Page 30 of Smoke Season

“Hotshots, smoke jumpers, contract workers, those types. They’ll be arriving in droves, and if you can stay open, so long as it’s safe, of course—”

“But I’m only here to grab something and go,” Sam explained. “My daughter—” Simpson looked at Astor, so Sam clarified, “My younger one,” and his face rearranged into an expression of concern. Everyone knew about Annie, and no doubt Simpson didn’t want to stick his foot in his mouth twice. “She needs me up on Highline Road, so I’m just here for a minute.”

Besides, he was no profiteer, even if one good day at the Eddy for a changecouldpay for Annie’s next round of prescriptions. It might even pay off one of the smaller medical bills. He looked around again at the gathered assemblage. His neighbors. His customers.

“Maybe I could just open up, stay for a bit, until Kim can arrive,” he decided. He’d call Claude the moment he got in the door and let him know.

Once he’d unlocked and disarmed the Eddy, people swarmed in behind him, the dining room packed in a matter of minutes. It was a better turnout thanMonday Night Footballor the annual Carbon High School alumni night combined.

He greeted a handful of additional familiar faces as he and Astor made their way toward the bar: a few were neighbors from below Highline who had felt twitchy about their Level 2 status, but most were residents from the base of Flatiron, like Simpson had said, already at Level 3, like the Jacobses. They wore expressions of stark disbelief over a heavy layer of fatigue and no small amount of soot and dirt, unsure if they’d have a home to go back to once they’d finished their burgers. Caroline Frenchman, the tough-as-nails owner of Carbon’s only equine-therapy ranch, kept wiping tears with the cuff of her shirt. Matty Dillon, Carbon High’s current quarterback, looked as haggard and lost as his dad, Dr. Dillon, holding a cat crate in each hand, which they must have liberated from their family vet clinic by Flatiron.

He called Claude, who assured him nothing had changed up on Highline, for better or for worse. “Just don’t dally too long with that power pack, sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Sam told him, then messaged Kim, who arrived not five minutes after getting Sam’s text, wearing a stern expression. “I thought you’d promised to leave?”

“It’s good to see you, too,” he returned dryly before filling her in on Annie’s whereabouts. And hewasrelieved to see her still in town as well; as validating as this full bar was, these customers weren’t going to feed themselves. One look at her face, however, had him asking, “You okay? Everyone all right?”

“Yeah,” Kim insisted, letting her purse and a backpack—probably her go bag—slide to the floor. “It’s not like we’re newbies to this, but ... I don’t know. Something feels off about this fire.”

They both paused to observe Deputy Simpson milling about in his tan uniform, pausing at tables to check in with residents, assuringeveryone of their safety here in town.For the time being,Kim’s expression countered.

He slid behind the bar to get a pot of coffee on, Astor clambering up onto the counter to reach the industrial pods of Folgers. Kim clicked on the grill of the Viking stove to get it warmed up. As he was pouring water into the coffee carafe, Sam spotted the imposing figure of Fire Chief Gabe Hernandez, a.k.a. head honcho, entering the Eddy.

He started to wave him over, only to have someone else catch his eye. Chris Fallows, who, unlike his father, was permitted, if not exactly welcome, at the Eddy, though he hadn’t darkened the door of this place in years. Sam hadn’t spoken to Chris directly since high school, when he’d gone one way—JROTC—and Chris had gone another—juvenile detention. Last Sam had heard, Chris had been trying to make a go of it with a girlfriend a few towns over, but from the look of it, he was back on the payroll out at the grow. The farmer’s tan and work boots gave him away.

Which just meant the two of them had even less to talk about now than ever. He turned his back to guide Astor through the process of adding the coffee to the machine and turning on the heat. Kim, bless her, was already making the rounds with a serving tray, handing out mugs and creamer packets to those who might want a cup of joe, and by the time Sam joined her with sugars, Chris had disappeared into the crowd. Which suited Sam just fine: the last thing he needed was to deal with a Fallows right now.

“Are they planning a press briefing?” Kim asked. She nodded toward Chief Hernandez, who had now been joined by the NewsWatch 10 crew, busy setting up beside him near the bar.

Simpson, overhearing, told them, “Sorry, I wanted to run it by you folks, but ... he’s supposed to go live in a few minutes.”

Sam wove through the crowd to get back to the bar. “Hernandez!” he called, waving an arm to get the chief’s attention. When he didn’t glance up, he added a louder, “Hey, Gabe!”

The fire chief turned, as did that same young reporter who’d reported on the fire earlier—Madison something or other, who gestured excitedly to her one-man camera crew as Hernandez waved Sam over.

“What’s the status of Mel and her crew?” Sam asked Hernandez. “Were they anywhere near the action when the fire broke through the line?” He knew he wasn’t supposed to be privy to this information, but Hernandez, like Simpson, knew that small-town familiarity tended to blur such lines.

Madison sidled closer, happy enough to take advantage. “Mr. Bishop? Can we have a word? Just a few minutes of your time.”

Sam shook his head at Madison, focusing on Hernandez. “Any update on the Highline area?” If the head-of-command showed any concern at all for that area, he would make a beeline back with Astor and the Goal Zero right this minute, press conference or no.

“It’ll only take a sec,” Madison persisted.

Hernandez waved at her in annoyance, telling Sam, “Level 1 is holding steady up there,” he said, while Sam exhaled a sigh of relief. He’d give Claude another update and let him know he’d be just a bit longer. “And if it stays that way,” Hernandez continued, “the higher ground up there could provide a good vantage point for fighting the fire, should it continue to creep west.”

“Creep west?” Madison interjected.

Hernandez’s lips pressed closed in a tight line. Clearly, he’d already said more than he should, as a favor to his crew member’s ex.

“We heard they’re currently holding the line at the bottom of Forest Service Road 7312,” Madison pressed.

Near True’s property,Sam thought with a start. As well as the Fallowses’. He knew what that acreage meant to both of them—a sanctuary for the former, a business asset, and a lucrative one at that, for the latter. He darted a glance to where he’d last clocked Chris but still couldn’t spot him in the crowd.

Kim materialized, sweat beading on her brow. “We’re out of buns, and I don’t know what to do about the salads ... no one prepped them.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He should be helping her, not trying to pry information out of the fire department. “Listen, let’s just limit the menu, all right? Appetizers, soups, and chili, that’s it. Plus drinks!” he called after her. Now that the Eddy was open and he was here, he might as well make it worth Claude’s time. And Kim’s.

She smiled gratefully and disappeared back behind the bar as Hernandez began to address the crowd, distracting everyone from the poor service provided today by the River Eddy.

---