When Giants Burn, page 16
“I know what ‘sepsis’ means.”
Mrs. Freid’s mouth twitches for a moment, but she continues. Her voice is steady and low. “Well, that’s what was affecting your arm, more so than the fracture. If Hayes hadn’t gotten you to help when he did, you might not have recovered. He saved you.”
I shake my head. I could’ve kept going.
“What’s so important about Pando?” Her voice is calm, curious. “What made you risk so much to see it?”
I bury my cheek against Nanny Pat’s hand and block out everything but the thoughts that thunder in my head. I was so close. I wanted to be part of something bigger. I wanted to stand on roots and know they tied into everything around me. But Mrs. Freid won’t understand that. No one will.
I thought she would leave once I turned away from her, but Mrs. Freid continues as though we were having a conversation rather than simply her talking to me. “After you shared your thoughts on my tree, I put aside my usual reading material.” She shifts in the seat, making it squeak again. “I’ve been reading about trees. How they communicate.”
I peek back at her. She smiles. I tuck my head back down. Nanny Pat sighs but doesn’t wake. Her fingers flex and tangle further in my hair.
“You were right.” She laughs when I snort. Of course I was right. “Trees do communicate. It appears individual trees can be lonely, or at least not lonely. Ones with roots that overlap with others seem healthier, live longer. Want to hear something I found particularly interesting in my reading?”
She pauses. I shrug with my good shoulder. “Some trees drop their seeds right under them. They’ll keep the seedlings in their own shadow, ensuring they grow slowly but strongly. Wayward seedlings will shoot up too fast and spindly, likely to fall over. But the ones whose roots are closer will be strong enough when the matriarch—that means ‘mother’—”
“I know what ‘matriarch’ means.”
“When the matriarch topples, those seedlings will be strong enough to soar in the sunlight.”
Pando doesn’t use just seeds. He sends up shoots from the roots, called sproutings. I’ll tell her about that another time, though. Right now I’m ignoring her. But then I realize something. She’s trying to trick me. “Is this supposed to be some sort of analogy?”
Mrs. Freid laughs. “You tell me. But I’m not done yet. What I found truly interesting was that trees’ roots often keep nourishing fallen trees around them, sending food resources into their roots, even though their trunks are damaged or even simply stumps. The trees around the stumps keep them going, even when they’re in what humans would consider grief.”
Neither of us speaks for a long time. Then I say, “My parents left me too. I don’t think they’re coming back.” I lift my head and glance over at her.
She nods, her jaw flexing. “Your family has been through a lot of painful experiences.” I realize she knows about Matthew. Both of us are silent. I think she’s going to leave when she bends over to her bag, but instead she pulls out a book with a tree on the cover. Soon the only sound is her finger running down the right side of her book as she turns the pages.
“We don’t talk about him. It’s like he was never there,” I say.
Mrs. Freid’s finger pauses on its journey down the page. “Lots of people try to disconnect from grief. It doesn’t work, does it?”
I close my eyes, pretending to sleep, and she continues to sit there.
“Why don’t they love me as much as they loved him?” I whisper into the quiet.
Mrs. Freid breathes out and in. “I don’t think love has anything to do with it. I think it’s pain. Theirs casts too big of a shadow, and not the kind that allows for growth.”
My cheeks burn when tears leak from my closed eyes. Mrs. Freid’s hand curls around mine. It’s sort of like having roots, her fingers overlapping mine and Nanny Pat’s in my hair.
28 SPARKY
Lonnie leans against the side of the car next to Sparky as he calls his brother. Whistle waits behind the wheel, pulling up directions to Wyoming on his phone. That’s where they’ll head next, he says, after they find just one more job.
Sparky doesn’t point out that the last job was supposed to be the last one. So was the one before that.
