In the darkness, Valerie inhaled. The air smelled of pine and hemlock, fresh and earthy on the first dry day of spring, the sharp scent of decay below her mingling that of new life above. The breeze danced about her, strong enough to bat her tight red ponytail to and fro, but too feeble to steal her broad-brimmed park ranger's hat. The sound of wingbeats – finches, by their size and tempo – burst from the ground beside her, rushing up and into the canopy above, an eager chorus on the way to whatever new task awaited them. To her left, upon the lake, a heron called a wistful song. The breeze swirled and intensified at her right, and she turned into it, clasping the brim of her hat and breathing even deeper, sucking it in until her lungs felt ready to burst. Spring. That time of year when new buds came out to play, when bears emerged from their grottos and the wind itself–
Thunk.
–just dropped a pinecone on her head.
Valerie opened her eyes and exhaled, slow and steady. Dusting her hat off, she looked around. The sun had cleared the crest of the mountains to the east and filtered through the canopy of evergreens onto the lakeshore. Out upon the lake, there was a small island, no more than forty feet across but still home to just a few trees. Still enough to bear life. From the trees just down the lakeshore to her left poked a small radio tower. The sun was high enough that it had completely escaped the umbra of the mountains' shade, and was completely illuminated. It was almost eleven, by her watch. Time to go.
Valerie walked toward the path back down to her truck. Away from the wind and the water and the birds, from the rocks and the trees. From life. If only she didn't have to go back so soon! That line of thought was an obvious trap; she had things to do, and not much time to do them. But still she paused, turned, and closed her eyes for one last deep, long breath.
Why were the insides of her eyelids so bright?
In the darkness, Valerie tasted rotten hemlock.
An enormous buzzing sound filled the world, drowning out birds, breeze, everything. Valerie listened for her breath, proof that she was still alive. She felt it rising quick and sharp in her chest, but she couldn't hear it. She couldn't hear it. She should be able to hear her breath. Breath was proof of life, and to breathe – to feel her breath but not hear it – was wrong. Her heart beat faster, pounding through her ears, the quick beats of terror.
Valerie focused on that, isolating it as proof that she still lived – an alternative to the sound of her breath. She blocked out everything else and counted to ten by heartbeats, slowing one by one as her mind became clearer.
She moved her attention to the rest of her body. Her entire front felt like one enormous bruise. She tasted hemlock, bitter and foul – her face was on the ground, and the needles that made up the soil had wormed their way into her mouth. Waves of heat rolled over her back. Dirt filled her eyes. Her shoulders and back felt stiff, brittle. Her hat was gone. The yellow bandana she wore under it was still there. She noted each element separately, dividing them so they didn't overwhelm her. At each one, she took a bit of satisfaction. Each sensation was a sign she could get up. A sign of life. She rubbed her eyes, clearing them of dirt, and looked around her.
Valerie was legally blind. She didn't need her glasses to know what she saw.
A quarter of the way across the lake, the forest had been engulfed in a swimming red light. It reflected off the lake before her, giving her an odd double-image, doubled again by her own crossed eyes. Fire.
Right at the site of the radio tower.
That was unfortunate.
Still on the ground, Valerie clapped her hands twice. Clap-clap. The sound split her skull like an axe through firewood, but at least she could hear. Good. She twisted her arms forward, shifting her body to push herself up off the ground. As she extended her forearm, her right shoulder exploded in pain that shot all the way up her neck and down her back. She cried out and collapsed, just managing not to fall on her wounded arm. Stars flashed in the edges of her vision. Her entire body tensed and she breathed in and out, pushing through the pain and refocusing herself. She knew this kind of pain. It was body's polite request that she discontinue the activity that caused it, coupled with a stern threat if she were to ignore it. Valerie had learned about all types of injuries, mostly by receiving them, and viewed such a request as more of a guideline. Her shoulder was dislocated, probably with some other damage. She'd had worse. It was when the pain stopped that it was time to get worried. As far as Valerie was concerned, if the she could move, she could function. Andrea could make a more thorough analysis later.
