Wildlife Rescue will make sure they’re fed and cared for.”
“Fire wolves. Geez, hope the mother doesn’t want a piece of us.” Gunnar glanced around.
“If she shows up, we leave them here. This is a late litter; they’re usually born earlier in spring.”
Gunnar scrutinized one. “Mom won’t touch them with our scent on them.”
“Guess we’re committed then.” Ryan gently placed each whimpering, wriggling pup in Gunnar’s pack, and carried the pack to the helo retrieval point.
As if on cue, the Bell 212 rotors sounded, and the helicopter landed on the open ridge. Gunnar tossed in their gear and pulled himself aboard with the other jumpers. Ryan handed Gunnar the pup pack and hopped aboard. The pilot lifted off, swinging the fourteen-passenger helo toward Tanana. On the way, the jumpers took turns holding and feeding the pups droplets of sugar water from Gunnar’s Visine bottle.
“Poor little guys.” Ryan worked the dark gray pup’s mouth open, noting such sharp teeth for a young pup. Then again, it was a wolf.
The brutality of fire. He’d seen his share of collateral damage; the charred animals, trying to escape, taken down as flames overtook them. He’d jumped out of the way of stampeding deer and elk in Lower Forty-eight fires.
He recalled one story where a bear on fire had charged out of the flames toward a hotshot crew boss. He said it was the most beautiful, terrifying thing he’d ever seen. He and his Granite Mountain Hotshot crew of nineteen later perished in a fire at Yarnell, near Prescott, Arizona in June 2013, when their escape route was cut off. Stories like that tend to stick with a guy.
Several hours later, the helo landed at the Tanana fire base, where a fixed-wing Twin Otter waited to transport the jump crew back to Fairbanks. Ryan, Gunnar, and the others headed to the plane with their gear. Ryan’s pack made a ruckus. The wolf pups turned out to be great entertainment for everyone on the plane.
On the flight back to the smokejumper base, Ryan’s thoughts drifted to having the next two days off as part of his work rotation. He figured he’d do some fly fishing for grayling. And maybe after fire season he’d take Boone up on a standing invitation to split a condo in Belize for a month. Do some fishing for mahi-mahi or sailfish.
He looked forward to it.
Chapter 19
Tara blinked her eyes open and ran her tongue along dry, cracked lips.
“Hey hon, feeling better?” Angela dabbed a cool, moist washcloth on her face.
“Why am I here? What time is it?”
“You fainted and fell off the truck. Silva carried you here and fussed all over you. It’s two in the afternoon.”
She thought for a moment. Oh yeah, Smokey the Bear.
Liz appeared behind Angela's shoulder. “Colonel Sanders groused that it served you right. Silva reported him and filed a complaint with Bing Pickel. He felt bad for making us report to that dickhead.”
Angela nodded. “He sure did.”
“Wow.” Tara pressed a hand to her forehead. “Silva filed a complaint?”
“After you took a header out of the pickup, I tore my head off, stripped off my yellows, and beelined for the mess hall in my bra and Nomex pants. Chugged three Gatorades.” Liz laughed.
“Would have bought a ticket to see that.” Tara pushed to sit, accepting the blue Gatorade Angela offered. She gestured at Liz with it. “You should work it into a dance routine.”
“There’s an idea.” Liz pretended thoughtful consideration.
“Tupa told Colonel Sanders to get the hell out and go back to Colorado,” chuckled Angela.
“Yeah, Tupa and your Afi Slayers squad wanted a piece of Colonel Sanders,” laughed Liz.
Tara lifted the back of her hand to her cheek, then leaned back on the bed. “Still feel crappy.”
“You need to rest. We leave for Fairbanks early in the morning. We completed our rotation and get two days off, remember?” Angela rose to let her sleep.
She needed no convincing and drifted off, dreaming of parachuting out of the back of pickup trucks.
Tara woke refreshed, but ravenous. After a shower, she felt like a phoenix that had risen from the ashes. She dressed in a clean, red T-shirt and jeans, and sat on her bed to braid her hair.
Angela came into their bunkhouse. “Hey sleepyhead, it’s chow time.”
“I could eat an entire moose,” said Tara. The women walked to the dining hall and took a seat on a long table bench. The rest of the crew straggled in.
“Hey Smokey,” Rego yelled from the end of the table. “Heard from your paws lately?”
“Only you can prevent wildfires,” smirked Tupa.
Everyone laughed and Tara couldn’t help smiling. She turned to Silva. “Thanks, Jon, guess I owe you one.”
He smiled. “Waters, you were out of it. When you took a header out of the truck, we thought you were a goner.”
She took in their laughing faces. How funny she must have looked. “Well Jon, we were team players and cooperated like you told us to.”
He seemed sheepish. “I’m so sorry. I heard how the lame-o threatened the three of you. Honestly, had I known, I wouldn’t have insisted. At any rate, I nailed his balls to