The phone rings and rings. “I’m telling you,” Sparky says, “Skip’s real busy. The fires, the missing kids—”
“Kid,” Lonnie says. Whistle got an alert on his phone that one of the kids had been found, which is why they’ve cut this would-be final job short after quick grabs of jewelry, clothes, and electronics, stacked in the trunk of the car. They headed south, taking a side road to sneak past a fire engine. They were close enough to the fire that Sparky wanted to argue when Lonnie pulled the gas can from the back seat. What was the point? The air was thick with smoke. They could see the glow of the flames from the windows of the house. But Lonnie said they had to do it right.
So they lit that house and took off.
Whistle didn’t laugh at the irony a few minutes later, when the gas light of the car flashed on as they were detoured by a different fire engine blocking the road. He pulled over to look for new routes and ordered Sparky to get the lowdown from his brother on whether the police were going to be a problem.
Sparky swallows against a sudden flood of spit in his mouth as he hears his brother’s voice on the line, telling him to leave a message. “Voice mail,” he says, and presses the end button.
Lonnie curses. “What kind of guy doesn’t answer his brother’s call?”
“One who has a brother like me,” Sparky says.
Lonnie squints at him. “So many things wrong with you, Sparky. Why you adding self-esteem issues to the list?”
Sparky blinks back.
“On the other hand,” Lonnie says, “if he somehow suspected you, he definitely would’ve picked up.”
Sparky’s phone vibrates in his pocket; it must be Skip calling back. He doesn’t pick up, and works to keep his face smooth. He saw those two kids run for the coop, but did they spot him? How much did they hear? Could they make him and the others? He swallows again, remembering how Whistle said his name when they were in the house. Why couldn’t he have a name like John or Dave? There probably aren’t too many grown men named Sparky.
“You okay, Sparky?” Lonnie asks.
Whistle saves him from answering by ordering them back in the car. “Get in!” Something about his tone makes Sparky look over his shoulder. Behind them looms an avalanche of pitch-black smoke.
* * *
“C’mon, c’mon,” Whistle mutters, his foot pressing the gas pedal as the car barrels down the road. Sparky keeps his eyes glued to the trees closest to them, trying not to notice that, in the distance, orange flames seem to be pouring like lava across the forest. The path behind them is nothing but smoke. Flames to the side. Forest to the other.
“It’s like we’re being herded,” Lonnie says.
Sparky rears back when a coyote runs from the woods, its tail smoking. The animal limps a few steps and then falls. Sparky tries to breathe, willing the animal to get back up.
But then he loses sight of the coyote as Whistle screams and slams on the brakes. Sparky shoots forward, the seat belt cutting into his shoulder as Lonnie curses in the back seat. Ahead of them is a fire engine. Beside it, a firefighter in full gear and a woman in jeans are frantically waving for them to stop. They run toward the car. Sparky lowers his window to catch the firefighter’s words.
“Oh, thank God! We need a jump. Battery’s dead. No one is supposed to still be in this area, but man, I’m glad to see you guys!” He backsteps a little to get the jumper cables he dropped when he began waving at them. Sparky’s eyes snag on the woman. He knows her; she’s the missing kid’s mom.
She tilts her head at him. “You’re Skip’s brother, aren’t you?” she says. “I saw you at the station.”
Whistle curses under his breath and then pushes Sparky’s arm. “Get out,” he says to him.
“What?” Sparky gasps.
“She made you,” Whistle hisses, spittle flying from his mouth. “Get out of the car.” Whistle presses down on Sparky’s seat belt button, leans over him, and throws open the door.
“What? They just need help. They don’t know anything,” he whispers.
“You want to help them? Help them!” He kicks at Sparky’s side, pushing him out of the car. Lonnie leans over the back seat, shoving him too.
Sparky rolls from the car as Whistle accelerates around Tara and the firefighter.
* * *
The firefighter is young and lanky, scruff sprouting on his chin in uneven patches. He grabs Sparky by the elbow and yanks him to his feet. He doesn’t ask why they left him behind. He simply tells Sparky his name is Hank.
Tara nods at Sparky once and then says, “Let’s get to work.” She strides back to the dead fire engine.
The cloud of black is so thick and so close, Sparky can barely drag air into his lungs. “How? They left us!”
