Summer of Fire - Linda Jacobs [116]
She’d said nothing. Gone to her room and cried. Come out later with her eyes kohl-rimmed to hide the evidence.
If her parents hadn’t cared enough about her to stay together, she sure wasn’t going to let them know anything bothered her. Her Dad had prissy, flat-assed Elyssa who sat on his knee and acted like Devon had bad breath when she went to hug her hello. Now, Mom had taken up with some Steve guy who lived thousands of miles away.
That scared her more than anything else. She’d seen Mom go on some dates since the divorce, but there was something very different about the way she looked at Steve.
And he at her.
The sky grew more garish by the minute. The sun appeared as an occasional bloody disc. Behind the southwest ridge, Devon caught a glimpse of orange, the barest tongue of color licking forth and then being swallowed by smoke.
The reporter continued. “The employee dormitory stands in the shadow of the larger inn.” The cameraman filmed the dark shingled barracks. “If it survives this day, the summer workers will not be back until spring, for the Park Service has determined that no matter what happens, they will close the Old Faithful complex for the season.”
Devon heard the roar of a plane, but she couldn’t locate it. Another flame leaped the ridge, and she realized that the sound was coming from the fire, an unearthly shriek that sounded as though she were standing in front of a jet engine. There were plenty of firefighters here, but the fire didn’t look as though anybody could do anything about it.
Some still tried. Helicopters ferried back and forth, dipping their canvas buckets into the Firehole River, then flying to dump their loads and return. As the North Fork crested the ridge, the choppers looked like angry insects, impotent before the screaming monster.
Deering took off into the wind and was reminded of Black Saturday when he’d flown Garrett and been forced to turn back. As before, they flew into the park along the Madison River, with blackened forest beneath. To get to Old Faithful, he made a wide swing northwest around the fire front. He still felt shaky after his close call with the tanker.
Garrett sat stolidly in the left seat, swiveling his bald head. From the Hellroaring at the far northeast corner of the park to the Snake River Complex in the Teton National Forest, the entire horizon had exploded with mushroom clouds.
Deering tried to concentrate on flying. He came in toward Old Faithful from the northwest, crossing the Firehole and flying along the open meadows crisscrossed with boardwalks. Garrett pointed to the lower parking lot where several TV vans were parked, satellite antennae on their roofs. “Look at those bloodsuckers. Hoping this place burns so they can get their shot at the big time.”
A sudden downdraft gripped the Huey and the negative Gs increased. Deering rolled on throttle and steered to get out of the convection system before the fire front. He wished he could take his attention off flying and check Garrett’s face. They said these fire generals had nerves of steel.
The helicopter jittered and shook.
Of course, a lot of folks thought Deering had brass balls, as well, but he could feel . . .
The thing was, he didn’t want to feel. Not to think about how old this chopper was, and how flying it suddenly reminded him of the turbulence over the Chu Pong massif just before he’d sweep down into the Ia Drang Valley. “Fuck you, GI.” The sound of VC Charlie, latched onto their frequency, just as Deering was about to make a tight approach. Below, in the landing zone carved out of jungle canopy, he’d take on injured soldiers no older than he was. Looking back, they’d all been kids.
Flying over Old Faithful, the trembling started in the pit of Deering’s stomach. It spread up through his chest and down his arms until he had to grip the controls hard, trying not to let his sweating palms slip. It had been a long time since he’d felt the