Summer of Fire (35 page)

Steve deepened their kiss and his hands became more urgent. She wanted this with him, because of the chords of need he touched in her.

In the same moment that she realized Devon could come back at any time, Steve pulled back gently. “I hate to say this,” he said in a voice thick with regret, “but after what happened with Devon, you don’t want her to find me here tonight. Especially, since I can’t trust myself to keep hands off.”

He was right, much as she hated it. There was no doubt that if he stayed they were going to end up on one of the beds in a most compromising position.

“There’s more,” he went on. “I just crashed a meeting at the Visitor Center where they’re considering an evacuation.”

“Oh, God. What if Devon doesn’t come back?” Clare almost hoped she had hooked up with some guy who’d feed her and drive her away from here, rather than have her wandering cold and alone in the dark. Her backpack lay abandoned on the bed, so she had no money or ID.

“There’s nothing we can do tonight,” Steve said. “I’ll sleep in my truck and check back in the morning. If she doesn’t show by then we’ll put out a missing persons report through the Park Service.”

She stood at the cabin door and hugged herself while he walked away. A car passed, its headlights illuminating his back as he headed purposefully up the narrow lane between the cabins.

In case Devon came, Clare left the door unlocked. For hours, she strained to hear approaching footsteps or the creak of the latch. Outside, the wind rose to a moan.

Devon was out there somewhere while the octopus continued to spread its arms through the night. Punching her pillow, Clare tried to tell herself that she could take the front line against the beast, though Billy Jakes’s death made her want to give up the fight.

A branch scratched the cabin window like fingernails on a chalkboard.

With a sigh, Clare turned on the light, found her great-grandmother’s journal, and opened it at random. The entry was dated after the flood in 1927, but Laura was recounting a story about fleeing a forest fire that burned in Yellowstone around the turn of the century.

That steep west slope on Nez Perce Peak must be unchanged by years, still the Devil’s own playground of sharp and treacherous boulders that shifted beneath our feet. In the suffocating dark, I thought that each step might be my last before falling away in a slide of serrate lava rock.

Even Cord’s arms failed to warm me through our night on the rock face. Sleep eluded and the pungent smell of burning wood came to us on the wind.

In the morning, we achieved the ridge top. Our place was marked by an ancient, twisted pine, reaching gnarled limbs into the smoky morning sky. The tree seemed to grow from a cairn of boulders that men might have made. I wonder now if perhaps the Nez Perce piled the stones about the old tree’s base as some kind of sign.

The sight that greeted us on the east side of the divide was astounding. Like the raging heart of a furnace, fire swept toward us through the tops of the trees, leaping from one to the next in the space of a single heartbeat. I know not how far we ran along the knife-edge to the north before we dropped down onto the steep slope. Trees exploded as though hit by cannon fire. Sound poured over us like nothing I have ever heard, a full-throated yet hollow roar that struck terror.

Clare knew that predatory call. She’d heard the voice of the Shoshone when she and Steve had cowered in the lake with shards of wood showering from exploding tree trunks. At the spike camp, she’d waited for the chopper with a desperate effort at calm, all the time believing the Mink Creek screamed her name. The Hellroaring had spared her, but taken its offering when Billy Jakes had panicked.

She continued to read.

I wish I could say we were saved through action on our part, some clever sleuthing of cold cavern air, but we fell into our refuge without seeing it. In a dank lava tunnel with a cone of dirty snow unmelted from last season, smoke nearly suffocated us.

We lived, yet are guaranteed no more and no less than anyone who takes their hold on life for granted. I don’t want to remember, but these awful days after the flood take me back to when darkness nearly overtook me. A dreadful time when I believed that despite our love, Cord and I would never find a place to be together.

Clare shivered and closed the book. She’d lived alone for years, but this summer had blasted her complacency like a tree exploding from wildfire’s heat. First Deering had awakened long dormant physical needs, but it was more than that. Now her soul craved the kind of tenderness that Laura must have found with her Cord. How incredible that a single kiss from Steve could create this monstrous hunger for all that they could be to each other. The temptation to try and find him was almost overpowering.

