Read Online Hotshots by Judith Van Gieson - Free Book Online Page A

a gut-wrenching cough that seemed as if it would last into the next millennium.
    â€œI know how you feel,” he said. “I was on the line for ten years and every season I coughed up smoke until Thanksgiving. You were very lucky that Ramona Franklin was on the mountain and carrying her equipment. She found you, wrapped a wet bandanna around your face, and covered you with her fire shelter.”
    â€œThat was Ramona who spoke to me?”
    â€œMust have been. Once the fire was extinguished and the smoke died down, a helicopter lifted you out. I thought you would like this.” He presented me with the fire shelter, a crinkly mess of Mylar that probably resembled the surface of my lungs. I knew where it would end up—in the closet of the empty room. Maybe I’d take it out someday if I needed reminding of how close I’d been to becoming a crispy critter. Maybe not.
    â€œThanks,” I said. My voice was the rasp of someone who’d smoked for two lifetimes or spent one day on the fireline. If I hadn’t had any respect for the endurance of firefighters before, I did now. “What happened to Ramona? Did she get out all right?”
    Henry nodded. “She had to leave you to save herself. She managed to escape over the ridge into the South Canyon. We found her there, shaking and crying.” Willingly or not Ramona had ended up near the place where Joni had died. “She’s been through a lot.” Henry Ortega’s eyes were deep and soulful. Another poet whose profession happened to be fire. “The hospital examined and released her. We offered her counseling with a trained professional, but she refused.”
    â€œRamona does things her own way. Is she here? Can I talk to her?”
    â€œShe’s been released.”
    â€œWhat happened to Tom Hogue?”
    Henry Ortega looked at his hands, studying the fingernails and knuckles that had been outlined by ten years of soot. “He was found dead on the mountain.”
    â€œOh, God.” That explained why the Forest Service had been so quick to send an investigator. The death of a federal employee in the line of duty gets an immediate investigation. Better the gentle Ortega than some pit bull of an FBI agent anyway. “Where?”
    â€œJust outside the black.”
    â€œWhy did he leave the black?”
    â€œWe don’t know. We were wondering if you could tell us anything.”
    â€œNot much. The smoke was very dense. I lost sight of him. I became confused. I thought I was skiing.”
    â€œYou were severely dehydrated. That can cause hallucinations.”
    â€œI called to Hogue, but he never answered. You couldn’t tell where you were, whether you were going up or down, the smoke was so thick.”
    â€œThat’s how Ramona found you, you know. She said she heard you calling Hogue.”
    â€œShe wrapped me in her fire shelter and told me I would be all right. I knew it was a woman, but I didn’t know who. I was pretty out of it at that point.”
    â€œDid you hear anything else?”
    â€œI thought I heard a voice before Ramona came, but that was all.”
    â€œYou will let us know if you remember more?”
    â€œSure. What caused the fire?” There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky, and I hadn’t seen any lightning strikes, wet or dry.
    â€œOur arson unit is investigating,” Henry Ortega said. “The chief of the unit wants to talk to you.” He handed me a card with the name Sheila S. A. McGraw on it. The phone number, I noticed, was in the Duke City and it had the same first three digits as mine.
    â€œThe office is in Albuquerque?”
    â€œYes. The Southwest Interagency Coordinating Center is on Gold Street. Will you call Sheila as soon as you get back to town?”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œTake care of yourself.”
    â€œ Thanks,” I said. This was the man, I thought, who should have counseled Ramona. He had the manner of a