The season was supposed to be over … the pain was supposed to have stopped, and people should have been able to return to their homes without fear for the rainy season. The rainy season hadn't come and the pain just grew.
As it was, he hadn't expected another this late in the year, and certainly not one this big. Nevertheless, it had happened. How no one knew, and that to him made the pain so much worse.
Pain … that was all he felt now. It hurt to move, it hurt to lie still. He had retreated a few days ago to his house, had stopped calling his family and stopped picking up the phone. He didn't want to hurt them like he was hurting, didn't want to bother them with his issues. Issues which were quickly getting out of hand.
Yesterday he couldn't even get out of bed, it hurt so bad, so he stayed curled under the covers in an image of perfect agony. Burn blisters formed over his old scars, open and bleeding. His voice was hoarse and he coughed through his cries of pain.
She was worried. Usually, California picked up his phone. He didn't like to be left out or leave others waiting. She had called him too many times to count in the four days since he stopped answering his phone or calling.
She had called around to make sure it wasn't just her that was getting the cold shoulder, and everyone she asked had given the same answer. Noone knew what was going on, and everyone was worried.
She called again, and again the line rolled over to voicemail
'Hi. Sorry, I can't get to the phone right now! I'll call back in an hour, and if I don't please call again! Hola. ¡Lo siento no puedo llegar al teléfono en este momento! ¡Llamaré en una hora, y si no vuelvo a llamar por favor!'
She sighed in despair, where was he? Didn't he know how much worry he was causing?
Picking up her phone she dialed a different number, she was getting desperate.
"Alabama? Why are you calling?" answered the phone, at least he had the decency to pick up.
"I'm worried Dad. Cali hasn't been picking up his phone. Nobody's heard hide nor hair of him in four days." Alabama responded, nearly in tears.
"Ok, Imma come getcha. We can head over to his place together, mmk?" he responded, nerves and stress immediately present in his tone.
"Alright, bye Dad. See you then." Alabama sighs a watery smile present. She moves to sit out on the front porch and waits for America to come and get her.
48 dead. 48 dead and counting. Nothing is for sure yet, the fire is still burning. It's only been a week. 135,000 acres destroyed, and only 35% of the fire is contained. So much destruction and no one even knows when it will be over. Whole towns burned to ash. Entire communities with absolutely nothing. And the fire is still burning.
He is in pain, an unending, agonizing pain. There is nothing he can do, he can't help anyone, he can't get out of bed. All he can do is lie on his bed and scream. Scream to the world all his pain and despair and hopelessness that he feels in the moment.
The Valley is filled with smoke. The city had the air quality of Beijing. His cough got worse, the smoke grew, the air quality fell, and the fire raged on.
By the time America and Alabama arrive at his home, he is half delirious in pain. He lost the energy to scream a while ago, and now just lies whimpering on bloody sheets.
That's how they find him, coated in blood and crying out for an end to the pain. Pitiful. He doesn't want their pity, he wants relief any kind of relief.
Alabama screams when she sees him and runs out of the room. It is one thing to see blood and suffering in war, on a battlefield or in the hospital tent, where the one suffering is just some nameless soldier, another entirely to come upon it unexpectedly, especially when the one suffering is someone who you know and care for deeply. America seems calmer, no emotion plays on his face as he gazes down at California. He reaches down and gathers California in his arms, not caring that blood will get on his leather jacket.
"Alabama, sweetheart, can you clean the sheets and bed? And maybe set it again?" askes America, carrying California into the bathroom, "I can take care of California."
She takes a steadying breath. "Sure. Sure I can do that."
America continues into the bathroom and sets about drawing a warm bath to clean off all of the blood. California does nothing but sob quietly into America's shoulder. Once the bath is drawn America strips him of his clothes and slides him gently into the warm water. By the end, the water is tinted pink with blood.
After California has been cleaned of all of his blood, and his wounds have been bandaged, they won't stop oozing, America carried him back to bed. Alabama had remade the bed while they were in the bathroom and was waiting with two mugs of chamomile tea and a thyme and licorice tea. California falls asleep, however, as soon as his head hits the pillow.
"Come on Alabama, let's go downstairs for a moment." sighs America.
They turn and, with one last look from Alabama to the bed, leave the room.
"This is awful! Why didn't he tell us this was happening?!" sobbed Alabama
"I don't know." sighed America, "May-"
"I mean, any one of us would have been willing to help him, even New York or Texas!" interrupted Alabama.
"Yes, but think about it, you-"
"Honestly, does he not trust us! None of us want him hurt this bad!" interrupted Alabama again, continuing her rant.
"ALABAMA!" shouted America, finally fed up with being interrupted. "Calm down, I understand. I would have much preferred if he had told us about this, but the fact is he didn't. And I kind of understand why. He doesn't want to show weakness, and he doesn't want those he cares about to worry."
"WORRY! I'm worrying much more now than if he had told us when this all began." and Alabama finally broke down into tears.
America hugged her tight and let her sob into his shoulder, the same one California had been whimpering into not an hour before. They both sat like that for a while, both crying for California and his pain.
A low moan from upstairs interrupted them, and both hurried to California's bedside.
California was looking around rather dazedly at his room when they entered.
"Oh, you actually were here. I wasn't sure." grinned California, in a weak attempt to make it seem like before, even though he was already starting to bleed through the bandages and his voice sounded as if he had the flu.
"Of course we'd be here. Where else would we be?" said Alabama, smiling slightly through her tears. She had been half afraid he would never wake up.
"Cal" began America, "Would you mind telling us what exactly is wrong?"
A haunted look crosses California's face, "The Camp Fire. Butte County."
Alabama looks shocked, "This late?! I thought the season was from mid-June to late October!"
A choked laugh comes from California, "Yeah, that was the season. Not anymore, apparently. There's been no rain, no rain, and everything is still dry."
Alabama seems then to teleport from her place by America and into California's arms. She hugs him, sobbing and babbling. He looks up to America, his expression half exasperation and half gratitude. The pain forgotten at that moment.
"Thank you." California smiles.
America smiles slightly, "You don't mind then if we stay here until you're back on your feet?"
"No, it would be appreciated. And Alabama, could you maybe get off?" replies California.
"Fine, I'll leave." she sniffs, nose in the air. Then she laughs and flounces out of the room. "I'm gonna make yall some good grub. You look like you need it Cali boy."
"America."
"Yes?"
"I'm grateful that you're here an all, but please don't tell Tex about this." pleads California.
"Sure thing, kiddo." grins America, "I can do that."
"Hey!" huffs California, "I'm older than you!"
America just grins and leaves to help Alabama make food for the three of them. California lies back on the bed, exhausted already from talking to the two of them. The pain came back as soon as he fell asleep, but Alabama and America stayed with him till it was gone and returned when it came back.
A/N
Well...
I wrote this in November of 2018. It's about the Camp Fire in Paradise. That fire was very rough. It affected many people, the smoke went south into the valley. San Francisco (The City) did in fact have the air quality of Beijing for a while.
I wouldn't say this is my best work, I wrote it more for emotional release than anything really.
Side note about Alabama being there. I headcanon that during Reconstruction America had each of the Confederate states put under the care of states in the Union. California ended up caring for Alabama. This was mostly to make sure that there was an eye on all of them so they couldn't counter the Union.