Page 2 of Burnin' For You

Through the charred trees, the sun backdropped the hazy gray of the late afternoon, a thin, blood-red line along the far horizon.

Jed’s voice crackled over their radios. “Ransom, Brooks. We’re battling some flare-ups here, and the fire just kicked up. How’s your position?”

Reuben watched Pete toggle his radio, gauging the wind.

“Must be the lake effect. She’s still sitting down here,” Pete said.

Reuben frowned, nearly reaching for his own radio. But, despite his instincts, Pete was right. Except for a few flare-ups, the firebehindthem seemed to be slow moving.

Maybe—

“Right,” Jed said, confirming Pete’s unspoken conclusion that they were safe. “Just don’t turn into heroes. Remember your escape route. To the fire, you’re just more fuel. We’re going to start bugging out to the lake.”

Which, probably, was what they should be doing, too.

As if reading his mind, Pete glanced up at Reuben. For a second, memory played in Pete’s eyes.

Only he, Pete, and Conner had survived being overrun nearly a year ago in a blaze that killed seven of their team, including their jump boss, Jock Burns.

That had been a case of confusion, conflicting orders, and hotshots and smokejumpers running out of time. Fingers had been pointed, blame assigned.

The what-ifs still simmered in low conversations through their small town of Ember, Montana. Thankfully, this summer had been—well, mostly—injury free.

Reuben wanted to keep it that way. But if their safety zone wasn’t completely burned to the ground, it could reignite around them, trap them.

If they left now, they could probably make the lake. But what if the fire jumped the road, caught them in the middle of a flare-up?

If Reuben should mutter his suggestion, he could end up getting them all killed. And if he was wrong, God wouldn’t exactly show up to rescue him.

Reuben couldn’t help shooting a look back at Hannah and CJ, still working, unaware of the radio communication.

Sparks lifted, spurted out of the forest, across the line, lighting spot fires near the edge of the road. Reuben ran over, stomped one out, threw water from his pack on another.

Pete joined him. “We’ll head back to the black.”

Reuben glanced at the route. Clear, for now.

“Roger,” he said.

Pete yelled to CJ and Hannah as Reuben shouldered his saw, started jogging along the road to their safety zone. The air swam with billowing dust and smoke. His eyes watered, his nose thick with mucus.

Why is being a smokejumper so important to you?His brother’s words of disbelief after their father’s funeral smarted in his brain.

Why indeed? Reuben coughed as he ran, a blast of superheated air sideswiping him, peeling a layer of sweat down his face. Sane people had normal jobs—like ranching or even coaching football. They didn’t bed down in ash, drink coffee as thick as battery acid, smell like gas and oil and soot, and runtowarda fire, hoping to find refuge.

If Reuben lived through this, he’d take a serious look at the answer.

Behind him, he heard Pete yelling to CJ and Hannah. “We’re not on a scenic hike! Move it!”

Around them, sparks lit the air, the roar of the fire rumbling in the distance.

We should be running the other direction.The thought had claws around his throat.

As if in confirmation, a coal-black cloud rolled down the road, directly from their safety zone, a billow of heat and gas.

Reuben stopped cold.

Jed’s voice burst through the radio, choppy, as if he might be running hard. “Pete. The fire’s jumped the road. Head to the blackright now.”

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