Tara smiled. “We worked through it. Didn’t get a chance to talk to him this morning. He’d gone before I woke up.”
“Because all jumpers were called. Their time off was canceled and Gunnar tore off like a madman to the Jump Shack.”
“Where’d they get dispatched?”
Liz leaned forward. “If you would’ve attended the fire briefing this morning, you’d know heavy winds blew up the project fire and it’s running toward Shackelford Air Force Base.”
Tara gave her a sheepish look. “I slept in. Only got a few hours of sleep last night.”
The Chinook’s engines spun the rotors and the powerful helicopter vibrated with sound.
“Here we go! Let’s kick ass, ladies and gents.” Tupa fist-bumped Bateman and Robin. “This fire won’t know what hit it once Aurora and the Afi Slayers smack it down.”
“Sounds like a rock band,” Tara hollered back with a thumbs-up. The rest of the crew responded with whoops and hollers.
The massive helicopter rose and flew forward. This was Tara’s first time in a helo this large, but thanks to Ryan she wasn’t as nervous about flying. While the rest of Aurora Crew chatted excitedly about working their first project fire, Tara leaned back and watched out a window as the Chinook headed southeast from Fairbanks. She soon smelled smoke and burnt resin. Boreal forest passed below, with stands of spruce and birch instead of Montana’s familiar diet of Douglas fir and lodgepole pine.
She wished Ryan had wakened her to say goodbye before leaving. Tara closed her eyes, crazy with longing. Reaching in her shirt pocket, she pulled out his note and unfolded it. She read it again and zipped it back in her pocket.
She thought back to last evening and how she lost her resolve when Ryan followed her into her room and kissed her. Travis had never kissed her like that; he’d always rushed to his grand finale and then fallen asleep.
Ryan had been gentle and loving—taking his time making love to her, like a delicious ritual. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, reliving every move, recalling every sensation.
“Here we are, Aurora,” called out Silva, pointing out a window.
Tara blinked her eyes open, taking in a tent city in the wilderness. The Chinook descended to a large bench on a mountaintop. Timbered slopes stretched as far as she could see. Sizeable columns of black smoke rose in the distance. The helicopter set down on a cleared, makeshift helipad.
“Hold up. Wait for the signal to unload,” yelled Silva over the whop-whop of the rotors.
The pilot slowed both rotors. A heliport manager, in a white helmet and yellow Nomex, ducked under the rotors to open the door and unfold the aluminum steps. He stood at the bottom, guiding firefighters away from the tail rotor, as they exited.
When the crew was at a safe distance, Silva whistled for attention and the crew gathered around. “Okay, ladies and gents, listen up. I’ll check in with Ops at ICC and get info where to set up our camp. We’ll deposit our gear there before heading out on the fireline.” Silva strode toward the ICC, a group of large tents that made up the nerve center of project fire operations for the Shackelford Fire. The ICC managed twenty-five crews, totaling four hundred-fifty firefighters for this one fire alone.
The base camp may have been in the middle of nowhere, but it pulsated with a hard-edged efficiency, like a well-oiled machine. Firefighters scooted ATVs along worn paths, boxes strapped on the rear with bungies. Aurora Crew followed Silva to their assigned camp site. The faint smell of smoke and constant whop of helicopters permeated the air.
Angela came up behind Tara. “Hudson’s here. He came up in another helo. I heard him tell Rego he got a ride with the Circle Crew to Wainwright. Think he knows we were the ones who pranked him? Tupa wouldn’t have spilled, would he?” she whispered.
“No. Tupa wouldn’t do that. If Hudson knew, don’t you think we’d know by now?”
“Hard to tell. He’s a sneaky Pete.” Angela shifted the fire pack on her back. “Hudson can’t prove anything. A guy I played horseshoes with at the roadhouse told me someone always wound up on those moose antlers at the end of wild parties. Some weird tradition started by the miners. That’s where I got the idea.” Angela smirked.
Tara turned around with a wicked grin. “You’re going to hell, Divina.”
“Mm, but I’ll enjoy what sends me there.” Angela winked.
Silva pointed to a grassy area next to another crew camp. “String your tents near this wall of trees, folks.”
Tara scanned the nearby hotshot and Type II crew camps. Hard to say how many; their camp sites were strewn everywhere. Cardboard signs tacked on trees or stuck on sticks in the ground displayed crew names: Chena Hotshots, Midnight Sun, NorthStar, and Tanana Chiefs. In training, Ryan talked about Alaskan village crews being some of the best in the U.S.
“I know where I’m sticking my tent.” Rego marched to the wall of trees and dropped his gear on a grassy area, a good distance from the noisy pathways and ATV trails.
“I know where I’d like you to stick it,” snickered Liz.
The women snatched up the spots, leaving a space between their tents and Rego’s. Tara had her tent set up in no time. She did it so much she could assemble it in her sleep.
“What a perfect spot.” Hudson sniggered at the three women and dropped his gear between Rego and Tara’s tent spots.
Liz shot Tara a look and grimaced. “Lucky you.”
Tara opened her mouth for a smart remark when a radio crackled at a nearby crew camp. Was that Ryan’s voice? She followed the sound down a pathway to the next camp. A Bendix King radio hung on a tree branch. She leaned in and listened.
“…Wait for the mud drop. She’s running like a speed demon. Keep escape routes a priority. Don’t get turned around in this shit.” Her breath caught.