That didn't mean moving was the best option at the moment. Pain was a sign of life, but that didn't mean it was pleasant. Valerie reached around with her other hand and found that by some miracle, her radio was still secure in its holster. She pulled it out and turned it on purely by touch, knowing it would be quicker than trying to find her glasses.
"This is Valerie Egbert!" she shouted. "I need any station on the line! Any station! Do you copy?"
"Roger, Miss Egbert," said a very impudent, very male voice on the other line. His name was Roger, and he had volunteered for radio duty just so he could make that pun. "This is Skykomish Station. What's the business?"
"I need a pickup at Nine Hour Lake. I've been-"
"Where the fuck is that?" said Roger.
"North of Preacher Mountain."
Most people, even park rangers, would have had to check a map. Roger just whistled. Either he had eidetic memory or a major thing for geography; Valerie could never tell. "That's a bit of a hike. Do you want that that by limousine or corporate-"
"I need Medevac!" Valerie said. The fire was creeping closer, a column of thick black smoke rising above it. "And a bucket plane."
For a short moment, Roger shut up. "Uh, wow…um. Give me just a sec."
"I'd really rather not!" It was no use; Roger had already dropped the radio. Rationally, Valerie knew that was a good thing, that Roger had put her on hold to arrange the pickup. But having someone to talk to was the best sign of life she'd had, and now it was gone. Now all she had to focus on was the pain and the sounds of the fire: its dull roar, the intermittent crack of splitting branches, the cries of fleeing animals. They crept closer by the moment, and sweat dripped from her forehead.
It had rained almost continually this April, and the trees were wet. In summer the blaze would have already overtaken her, but through the wet timber it moved slowly enough that Valerie might be able to escape if she could walk. With a grunt, she twisted her legs, moving them underneath her without using her arms. Her back screamed, struggled against her every move, and she screamed too, planting the balls of her feet on the ground and shoving. With her back protesting, standing up was harder than a hundred squats with a forty-pound weight tied around her neck, but she did it. She lifted herself up, up, rose, and straightened her back. With her head straight up, she sucked in a hard breath through clenched teeth. She looked around to a world blurred without her glasses. Behind her was the fire, and before her a blurry spot of brown that looked reasonably like the trailhead. Her legs were nearly uninjured. She set to walking.
A muscle twitch gave her just a moment's warning before her back gave out.
With the slight warning, she was able to direct her fall to the right, toward an unburnt tree at her side. She reached out to stop herself with her right arm; that collapsed too, she fell right, her dislocated shoulder slamming into the tree.
Valerie's world went white. For an endless moment she was a stone, a thoughtless stone in a blank white space. White, the color of physical pain, of agony so great it blocked out all other sensation. There was nothing but her and it. Nothing to separate her from it.
And then, there was breath. The sound of her breath returned to her first, sharp and rough, gasping. Then came her other senses. She was still standing, leaning against the tree, tears and sweat mingling on her face. Something murmured at her side, far away. Her radio?
Roger!
"-heard you screaming! What happened? Talk to me, talk to me. Please talk to me Val, please pick up your-"
"Roger," she gasped. "Roger."
"Oh God thank you," he said. "I've got a Medevac chopper heading for you, ETA ten minutes."
It was a good thing Roger was so desperate about this. Otherwise he wouldn't have missed her stealing his joke. Valerie made a note that she'd have to remember to have a laugh about it with Andrea, in the event she survived long enough. "Oh goody. I get to fly."
"Yeah, they're coming for you. Gonna lift you off like the fucking Wizard of Oz," said Roger. "Just make sure they can see you. Won't be easy, all that smoke."
"Got a flare gun."
"Remember the smoke? Spot a flare through it, I dare you. Try." said Roger.
"I'm working on it. I'm-" A blast of hot air and smoke blew her way, and she choked.
"Um. How close is that fire?"
"Shut," wheezed Valerie. "Up." She couldn't tell too well with her eyes, but judging by the heat, it was awfully close. A minute more and Nicole might want to use this part of the forest as a new pastry oven.
"Might want to get away from the fire."
"Small flaw. In your plan. I can't-" Valerie gave a heaving cough. "Can't. Walk."
"Then crawl! It'll keep you out of the smoke at least."
