Voracious - Alice Henderson [68]
He went limp.
She dropped the branch and ran.
The meadow stretched on a little farther, and she bounded over rocks and logs, her dark, flickering shadow from the firelight making progress difficult.
And then, with a horror, she saw a granite wall loom up before her.
She was trapped. The two cliffs on both sides met here at a tremendous granite outcropping that curled around, meeting the road at both of its ends. She was trapped in a half moon of tall grass and wildfire. Desperately she tried to climb up the wall. It was sheer—no handholds or footholds—and it leaned out toward her, so she couldn’t even leap up and cling to the sheer rock itself. She groped along the cold stone wall, smoke reaching her and forcing her to cough. Her eyes teared, blurring her vision. With frantic hands, she felt the rough surface for any nook and cranny, and each time she found purchase she tried to raise herself up, only to fall to the ground again.
It was no use. She couldn’t climb it.
Hands bleeding and fingernails torn, she turned to face the fire.
BEFORE her, fire raced forward, devouring grass and dead-fall in its wake.
Madeline ran along the granite perimeter, trying to find a break. Acrid smoke filled her lungs. It was no use. The cliff was uncompromising, smooth, tall, and hopeless. Still the fire advanced. She was trapped.
She looked to where she’d clubbed the creature and saw that fire had already consumed that part of the meadow. She only had maybe two minutes before it would sweep over where she stood and then burn itself out against the cliff face.
She leapt at the wall, clawed it, tried to run up it, grab it. Nothing. The angle at which it leaned in toward her made it impossibly steep. She fell flat on her back. It was too late. The fire was coming.
Scorching smoke seared her lungs, and she couldn’t get a breath. She spun all the way around, not seeing a single escape route. Panting, she stood there, ready to bolt in any direction, not knowing where to go, her mind reeling and eyes streaming.
And then she heard her father’s words, clear and loud, as if he were standing right next to her, just like he was that day when she was five.
“If you’re caught in a wildfire, there are three things you can do. Look for a natural firebreak, like a ridge of rocks or water, and get on the other side of it.”
She looked at the unforgiving granite cliff and bit her lip.
“If fire is on both sides of you, submerge yourself completely underwater, like in a river or creek, while the fire passes overhead.”
No water in sight.
“If there is no water or climbable fire break—”
Madeline gulped for air.
“Bury yourself.”
Immediately she stripped off her coat and laid it flat on the ground, then dug into the ground with her bare hands, dumping handfuls of dirt onto the coat. The lack of summer rains made the soil loose and easy to dig into. She dug handful after handful, using her fingers like scoops.
But it wasn’t enough. The fire crept closer, and the space she’d dug wasn’t nearly big enough to cover her. Nearby lay a large, flat piece of sturdy bark. Grabbing it and using it as a shovel, she piled more and more dirt on the coat. Then it suddenly hit her that the coat was made of synthetic material. If the fire swept over her, the heat would melt the coat right into her flesh. She couldn’t use it. She stripped off her long-sleeved cotton shirt, poured the dirt from the jacket onto it, and then flung the jacket away. With the shirt covered, she piled the dirt up next to