Shit.
The fire leaps like it’s alive, snaking downhill with terrifying speed. Flames jump tree to tree, brush to brush, charging straight for the road. No time to call it in. No time to reroute.
I drop the bucket.
The water slams down hard. Direct hit. Steam billows up, and the fire hisses like it’s pissed I got in the way.
But I’m not just soaking the flames. The splash zone hits the cars too. Front row, back row, all of it.
One in particular—a beat-up sky-blue sedan with its sunroof left wide open—gets hammered. Like, biblical flood–level hammered.
Oops.
From my altitude, I spot her. Soaked to the skin, arms out like she’s asking the heavens,Are you kidding me right now?!
Blonde. Wet. Pissed.
And somehow, still composed. No screaming, no flailing. Just glaring up at me with this fire in her eyes like she’s personally offended that I ruined her Target run.
Damn.
She’s hot.
Even dripping wet and steaming with righteous fury, she’s got this…presence. Not in a delicate way. More like a storm you see rolling in across the valley. Unapologetic. Intense.
I loop the chopper around again, forcing myself to focus. Fire first. Flirting with angry civilians later.
Another run. More water, and the line of flames starts to retreat. A few more drops and I can hand it off to the ground crews. Letthem mop up while I grab a cold Gatorade and figure out how to explain why I gave a dozen civilians a wet T-shirt contest they never signed up for.
My headset crackles.
“Nice one, Romeo,” Danny teases from his rig down below. “Pretty sure that last drop took out a Prius and the driver’s pride.”
I smirk. “It stopped the fire, didn’t it?”
“And stopped a few hearts. Chief’s on the line. You’re about to get your wings clipped, flyboy.”
Great.
Then the chief’s voice cuts through like gravel and steel.
“Jake. We’ve got this on three dash cams, two live streams, and one TikTok that already has twenty thousand views.”
“That’s a record for me,” I deadpan, banking slightly to avoid a ridge.
“Cut the crap. You’re making a public apology. We’ll spin it as an equipment malfunction, but you’re meeting with the civilians you soaked. Especially the blonde one.”
Of course.
“She looked like she could handle it,” I say, too quickly.
“That doesn’t mean she wanted to. You’re damn good at what you do, but you keep pulling cowboy crap like this and we’ll both be out of a job.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Report back after your next pass. We’ll send you the contact info. And try to look like you’re sorry, not like you just won a game of aerial dodgeball.”
The channel clicks off.
