Wild Inferno by Sandi Ault Page A

examined the body that was almost certainly the remains of Grampa Ned. I set the fudge bar, still in its wrapper, on the table. For a moment I felt queasy, and I forced myself to breathe slowly. Calm down, I told myself. But my mind was not calm. What was Grampa Ned doing there? Who hit him on the head?
    Kerry wandered in and looked around. He got himself a cup of coffee and came to sit across from me.
    I leaned back in my chair, welcoming this distraction. “Coffee?” I asked. “This late?”
    â€œI won’t sleep anyway.” He pulled a small round container from his Nomex pants. I watched as he opened it, pulled out a pinch of chewing tobacco between two fingers, and stuffed it between his lip and his lower jaw.
    I knew that Kerry had struggled with this vice for years before giving it up. He called it “dipping,” and he had tried several times to quit before he met me. Finally, he’d used a course of nicotine patches, and that had worked, or seemed to have—he had not had a dip in the year and four months that I’d known him. Until now.
    I leaned forward and reached across the table to stroke his hand.
    He seemed nervous about being touched. “I had to have a dip,” he said. “I got a can at the gas station in Arboles.”
    â€œI know. I’m stressed, too.”
    He pointed at the table. “Your ice cream bar is melting.”
    â€œI’m not hungry.” I got up and threw the fudge bar into a trash container, then returned to sit down.
    â€œYeah, me either.”
    â€œI almost cried when I saw Mountain a little while ago.”
    â€œYou saw Mountain? Here?”
    â€œOh, I forgot, we haven’t had time. He’s with Momma Anna up at the Native American ceremonies on top of Chimney Rock.”
    â€œOh, that’s not good. We don’t have good containment on that side. Just because the fire’s moving north now doesn’t mean it won’t blow out on the east again if we don’t get a good fire break in there somehow.”
    â€œI know. I guess they’ve established some trigger points—factors that will determine if and when the Indians have to evacuate.”
    â€œLet’s hope they’re right, and it’s enough time to get everybody down.”
    â€œGod, what a day. The woman who’s coming to debrief us should be here any time now.”
    He gave a snort. “Yeah, there’s a real waste of time. As if I didn’t have enough to do with this fire going like it is. Man, I’ve never seen a wildfire like this one. It’s been totally unpredictable. This thing has run as fast downhill as it does uphill, which a fire never does. It’s spotted way out beyond the lines, embers flying like tracer bullets.”
    I tipped my head to one side and looked at the man with whom I often shared my spare time, my bed, and my most intimate thoughts. “You okay?”
    He pulled up. “Why do you keep asking me that?”
    â€œA lot has happened today. You seem really amped up.”
    â€œI’m amped up? You’re the one who said you almost cried. Listen, there were firefighters in the burn and I couldn’t get to them. Don’t I have a right to be concerned when there’s an enemy out there I’m supposed to fight, and I can’t figure out a way to fight it?” He’d raised his voice enough that crew members walking past were staring into the chow tent.
    I was quiet a moment. “Of course you have a right to feel concerned. I’m just—”
    â€œI’m fine, okay?” He gave a false grin. “Stop worrying about me.”
    â€œYou mentioned Somalia earlier.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou mentioned being close to a helicopter in Somalia.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œWhen we were driving back to Fire Camp, in the truck.”
    He looked confused. “Well, I was probably talking about working around the