Page 3 of The Fire We Crave

But I settle for this, spending much of the summer jumping from planes, trying to get ahead of forest fires. Unlike regular firefighters, we travel lighter. No complicated breathing apparatus because there’s nowhere to refill tanks on a mountain—plus, it’s all carbon-based material. Doesn’t smell great, but isn’t filled with nasty chemicals from paint-filled buildings.

Like any other day, I tug on my chute as I land and let my heels dig into the dirt. My whole body vibrates and strains with the effort. And without instruction, we all detach our chutes, deal with the canopies, and prepare for work.

We’re a well-oiled machine, fearless as the heat and smoke are picked up by the wind and blown in our direction. But when I look at the sky, I see the clouds shifting, their pace increasing.

Typically, smoke jumping is safe enough because of our training. There’s a higher chance of contracting poison oak than there is of dying on the job.

“Not liking this wind,” Hassan says. “It’s twitchier than my ex was at our divorce hearing.”

I chuckle at that. His wife was having an affair with their kid’s baseball coach and was hoping to get the agreement through before Hassan found out. But I know what he means. It can’t decide which way to blow.

Time passes as we wrestle with the steep slopes and denseness of the vegetation to clear a path. The wind picks up, and I pull my bandana up a little higher to cover more of my nose.

Sweat prickles over my skin.

I once dated a girl who wanted photographs of me at work, all sweaty and smeared up with the grime of the day. Was happy to share them with her, seeing she sent me pics of her stroking her own pussy.

Nothing breaks up a miserable day in the smoke and steam more than a little digital titillation.

I glance over and can just make out where Tim and Billy are hacking at the undergrowth. I can’t see where Niall, Adrian, and Ryan are.

The wind changes direction, and the clearing of the smoke causes my heart to sink. The flames have followed the smoke faster than any of us anticipated. We’re too close to the flames without enough time to back up.

Johnny and Hassan are cornered.

The fire has horseshoed around us, throwing sparks into the air.

I shout into my radio that we need an urgent air drop of water to our position, on the off chance there’s one already loaded and on its way.

But there isn’t.

I hear my friends scream and?—

“We will shortly be landing at Denver International Airport. At this time, we would like to invite you to…”

Jerking awake, I suck in air as I tune out the landing announcement. Sleep has become my nemesis. Subconsciously, I stroke the dressing on my arm. It seems almost cowardly that burns are my only lasting injury when four members of my team died.

The inhalation burns were limited to heat damage in my upper airways, but there wasn’t any way I wasn’t removing my bandana to give Johnny mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

I carried him over my shoulder, carting him through the flames. He says I’m the reason he’s alive; I say I’m the reason he’s in the hospital.

In the ten days I was in the hospital, the fires were put out. We had help from a couple of aerial teams from Canada. And an inquiry began into what happened.

No one has blamed me directly, but the fact I’ve been sent home instead of allowed back on duty for the remaining two weeks of the season says all I need to know.

They must think I mishandled it.

Now, I do too.

Which means, four men’s deaths, men I’ve worked with every year for the past five years plus this one, were my fault too.

I’ve been responsible for many deaths, but these don’t sit well on an already suffocating conscience.

When I exit the baggage claim area, Atom is waiting for me. I wish he’d brought a bike, but I know he’ll have his truck, given the bags and burns I have to carry.

“Brother,” he says, tugging me to him. “Good to have you back.”

I don’t want to think about the wave of emotion I feel standing here. There were times on that mountainside when I wondered if I was going to make it out alive to see this moment.

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