The thought arose that they could have been together all this time. The branch tapped again and she started, conjuring ideas that he knocked . . . and an image of him leaning lazily against the doorframe, looking down at her.

She would lift her hand and beckon him inside. How his eyes would light as he came to her.

Clare lay in the lamp’s shaded glow and imagined stoking the sparks he had kindled.

Old Faithful’s parking lots were nearly empty. Thousands of day visitors had moved on, leaving seven hundred hotel guests and a few hundred employees who lived at the complex.

Steve got out of the truck’s cab. Favoring his right knee, he climbed into the bed of the pickup. From beside the shovel and axe that rangers carried year-round for fighting fires and digging out of snow, he pulled an olive drab down sleeping bag, sealed in plastic to protect it from weather. The truck bed was not exactly soft, but the front seat was too cramped for his bad knees.

Thinking of Clare, warm in bed in her cabin, Steve unrolled his bedroll and got into it. Toward morning, it would get down in the low forties or high thirties.

He lay on his back and looked at the sky. Clouds skidded past, or were they clouds? The whiffs of fresh smoke he’d been catching all evening now came with annoying frequency.

The North Fork was on its way, loaded for bear.

Steve hoped Clare would find Devon before trouble got here. Despite her animosity toward him, he’d seen the charm as well as the conflict in the child-woman. With her parents divorced and her father’s remarriage one that obviously excluded her, it was no wonder she had lashed out at her mother over him. Despite Clare’s concern, he figured she’d probably show up back at the cabin when it got cold enough.

He wondered if he had been a fool this evening. Instead of leaving, he could have drawn the paper shades and turned the bolt. He flashed on images of Clare naked—a mystery to be unveiled.

With his arms beneath his head, he watched a sliver of moon appear to fall endlessly, the billowing shadows rising to meet it.

It was like that with Clare. He felt as though he’d left his life behind, falling free like the moon through the heavens. As sleep rose to meet him he dropped into a dream in which he was not quite the fool he’d imagined.

YELLOWSTONE FIRES

September 7, 8:00 a.m.

Here is a list of the fires and approximate perimeter acreages. To date, over 633,000 acres in Yellowstone National Park (and over * * * * acres in the Greater Yellowstone Area) have been affected by fire. However, only about half of the vegetation has burned within many fire perimeters. Throughout the summer, 52 different fires have been started by lightning. Of those 52, eight are still burning inside the park. Fire fighters are working to control them. Any new fires will be suppressed as quickly as possible.

****1,066,010 acres

Clover-Mist Fire:
238,300 acres. Mist Fire started July 9. Clover started July 11. They joined on July 22. Shallow Fire started July 31. Fern Fire started August 5. These two fires joined Clover-Mist August 13. Lovely Fire started July 11 and burned into Clover-Mist on August 21. The SW flank is near Turbid Lake and may reach the East Entrance Road. A major run occurred in the Jones Creek area within 2 miles of Pahaska Tepee. Engines and crews were sent to the area for structure protection. The fire could reach Pahaska today. 1352 firefighters, 35 engines, 7 bulldozers, and 3 helicopters.

Fan Fire:
23,325 acres. Started June 25. The fire is reported as contained. One crew is completing mop-up. 25 firefighters, 1 helicopter.

Hellroaring Fire:
57,470 acres (estimated 8,500 acres in Yellowstone NP.) Started August 15. A planned backfire did not occur due to unfavorable conditions. The backfire will be tried again today. Crews burned out around Buffalo Plateau cabin. Tuesday night this fire joined with the Storm Creek Fire. 628 firefighters, 5 helicopters.

Huck Fire:
56,345 acres. Started August 21. Caused the evacuation of Flagg Ranch. Spreading SE into Teton Wilderness and N across the Snake River into Yellowstone National Park. Fire had pushed around Pinyon Pk. into Gravel Ck. Fire is exhibiting erratic behavior. 640 firefighters, 6 engines, 5 helicopters.

