Chapter 14

A lone tear trickled down alongside Stuart Silverman's nose. They couldn't help him. Nobody could. Rocking in a chair, the room dark, he contemplated his existence. More specifically, the lack of life left.

He curled his fingers around the end of the armrest recalling how the rescue group saved him from his last attempt at suicide. He lost his nerve to try again even though the desire persisted. A last ditch effort had found him checking into a psychiatric hospital specializing in depression without successful results. He directed his gaze toward the floor around the wastebasket, now littered with the crumpled attempts at his farewell dissertation. He squeezed his fingers tighter.

Aside from the massive depression that enveloped him, another emotion simmered below the surface. Anger. Anger at not succeeding in life. Anger from failure to end it. And especially anger at the people who stopped his final curtain call. Even his inability to sue the rescue group fueled this rage.

He laughed a sour laugh. "It brings a whole new meaning to the phrase can't win for losing."

Three Bell Super 205 helicopters loaded with firefighting equipment and people, landed a couple of miles away from the edge of the California inferno. After deploying the ground crew to start a fire break along the north slope of the canyon, the three pilots, Nancy, Sonny and Terry, attached their Bambi buckets and headed for the nearest water source. Lady Luck smiled upon them as a large reservoir was located only 10 miles away. Often the only available water would be a shallow creek or backyard swimming pools. They passed other choppers from different groups heading from the man-made lake with their Bambis full of water.

"Nancy, take the lead." Sonny said.

He watched as she deftly lowered her helo, dipping the bucket, hanging several feet below the belly of the aircraft, into the lake. As she lifted up, a wet plume feathered into a fine mist. Terry went next performing the same dance with Sonny bringing up the rear.

The commander-in-charge, Trevor Smyth, had the responsibility of organizing all the manpower. He radioed the GRNI pilots and told them to wet down the upper ridge ahead of the fire where several hotspots had broken out. The flames' advancement slowed as they each dumped 140 gallons of water.

The blaze, on the California/Arizona border, was so close to the GRNI base, it was a given they would be called in to help. Conversing with John, the team ground lead, the roar of the fire in the background distressed Walt. It would make a natural silencer. Seventy different crews fought the blaze, with Global easy to spot in their distinctive uniforms. The maniac wearing the absconded jumpsuit could approach any supervisor asking for the directions to the rest of his team. Any evidence of an attack would burn up in the ensuing conflagration.

"Listen, John. Don't take any chances. I want everyone partnered up and keep their cameras on as well."

"Don't worry, boss, we'll be fine. We'll knock this thing down and get right back home."

Peter Yen peered into Walt's office and gently rapped on the doorframe. Being one of the company's computer gurus, he continuously fed information into the system to keep current on all rescues. For a fire of this magnitude, the location, accessible fuel and moisture content were some of the values entered.

"You may want to take a look at this." Peter handed his boss a piece of paper.

"Great, just great." Anxiety flowed like Freon through Walt's veins. He reached for the phone to contact Trevor with the latest update when John called.

"Hey, Walt. Didya get the news? About the bad weather? Shit. Like we don't have enough to worry about, eh?"

"Just did. Does Smyth have you vacating the area? Don't forget the South Canyon Fire."

"Isn't that where a bunch of firefighters and hotshots were wiped out a few years back?"

"Uh huh. Same weather pattern.

"Yeah, Walt. Word came in, we're leaving." Turning to his crew, John ordered, "Let's retreat from here. Weather conditions are deteriorating."

Hoisting their gear onto their shoulders, they high-tailed it down the hill. In the smoke, with the visibility poor and all the uniforms sooty, John couldn't tell who was who, but he still counted 11 red and navy uniforms.

Dave trotted up, "Hey John. Why're we leaving?"

"A front's coming in. If the winds shift to the southwest like I think, the whole side of this hill's going up like a tinderbox."

"Can I see the report?"

John respected Dave's knowledge of forest firefighting from his experience as an Idaho Hotshots. In this business, knowledge was safety and he knew Dave was gathering information. "Here ya go. But keep moving."

Dave studied the sheet then tapped John on the arm, "What about that path?" pointing to the map John held. "If the wind switches like you think, it could easily jump this ridge here and we could find ourselves racing uphill."

John stopped to study the map. "But if it doesn't jump the ridge, it could follow the line down here."