Chapter Nineteen: How You Remind Me
The fires were coming under control. It'd rained in the mountains over night, and that helped a lot. Karina and I were cleaning up the stadium some. Many people were excited to go home, if they could, or were clearing out to relatives' homes.
I felt good about what I'd done here. Even if Nigeria was a failure for me, this was right on track. I could do this, right? Maybe I would just hop from place to place, help wherever I was needed. I'd probably avoid Africa for awhile, but maybe I'd even go back there someday.
"They're planning on having everyone out by the weekend," Karina said. We took down some cots and set them on the ground. A truck was coming later to load them up.
"What are you doing next?" I asked.
She shrugged. "Probably stay here and help in the office. I just live in Bakersfield, so I can always work out of that office too."
Her cell phone rang. I kept working as she took the call. When she hung up, I saw something bothered her.
"What?"
"The winds are picking up again. Weather reports are showing they won't stop for a couple of days."
I picked up the cot I'd just put down, and set it up again.
The winds were the worst enemy during a fire. When they picked up, they just fed the fire and spread it further. It made it that much easier for the fire to jump areas. A flame could hop over one street and set the next on fire. Which meant the street in the middle would be surrounded and eventually consumed by the fire anyway. The stakes were rising.
Sure enough, the winds did pick up. That night, we had a fresh load of refugees. We would be about 80 full at the stadium.
Karina was furiously at work to hand out supplies and make sure people had a cot to sleep on. I was taking down names and making calls. I called the office for some backup. We just needed more people if this was going to keep up. It wasn't just me and Karina, but there were only so many workers here.
It was about 10 o'clock when I heard someone crying. I was used to that, but there was desperation in the cries that caught my attention. It was mourning.
"No, we have to go back!" the voice said. It was a woman, probably 35 or so. Her husband, I assumed, held her tightly.
"They won't let us," he said as soothingly as possible. "Someone will find him."
I heard the doubt in his voice. As the couple came up to me, I saw they had two daughters who looked tear-stained and frightened. The girls were maybe 5 and 10 years old. All of them were Asian, but by their lack of any accents, they were Americans.
I blinked. Something tugged at my mind—
"We can't leave him!" the woman shrieked. She beat against her husband's chest, but he just held her. The two girls were even more frightened by their mom's outburst.
I cleared my throat. "What's wrong?" Beyond being evacuated and your house burning down. The husband looked my way somewhat apologetically, but I saw a deep sadness to his eyes.
"We got separated from our son," he said. Suddenly, his wife drew back.
"He's alone! What if he doesn't find any help? He'll be burned—"
"Angie, please!" the husband tried to quiet her with a deliberate glance at the daughters. Angie broke down again in tears. I looked around for someone to help. I wasn't used to this much emotion. But the help was me, and I remembered that quickly enough to go to them.
While Angie sobbed, the husband quietly whispered in my direction.
"It's Sam," he said. "He's eight years old. He went out to play, even though we told him to stay inside. We heard the fires might come our way, but not this fast. Someone came and forced us to leave. They wouldn't listen. They said there wasn't any time to delay." Tears started to flood his eyes. He tried to smile at his daughters just to keep up appearances, but I knew the kids saw through it. "We don't know where he is."
"Yes we do!" Angie said, more loudly than necessary. "He probably went into the woods, down by the creek. He brought home a frog from it yesterday, Tim!"
Tim, the husband, tried to shush her gently. "I ran down there, Angie. He wasn't there."
"Maybe he got lost," she said next. "It was getting dark. He would have come home soon." I just watched between the two of them, and suddenly I knew what this reminded me of, in some bizarre way. A mother, mourning her son, by a burnt hut . . . somewhere in Asia. The link jarred me. It wasn't even connected beyond my crazy brain, but my heart ached for this mother. What if tomorrow her son was found, harmed by the fire? What if she wailed and cradled his burnt body?
I swallowed.
"Where would he go, if he were lost?" I found myself asking. Tim looked at me, surprised at the question.
"He'd go home," he said, laughing just once at the irony. "We always taught them to go home in an emergency. It's supposed to be safe there."
Angie choked on a sob.
"Please . . ." she trailed off. I don't think she knew what to ask for. She was just desperate.
I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen.
"What's your address?" I asked. "And what does your son look like? Do you have a photo?"
Tim and Angie stared at me.
I took their information and got on the phone. I started with the National Guard contact we had.
"John, hey, it's Jane Sorenson at the stadium," I said. "I have an address here, if someone can check it out. There's a missing boy that might be there."
I wasn't happy with the answer I got. The address was right in the path of the fires, and it was already getting too late to go back and check. Unless I was 100 sure that the boy would be there, they couldn't pull anyone away to check, not when others were in harm's way elsewhere too.
"Even if it weren't risky, I don't think we could make it on time."
I hung up. I got the same line about the certainty of my information being questioned from two other contacts, and I couldn't reach anyone at the fire department. That was understandable, given how busy they were, but with each call, I felt useless.
Angie and Tim sat just out of ear-shot, watching me. With each phone call, I could tell they were losing hope.
I let go of the phone. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. What else can I do? The photo in Lake's house kept flashing in my mind. This wasn't about Lake, I kept telling myself, but the horror of that moment somehow messed with my emotions here. What if no one else could help? What if Sam was out there, and no one would even try to get to him?
The paper with the address stared at me, next to a photo of Sam that Tim had taken from his wallet. I grabbed both.
"Karina!" I called out.
I walked through the stadium where she was. I weaved around all the people to get to her. As I did, I saw a National Guardsman helping out too.
"I'll be back. Cover the front if you can," I said to Karina in passing.
"What?!"
I didn't stop. I went up to the guardsman.
"Hey, I need your help," I said. The guardsman had the name Winston tacked onto his uniform. He still had acne and a baby-face that gave away his lack of experience.
"Yes ma'am."
"You have a vehicle here?" I asked, leading the way to an exit. Winston stuttered.
"Uh, yes ma'am."
"Good. I need it." Winston stopped in his tracks.
"I have orders not to leave. I'm supposed to stay here and help," he said.
"And the help I need is something with wheels. You can drive if you want," I said. He hesitated.
"Where do you need to go?" He pulled out the keys from his pocket.
I smiled, and passed him the address. He frowned. "I can't take you there," he said, as if it was the most preposterous thing ever. "That's right where the fires are."
He looked at me like that would sway me. I just stared at him. The light came on in his brain, I think.
"No," he said firmly, like I just offered him drugs. His mom would be proud.
"Fine." I snatched the paper from him. "Keys."
Winston stuttered again. "To the car?" I nodded. "No, ma'am, my CO says—"
I sighed, and just reached out and took them from Winston's hand.
"What—hey!"
I moved quickly and steadily out the exit. I think Winston was too scared to stop me. Fine by me. I got out to the parking lot and easily spotted which vehicle was Winston's. It was a modified Jeep, camouflaged. That would help in case there were any official roadblocks. I didn't know if the authorities did that or not. I checked the back of the Jeep, hoping for supplies, particularly—yep, there it was. An oxygen mask and small portable tank. A fire jacket, extinguisher, and a first aid kit. I hoped I wouldn't need any of it, but I had no idea what I was getting into.
I got in the Jeep and turned the ignition on. Looking to the rearview mirror, I questioned myself just once. Was this crazy or worth it? I looked at the photo of Sam, and again imagined his mother crying over his dead body.
I put the Jeep in gear and took off out of the parking lot.
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a/n: Sorry! I meant to post this sooner, but I got caught up with work. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews and thoughtful comments. I love hearing them!
