Summer of Fire - Linda Jacobs [44]
“Like I told you in the briefing, communicate, communicate.”
“That fire was pretty noisy.” Jerry furrowed his forehead. Beads of sweat stood on his skin and Clare felt droplets trickling down her side.
Fifty yards away, smoke began pouring through chinks in the metal shutters of a two-story brick building. It made her think about her own trip through that sealed mausoleum, a place she’d gotten into and thought she would never escape. Suffocating smoke turned out the lights and a hand on the hose was the only lifeline.
“Think about the search and rescue exercise you did in the smoke house,” she told Jerry. “You and your teammate were in constant communication. ‘Checking the corner, nothing here, moving left, at the doorframe . . . ‘ Even though you could see the loading terminal better, it didn’t take away the need for shouting to the guys on the other hose.”
Jerry nodded, but he didn’t look like he’d heard anything except a platitude.
“Seriously,” Clare said, wondering again if they had heard she was the one with Frank when he died. Some of them might even have attended the funeral. “When you’re out in charge of your crew at Toro Canyon, remember that safety is the number one priority, just like the Red Cross teaches in their lifesaving courses.” Along with college competitive swimming, Clare had been a water safety instructor. She’d guarded at a Texas camp, watching kids and water moccasins mingle from a creosoted dock, rainbow slicks on the sluggish river.
“The last thing you want to do, Jerry, as a lifeguard, is to jump in the water and put two persons at risk. In fire, the same rules apply, even when there are victims in a burning structure.”
Straight from the manual. It sounded good in the bright summer sun, but when flames had licked the sky from burning apartments, she had felt the same spirit that always seized her before cleaving the water in a racing dive.
She and Frank had never considered leaving Pham Nguyen to die.
CHAPTER TEN
August 5
The next morning found Clare wondering how to spend a day off. She began by running a few miles on Old Faithful’s trails, but her restless energy did not dissipate. Caught up in the momentum of firefighting, she found time on the sidelines a waste.
Midday found her in the West Yellowstone Smokejumpers’ Base visiting with her new acquaintance Sherry Graham. One of a small minority of women in the elite rank, Sherry was putting the final touch to a parachute pack on a long waxed table when the base alarm sounded.
The first shock of the noise gave Clare a surge of adrenaline. She had to tell herself it wasn’t for her. With the outward calm she recognized from her own work, Sherry finished affixing a piece of masking tape with the date, her name, and certification number. She’d told Clare it took years of training before a Smokejumper earned the right to pack a chute.
Putting her finished product onto the shelves covering one wall of the workroom, Sherry said, “I’m spotter on this run. Wanna go?” A smile brightened her round face.
Clare shoved off the counter and felt the familiar excitement that she’d not experienced in over a month. “Right behind you.”
She followed Sherry’s sturdy frame past two men repairing chutes on industrial sewing machines, through the three-story loft where chutes hung when they weren’t packed for use, then down the hall decorated with photos of past seasons’ teams. Just like at the fire station, the first stop in any run was the restroom, in case it was a long time to the next opportunity.
In the ready room, Sherry and two male jumpers rummaged in wooden bins for Nomex clothing.
“Clare, this is Randy’s rookie season.” Sherry introduced her to a young man buttoning his shirt over compact, taut-looking muscles. “He’s studying Forestry at the University of Montana.”
“And Hudson.” Sherry went on to a short, stout man with hands like a prizefighter’s.
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” A scatter of gray marked Hudson’s temples. “I’m a career jumper. Wait tables on Maui, spring and fall. Winters