Her head pounded, pulsating her temples. Each inhale increased the pain. The smoke was so thick she thought her head would explode. She unsnapped her canteen from her harness and swigged some water. Her gut churned, noticing everyone else doing the same.
Angela came up behind her. “I have a splitting headache.”
Tara called over her shoulder. “Jon, what are they saying on the radio? Where’s the head of the fire?”
“Wait a minute.” Silva bent and wheezed. He coughed so hard she thought his lung might fall out. She didn’t like the sound of it. “Jon, are you okay?”
He pulled out an inhaler and took a few puffs. He exhaled, coughing. “Don’t worry. I’m fine,” he choked out.
“You don’t sound like it.” She knew he wasn’t if he carried an inhaler.
Tara fought for calm. She’d become accustomed to Silva taking charge, but his breathing was deteriorating. The smoke was bad and the entire crew had trouble breathing. They must be near the fire’s runaway head—and weren’t supposed to be here.
Her eyes burned and she lowered her goggles. She took the map from Silva’s gloved hand. “Let me see your GPS.”
He handed her the tracker. She squinted at the screen, then the topo map. The latitude and longitude numbers were not lining up.
Tara’s heart thudded. “Jon, are you sure we have the correct lat and long?”
“I wrote it down.” He showed her his small note pad with the numbers scratched on it.
She compared what he’d written with the GPS screen and her chest clenched. “These numbers don’t match.” She showed him. “We’re on the wrong ridge.”
“Impossible,” Silva choked out, erupting into a coughing fit.
“I need your radio.” Tara pulled his radio from his waist belt and keyed it. “Rego, hold up, we need to regroup.” The crew line stopped moving.
She ran ahead to Rego and showed him the map. “The GPS put us on the wrong ridge. There must be a miscommunication of the numbers somehow. Silva’s coughing so bad he can hardly talk.”
Rego pointed to a ridge on the map. “Shouldn’t we be on this fifth finger ridge to reach the right flank?”
“Yes. But we can’t see where the fire is from the bottom of this ravine. We should have reached the right flank by now.” Tara took the map from Rego and studied it, trying to recall how many smaller ridges they’d traversed. She pointed with her little finger. “We must be here, on this middle ridge.”
Rego held up his hand. “Wait, listen.”
The crew gathered around Rego and Tara as a plane’s engine whine grew louder and zoomed directly over them. A low, deep rumble followed.
“Spotter plane for an air tanker.” Tara peered up into smoke.
“What are they doing here?” asked Tupa. “Retardant ships hit the hottest parts of the fire.”
“We must be…oh shit,” said Rego, wide-eyed. Everyone exchanged bewildered looks as the low rumble increased to a deafening one.
The familiar engine sound told Tara it was a DC-10 on final for a drop. “Incoming retardant ship.”
“But what’s it doing here?” yelled Tupa, squinting upwards in a futile attempt to see through the smoke.
The unmistakable squeal of metal doors opening clued Tara in. “Everyone, down!”
The crew hit the ground like balled-up hedgehogs braced for danger, hands clasped behind necks. The thunderous roar sounded like a NASA rocket launch, vibrating Tara’s insides.
“Not good, people!” yelled Tupa, as metal gates squeaked open, raining thousands of pounds of scarlet gel on Aurora Crew.
Thick glop slapped their backs with the force of an ocean wave. Tara’s backpack broke some of the force, but the wind still whooshed from her lungs. The mighty DC-10 thundered past, the sound of its jet engines fading. The entire landscape became the color of sockeye salmon meat, including Aurora Crew.
“What the fuck!” Rego jumped up in battle-ready mode. He and Tara exchanged crazed looks.
“Doesn’t matter what the map or GPS says, we have to get out of here.” Tara struggled for composure. She didn’t want to panic anyone. How would Ryan handle this? He’d stay calm and get them the hell out.
Silva doubled over coughing and stumbled back. Liz appeared at his side to help. His coughing prevented him from speaking and all eyes fixed on Tara and Rego.
Tara took a confidence-building breath and worked to keep her voice from wobbling. “You guys all realize we’re in the path of the head.” She squatted to wipe away gel to inspect the vegetation. It was green, not black. Somehow, they’d wandered from the black to the unsafe, flammable green.
Her heart nearly stopped as a freight train sound thundered in the distance. The sound grew louder by the second. Alarm flashed through the crew. The runaway head of the fire!
Tara wondered how close it was. A convective heat wave answered her question.
“We need to get out of here fast!” She locked stares with Rego, and he gave her a quick nod.
She turned to Silva. “Jon?”
He nodded at her, coughing.
“He’s having trouble breathing, you’d better take charge.” Liz had her arm around Jon’s waist, helping him walk.
Silva pointed at Tara. “Yes. You’re in charge,” he croaked, hacking out another lung. He yanked his radio from his belt and held it out to her.
She froze. The image of the doomed homeowner in Montana flashed. She’d be damned if that would happen again. Only this time it would be seventeen times over.
Tara keyed Silva’s radio. “Air support, this is Aurora Crew. We seem to be in front of the head. Can you drop another load?”
No response.
“Air attack, this is Aurora Crew, do you copy?” Tara peered at the energy bars on the radio screen. Zero, zilch. She looked up at Rego. “I need a fresh battery. Find Silva’s battery bag.”
Rego darted over to Silva and searched his pack. Silva stuck his hands in his pockets and shook his head at Rego.
“He must have dropped his battery pouch,” reported Rego.
“Please don’t say that.” Tara felt nauseous and her head pounded. They were on their own.
Schwartz vomited. People were sick from lack
