Page 12 of Light My Fire

Right. Whatever. But the words lingered. Sort of reminded him of Colleen’s dad, mayor of Deep Haven. He was always paraphrasing scripture—God is with you, don’t be afraid—that sort of thing.

Frankly, he wanted to hope that God was on their side.

They loaded into the plane and took off, and again, Tucker compared the terrain to the Montana landscape he’d spent the past three years jumping. The Alaskan wilderness was less tangled, with more pastures and streams down here at the base of Denali. But the soil was tougher, the lines harder to scrub out, the land brutal and unforgiving. And breathtakingly majestic.

If someone would have told him when he grew up in the tiny town of Deep Haven, Minnesota, coming home to a dark and cold house, that someday he would not only be smokejumping, living large and free, but that he would be in charge of the lives alongside him, well, it took a lot for a guy like him to believe anything but tragedy.

Anything but small, dark, and despairing.

And sure, he’d once reached for the stars, but that had turned out just like his father had predicted.Don’t think more of yourself than you are.

Yep.

Except, for the moment, he was in charge of this crew, and he intended on living up to every bit of faith that Jed had shown in him.

“Tucker, we’re coming up on the jump spot,” Barry said over the mic. The sky had turned murky, the plane flying through spots of gray soup.

With Barry at the controls, they were short a spotter, so Larke had climbed into the copilot seat and now crawled into the back.

“Guard your reserves!” she shouted.

He hooked in his pony line and opened the door. The wind washed in, crisp and bracing, thunderous. The plane jerked with the turbulence.

Tucker took the opportunity to look out the door and assess the fire.

A towering smoke column of black, boiling heat rolled into the blue sky. The fire had expanded to well over fifteen acres and was chewing south along a high, dry ridge dotted with Sitka spruce and reindeer moss. About three miles south, he spotted a lake, and through the trees, a log lodge. Maybe the Boy Scout camp.

A river ran north-south three miles to the west. Which meant they had to head off the fire, turn it before it could reach the camp, and, worst case scenario, send it into the river. Which may or may not have the strength to stop it. However, he couldn’t make out any other water sources within walking distance.

At least their jump spot seemed in their favor—a tiny pocket of meadow to the west of the fire, the wind at their backs.

Her head out the door, Larke dropped the first of the streamers. The wind sucked it into the tornado of the blaze, a spiral of death.

“Bring us around, to the southwest flank,” Larke said, and Barry banked for another go-round, flying over the fire.

This time the streamer fell right in the breadbasket, and Larke motioned to Tucker. Skye lined up beside him, strapping on her helmet.

They pulled up on final approach, and he spotted a few flames, maybe four feet high, edging toward the meadow, runaways from the inferno at the head, some eight to ten feet in flame length, shooting up black spruces and sending flames through the blackened smoke.

Not so big they couldn’t knock it down before it got out of hand. But they’d have to dig in.

Tucker did a quick four-point check, then glanced at Skye, a final once-over.

Patted her rip cord, just to reassure himself that it was out and accessible.

Probably they would all be just fine.

“Your spot is about three hundred yards southwest of the fire. You should be able to pick your approach quartering in. If you overshoot, head south.” Because north might wind them back around, into the flames.

The plane flattened out, and Tucker leaned back, bracing his hands on the open door. Kept his gaze on the far edge of the wingtip, where beyond that, the smoke billowed. His heartbeat swished in his ears.

“Ready?” A tap on his shoulder and he pushed.

The count went fast, the air pummeling his ears, and he ripped his cord.

The hard jerk, quiet into the blue, and he glanced up to check on Skye.

Away, falling, and then she pulled her cord. Her chute plumed, and he felt his pulse again.

---