Days of nonstop digging and brush clearing have taken their aching toll on me, punctuated by brief breaks to shove an MRE in my mouth, guzzle water, or pass out for five minutes on the ground. Every inch of my body throbs, the result of battling a voracious inferno poised to devour millions of acres in Central California. But it won’t advance any further if the Rough & Ready Hotshots have anything to say about it.
“Where to, boss?” I ask, trying to sound enthusiastic. As a Hotshot, there’s no room for complaining. My comrades and I have walked through hell together day and night while warring this relentless blaze.
It’s tough for a soon-to-be family man, though. This thought has weighed especially heavy on me since talking to Faith and Birdie this morning. Contractions started around six in the morning, and while far apart, Birdie emphasized the situation’s urgency.
“But it’s too early,” I exclaimed, and I’m still thinking that now. I can’t refute Birdie’s words, though. She’s a seasoned nurse. Twenty minutes ago, I received a text, saying Faith, Zane, and Birdie were on the way to the hospital. Texts from the rest of my family have been pouring in ever since.
Between the call and the texts, I’ve worked like a maniac, carving out God-only-knows-how-much hand line and the possibility of an early departure. What I read in that natural childbirth book weighs on me, and I want to be there for my woman when she needs me most. Faith has sworn she won’t hold a grudge either way, but I don’t want to risk it. Leaving my fellow Hotshots one man down isn’t ideal, either, though.
Kurt replies, “Sounds like you’ve got somewhere to be.”
My insides twist at his words. How can I leave my crew behind during our most challenging roll this season? I shake my head. “I won’t let anybody risk their life for me, sir.”
“You risk yours for us all the time, Cartwright. You’ve pulled double duty all day, too. Besides, the Tahoe Hotshots are almost here.”
It’s the best news I’ve heard all day, apart from the fact I’m about to officially become a dad.
“That means all of us are about to enjoy a much-needed break. You just get to leave a little sooner.”
“Are you sure?” I start to counter but clamp my mouth shut instead. Who am I to question my superior—one of the most experienced Hotshots in California?
“The trick is getting you to where a bird can land.”
“Is Hawk on his way?” Hawk’s my foster brother and a helicopter pilot who works with the Gold County Sheriff's Department and Sierra Search and Rescue.
“Yep, nothing's going on in Rough & Ready Country, so he figured he’d swing by.”
I glare up at the sky, squinting through inky, impenetrable clouds. My heart drops. “He’s not flying in this.” We've faced this problem all week. High winds and thick smoke, preventing air support.
“Hawk’s got a spot. Now, it’s a matter of getting you there.”
Of course, Kurt has a plan—he always does. “Alright then,” I say with a grin. “What’s the hold-up?”
We head for one of the trucks. Throwing me the keys, Kurt calls, “You drive, son.”
Once we start moving, I ask, “Why am I driving, sir?” “Because I know what it's like having a baby on the way. You’re a bundle of nerves. You need something to keep your mind busy.”
Talk about the understatement of the year. You’d think the total exhaustion of the past few weeks would have dampened the adrenaline coursing through my veins. Not so. I grip the wheel extra tight to keep my hands from shaking, and my pulse pounds in my temples. I want to do right by Faith and our baby, which starts with getting to Ophir City Hospital.
We follow a US Forestry Service road running parallel to the fire. We’re in the clear as long as the wind doesn’t shift.
“What was it like having your first baby, Kurt? Do you have any advice for me?”
“Buy a shotgun and lots of ammo.”
“What?” I exclaim, squinting through the hazy windshield and keeping a watchful eye on the searing glow to our right.
“When you have three daughters as pretty as mine, you need a way to scare off suitors once the teenage years hit.”
“Teenage years? Hell, I think I’ll start with meeting my son first.”
“That’s right. You’re having a boy. Well, enjoy babyhood while you can. The moment they start walking, it’s all over. And right when you get comfortable with that, they start driving. All bets are off, then, and you come full circle. Back to the sleepless nights that started the whole thing.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” I grumble, furrowing my brow. I’ve heard a lot about the first six weeks and the lack of sleep new parents face, so I don’t need a reminder. Of course, long hauls without sleep are nothing new to me. I worry about Faith shouldering the burden alone, at least until fire season ends.
Fortunately, it’s mid-November, so I'm only looking at a few more weeks tops. I'm also thankful that Faith has Birdie for additional support.
The somber veil of smoke grows thinner the longer we drive. Soon, it’s nearly transparent, and the world opens up again, hinting at blue skies and pristine air. Like we’re traveling through a portal into another world.