"Oh," said Valerie. She probably should have thought of that. With a grunt of pain, she dropped to the ground, belly to the dirt. It was cooler down here, and much less smoky. She took a breath and steadied herself. The rocky lakeshore was just a few feet away. The reflection of the fire off the lake would probably be beautiful from this angle. If she had her glasses, and if it weren't about to burn her to death.
The lake!
Valerie wanted to clap her palm over her forehead, but her aching shoulder had other ideas. She fastened her radio and began to army-crawl toward the lake. It wasn't easy; her shoulders wouldn't hold any weight, so she wobbled left and right, creeping over the soft earth toward the water inch by inch.
"Valerie. You there?" said Roger.
Valerie kept crawling through the dirt. It took everything she had, and she couldn't spare the energy to reply.
"Talk to me, Val," ran Roger's mouth over the radio. "Let me know you're okay. Uh…remember last week, when I told you to go die in a fire? This may come as a surprise to you, but your actual death in an actual fire was not my intention. I was being colloquial as shit. Using a turn of phrase, meant to express a sentiment that was not literally…Oh my fucking god. It is my responsibility to ensure you can communicate, and so in my humble opinion it is my mother fucking right to get some sort of reply in order to do myjob, so you can do your job, so I can do my…Come on, talk to me! Pick up the phone, press the teeny little button, and…do the thing!"
It took Valerie thirty-two breaths to reach the rocky during the pebbles of the lakeshore, and Roger talked for every single one of them. Once she got to the rocks, she paused for a breath. "Thanks," she said.
"Valerie?"
"For talking at me like that," she said.
"At you?"
"Think I'll be good. I'm going to be under-"
There was a loud crack behind her. She ignored it and kept sliding forward over the smooth pebbles of the lakeshore.
"What was that?" said Roger. "Val, are you-"
"Branch snapped. Too far away to hurt. Roger, I'm going underwater."
"Oh, because drowning beats the hell out of burning alive," he said.
"Don't plan to drown. Got my Boy Scout snorkel," she said. She pulled out a neon orange, L-shaped plastic tube. The short end was about two inches; the long end was six inches, but could telescope out to two feet.
"Oh…kay. How are they going to see you?"
Valerie untied her bandana from around her head, extended the plastic tube to its full, majestic two feet, and tied the bandana around the end. "Tell them to watch for the flag on the water. Yellow."
Roger paused. "Good luck," he said. His voice was hollow, like a preacher spreading the word for a cause long lost. "Actually, it does sound a bit better."
"What?"
"Drowning," said Roger.
"Better than what?"
"How is it…never mind," said Valerie. "Stop talking. Oh, and call my sister. 253-412-0001. Tell her transponder number quad-zero zero double-O one is down."
"'Quad-zero' like four and then zero, or 'quad-zero' like-"
"Four zeroes, then a zero, then two zeroes and a one."
"Sure, whatever. What were you even doing up there?"
"She'll know what it means," said Valerie. "Gotta go! Remember, yellow flag on the water!" She knew he'd remember, but it felt better saying it.
"Got it. Valerie, if-"
"Bye!" said Valerie. She dropped the radio and raised the plastic tube to her lips, her bandana dangling from the top. She sucked in a breath, closed her eyes, and slid into the water, face up.
It was cold.
Valerie had been swimming in mountain lakes like this before, and the first moment always felt like ice creeping in through her pores and freezing her top to bottom. She had steeled herself for that. Welcomed it.
She'd never swam in one after standing next to a forest fire.
The sudden change in temperature hit her like a physical blow. It ripped into her body, tearing her heat away, draining her. Her skin screamed. It felt ready to blister, to split and freeze and fall away. That was good, Valerie reminded herself. Pain was proof of life.
The pain started to fade as her skin grew accustomed to the temperature. And then the pain from all her other injuries – bruises, scrapes, damaged arms and back – began to fade. The cold crept into her, wiping away the pain. And then, bit by bit, wiping away every other sensation.
Valerie had always supposed it was time to worry when the pain ended. She was worried now, but all she could do was wait. She sucked air through the tube. In. Out. In. Out. She counted the breaths. A last sign of life.
In the cold and the dark, Valerie waited, and breathed.
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