Hank bumps against Sparky’s shoulder as they follow Tara. “Three things.” He holds up a finger. “One, it probably wouldn’t have worked. This bird has three batteries. Would’ve drained that car for sure, and still might not have been enough.” He raises another finger. “Two: they’re heading right into the worst of it, so if I were you, I’d rather be here.”
“What’s three?”
Hank grins. “We can’t get anywhere, but this lady came up with a mad plan to keep us safe until the fire passes. If we’re going to make it work, we for sure need your help. C’mon.”
“Are we going to die?” Sparky asks as the orange in the woods creeps closer.
Hank laughs. “I’m a newbie, but she’s an old-timer. And old-timers? They’ve always got a plan.”
* * *
“This is a terrible plan,” Sparky says a minute later.
Tara’s nostrils flare as she narrows her eyes. “Keep a toe in the black and we’re good.” With that, Tara hands Sparky a red canister with a long handle on the side.
“A fire extinguisher? This isn’t going to—”
Tara sighs. “Tell him, Hank.”
Hank grins. “That ain’t an extinguisher. It’s a drip torch. She’s going to light it, and then you’re going to turn that little screw. It’ll let fuel drip onto the wick and dribble onto the ground. Drop fire down into the brush around the truck.”
“You two want me to light the ground around the fire engine on fire?”
Tara nods. “Yes.” She turns and begins yanking hose from the engine, the muscles in her arms bunching with the motion. “You two will light it, I’ll douse it. And that’s how we make it through this.” Tara jerks her chin toward the woods. “The fire’s on the forest’s edge. If it hits this sage, we’re cooked. It’ll rush toward us, ten to fourteen miles an hour. So we’ll burn wedges at a time before it gets here.”
“Like pizza slices, with the engine being that little plastic white circle Domino’s puts in the middle,” Hank pipes in. “Or is that Papa Johns? Anyway, that’ll be the engine. I’ll be right beside you, Sparky. Great name for a firefighter, by the way.”
“I’m not a firefighter,” Sparky says.
“You are today,” Tara says as she leans forward and lights the wick of the drip torch. Hank lifts Sparky’s T-shirt to cover his nose and slaps his back.
* * *
It takes nearly an hour, Sparky and Hank steadily walking the fire away from the engine in triangles, spreading from the truck. The flames gnaw the ground immediately. The heat makes Sparky’s jeans feel like hot pads pressed against his legs. The smoke makes his eyes and lungs burn. All around him the air is black and orange, black and orange, but he works without ceasing as they ignite and Tara extinguishes.
Finally they have a space about half the size of a football field circling the fire engine. “Is that enough?” Sparky asks as the sage sizzles, black and orange creeping to the edge of the blackened border.
Hank shrugs. “It’s my first wildfire.”
“Are you kidding me?” Sparky whimpers. But the ground fire hits the edge of their border and stops. Hits and stops. Hits and stops. Hank takes the hose from Tara, reeling it back onto the engine, and Sparky follows Tara into the engine. With the doors and windows closed, the air is finally breathable.
“What a bad day,” Sparky mutters.
Tara gulps water from her thermos and then passes it to Sparky. “Nah,” she says. “A bad day is when your partner doesn’t make it. This was a good day.” Sparky tries not to react at the buried compliment. Partner. “The crew Hank was supposed to relieve is now behind us. As soon as this sweeps through, they’ll be in. You and Hank will go on to camp. I’ll hook up with a CAP rescuer, hitching a ride with them, and head toward Pando.”
“To find your son?” Sparky asks.
Tara nods, her jaw clenching.
“Is… is he okay?”
She pauses for just a second and then nods. “He will be.”
Sparky swallows some water from the second thermos Tara hands him. She stares at Sparky steadily. “Are you going to run when the crew gets here?”
Sparky drinks some more, the water washing away some of the ash and guilt in his throat. He shakes his head.
“You’re going to be okay too.”
Sparky is spared needing to respond by Hank climbing into the engine with them. The firefighter flips on his radio. As he picks up the receiver, Tara glances at Sparky. “You could do this, you know. Be a firefighter. You’re a natural. And doesn’t it feel good to be the good guy?”
