Scorched

1

Aaron peeled the heavy coat and helmet from his overheated body without taking his eyes from the horizon. The hot, sulfuric wind had died around noon that day, and for long, terrible hours, the wildfire danced on the line between tamable and out-of-control. Dark clouds rolled over the distant hills in the mid-afternoon, and Aaron thought he heard every single man on the frontlines utter a soft, short prayer. Let the rain come. Please, let the rain come.

Aaron’s long shift had ended while the clouds still hovered miles away, mocking with the promise of salvation. A good rain would bring the blaze near Cedar City, Utah under control, after fifteen impossibly long days. They had managed to evacuate most of the city, but at last report, there had been at least three casualties. Aaron had never seen a wildfire like this, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if there were more than three.

He couldn’t bring himself to go into the station. Not until he knew the path of the storm. It would be completely dispiriting if the clouds rolled by without a single drop of moisture. They didn’t just need the rain for the fire, they needed a break from the relentless August heat. Temperatures in the triple digits with overnight lows in the mid-eighties was dangerous even without a fire that covered one hundred and fifty square miles. All of the men were overheated, overextended, and utterly exhausted. The storm would be the first indication that maybe God knew they were there and He gave a fuck about whether or not they made it.

Ashes drifted through the pink and orange atmosphere, like large, hot pieces of snow. Ash clung to everything, fine and gray. The endless perspiration didn’t help. The ash and sweat mingled, creating a mixture that was almost impossible to scrape off his skin. He could not imagine a more hellish place, but he never complained. None of them ever complained. It wouldn’t do any good. They inhabited that hell on Earth because they were firemen, and it was their job.

Please, let it rain. Let it rain.

Men streamed past him, coming and going from the rest station as the shifts changed. A few of them paused to follow Aaron’s gaze, but none of them had the time to linger. The men getting off their shifts wanted to shower, eat, and catch whatever sleep they could get. The men on their way to the blaze didn’t waste any time. There were thousands of volunteers stretched across the area, answering the call for help from all over the country. Aaron wished he could meet them all and thank them personally for sacrificing their time and energy for his home. He just hoped they wouldn’t have to sacrifice more than two weeks.

The rain might not be the answer to all their prayers. Aaron knew it. If the storm brought high winds, the situation could only be made worse. Or it could just be a thunderstorm, full of dangerous lightning with none of the welcome moisture. They didn’t need the added threat of getting hit by lightning on top of the threats of flames, smoke inhalation, heat stroke, and dehydration. Even with that thought in mind, Aaron still watched the clouds anxiously. Because there was a chance, a chance, that this could be everything they needed.

Aaron wiped the back of his hand across his brow, smearing the dirt and sweat. A part of him thought he would never be clean again. The smoke had infused his skin and his flesh, the heat had singed his hair, despite the protective gear he wore, and exhaustion weighed on his bones. He’d been a volunteer firefighter for three years and nothing had prepared him for this. The occasional house fire was always brought quickly under control. There had been a few wildfires, but the weather had never conspired against them. He needed the rain, if only because he didn’t know if he had anything left to give.

He tilted his head back, watching the storm move closer and closer. Something cold fell directly in his eye, and he blinked quickly, swearing under his breath before he realized what had happened. A second drop fell on his ear. A third landed on his lips. A crack of thunder was his final warning before the clouds split open and water fell to the earth.

Aaron couldn’t move at first. He cupped his hand, watching it fill with sweet, cool water. The temperature hadn’t dropped, but the water was still a sharp relief. Rain rolled down his arms and back and neck, and still he couldn’t move. The shouts of joy from the other men outside finally roused him, and he spun on his heel, racing toward the station, the news bursting from his throat.