North Fork Fire:
145,800 acres. Started July 22 by human. Split from Wolf Lake Fire at Gibbon Falls. The fire has spotted to within 3/4 mile of Old Faithful Area. The area is being evacuated this morning. Sprinklers have been installed under powerlines. A major run to the NE occurred in the Mt. Holmes area. West Yellowstone and Island Park areas had little activity. 1608 firefighters, 39 engines, 22 bulldozers, and 6 helicopters.

Snake River Complex:
205,800 acres. Red Fire started July 1. Shoshone Fire started June 23. Joined August 10. Falls Fire started July 12. Red-Shoshone joined the Mink Fire on August 31. Acreage includes Continental-Ridge and Mink Creek fires. Fire activity was generally light yesterday. Some small spots are being worked today. Winds were mostly light. Mink Fire crews were successful in keeping the fire in the Yellowstone River drainage. Fire is most active in Pass Ck. and Silvertip Ck. 703 firefighters, 16 engines, 6 helicopters.

Storm Creek Fire:
65,000 acres. Started July 3. A spot fire has moved just N of Silver Gate. Fire is also within one mile of Cooke City. All non-essential fire personnel and all area residents have been evacuated. No structures were lost overnight.
Hgwy 212 from Tower Junction to the Sunlight Basin Cutoff (Hgwy 296) is closed.
1236 firefighters, 48 engines, 4 dozers, 7 helicopters.

Wolf Lake Fire:
61,200 acres. Divided from North Fork Fire at Gibbon Falls. The fire is advancing NE into Carnelian Ck. and in the area of Dunraven Pass and Mt. Washburn. Line on the S held well. Line around Canyon Village also held. More engines arrived form California. 675 firefighters, 30 engines, 3 helicopters.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

September 7

"Park service,” A woman’s voice filtered through the cabin door.

Clare rolled out of bed and her feet found the cold floor. The bed with Devon’s duffel bag and backpack was still empty. “Yeah?”

“Sorry to disturb you, but this is official business.” She threw on a T-shirt and sweat pants. Outside, morning was a gray streak against smoke hanging in the Firehole Valley.

The young woman at her door wore a ranger’s uniform, complete with a brimmed hat of pale straw. Despite the chill, she was sweating, her chestnut hair damp where it showed at the temples. “We’re evacuating Old Faithful. The North Fork fire is threatening . . . “

“Oh, dear.”

“There’s no cause for alarm,” the ranger said. “You have until ten a.m. to leave, but I would start right away.”

Minutes later, Clare found Steve in the parking lot. He lay curled inside a sleeping bag in the back of the Park Service truck. One arm was over his head, reminding her of when she’d found him on the lakeshore.

He must have heard her boots on the pavement, for he opened his eyes. This time he looked neither confused nor shocky, but gave her a steady smile that lifted her spirits until he asked about Devon.

She shook her head.

He wriggled out of the bag in his jeans, shirt, and sock feet. With a glance at her Nomex clothing, he said, “I’ve got a spare set to change into.” He pulled on his boots, and grabbed the folded shirt and pants from his bag.

As he let himself down from the tailgate, he cringed when he put his weight on his right leg. She put out a hand and he let her help him.

Swiping a hand through his hair as a comb, Steve led her toward the Visitor Center. Although it was not officially opening time, she could see through the windows that a number of people were crowded inside. The woman ranger who’d knocked at Clare’s door stood surrounded by at least six elderly women.

“What do you mean, evacuate?” one stout dowager demanded.

“We were on a bus tour,” said another, a small-boned woman with the hump of advancing osteoporosis. “I think they left without us.”

Clare followed Steve through the gift shop to the information desk. There, a ranger with a strained look on his bearded face tried to answer questions from at least three people at once.

Steve hailed, “Hey, Butler.”