Sparky rubs his forehead. “I made a lot of mistakes. I’m in big trouble.”
Tara nods and then peers out the window to the curtains of black smoke closing in. “Look outside, man. Sometimes everything burns around you but you.”
Sparky listens as Hank gives their location and condition update to the fire camp supervisors. Then Tara’s phone rings, and Sparky recognizes his brother’s voice on the other end. Skip doesn’t even wait for Tara’s hello before talking. “Gerty’s okay. She’s going to be okay. Hayes saved her. He wanted to keep going. Gerty says he isn’t hurt.”
“Thank you,” Tara says, her voice breaking for just a second. “We had a little bit of trouble—”
“Where are you?”
Tara’s mouth quirks into an almost smile. “I’m good. I’m okay. Hank and I, we had some help. Someone who needs to talk to you, actually.” She holds out the phone and nods at Sparky. He pauses for a second, then grabs it.
“Brother,” he says. Skip breathes his name into the phone, and Sparky realizes Skip already knows he’s done something wrong. “I’ve got to turn myself in.”
29 HAYES
I tumble forward, through knee-high prickly brush. The holes in my sneakers snare and rip further. So do my jeans and the skin underneath. I barely feel the sting. I barely feel anything.
This is it. This is the forest that Gerty needed to see to know she’d be okay.
The trunks stretch in front of me, some of them so thin that I could curl my hands around them. She said each one is like a hair on the head of the root system, but I think they’re more like fingers, spindly and skeletal. Stark and white, spreading in every direction, like a pocket in heaven split and all these trees fell out.
Gerty said Pando wouldn’t look special. She said people could pass right by and not know they were above the heaviest, largest, longest-living being in the world. She said he would look old, like a dying forest.
Gerty was wrong.
It doesn’t look old at all. It looks new.
I’m the one who is ancient, who is heavy, who is too big, too much.
“I’m not okay,” I tell Gerty. “You were wrong about that, too. I’m here but I’m not okay.” Only my mouth won’t open, and the words don’t come out.
She hears me anyway, because I hear her laugh. I feel her breath against my face as she whispers, “What are you so afraid of?”
No. No. Gerty isn’t here. She’s in a hospital somewhere. She hates me now. Everyone hates me now. “Dying alone,” I answer her anyway. When I open my eyes, she’s right there in front of me, rolling her eyes at me.
“Everyone dies alone.” And then she’s gone.
I fall into one of the trees. I slide down it, my back pressed against the bark and my legs sprawled in front of me. Maybe I’m a tree too. Maybe my legs are roots. My hands fall to my sides. My fingers cover roots that dig into the soil around me.
I thought when I got here, I’d have answers. I’d know how to untangle this huge mess I’m in. Know where to go, what to do. But I don’t know anything at all. What am I supposed to do now?
I look up, and sunbeams pierce the canopy of leaves. Suddenly the light shifts. The world quakes. Gerty called Pando a trembling giant, and I didn’t understand. Now I see. The world shakes as each leaf moves on its own in the breeze, casting coin-sized shadows in all directions. Everything tilts and shifts. All around me I hear the leaves’ music as they tremble.
“What are you afraid of?” Gerty asks me again. No, it’s Charlie. Maybe it’s Pando. “What are you afraid of?”
“Being alone,” I answer them all. The leaves dance again, the sound like laughter. And I can’t blame them for mocking me, the boy who ran away because he’s afraid of being alone. Or laughing because they know I’m lying. I’m not afraid of being alone.
I’m afraid of being left alone.
The trees stop moving. The world steadies for a moment. Then another breeze drifts through, and it transforms again. Mom is there, a speck in the distance.
She’s running through the woods, her mouth stretched as though calling my name. I can almost hear her, but I know this isn’t real. When I close my eyes, she’ll be gone. The closer she gets to me, the farther away she’ll be. Because this is the dream, isn’t it? What I want is so huge, so big, and it’ll never stop being a little bit farther away.
I close my eyes.
