Page 10 of Redwood Blaze (Black Timber Peak Hotshots #1)
NINE
RUSTY
Not even the thought of battling a blaze for seventy-two hours can take away my happiness.
“We need more men on the south side!” I call over the coms.
“Heard!” comes back three-fold.
Men scramble toward me to help take care of what’s almost under control, but that’s the thing about forest fires. You can never let your guard down.
Never.
Ever.
If we do, it’s bound to go the opposite way we think it will.
The three guys start clearing brush and laying down a fire line with drip torches, lighting the ground on fire.
If the earth is already scorched, there’s nothing left to combust so the fire must either jump the charcoal area or fail.
They take down trees into the line of the fire to stop the spread, too.
I catch sight of a figure barreling through the smoke and chaos, a silhouette against the embers glowing in the dimming light.
He’s a tall guy, clad in firefighting gear that looks fresh out of the packaging— far too pristine for someone who’s been on the front lines for any amount of time.
Something about him sends a flicker of unease through my gut, but he’s moving with confidence, swinging a chainsaw as he approaches with an exuberant grin.
“Hey there!” he shouts, his voice bold, cutting through the crackling of nearby flames. “I’m Blake, Blake Weston. I’m the new guy from Diamond Ridge. Thought I’d come up and lend a hand.”
“I’m Rusty Phoenix, Team Lead, I mean, Assistant Superintendent,” I reply tersely, eyeing him as he steps closer, his face illuminated intermittently by the flickers of orange and yellow. “Are you cleared by Sup to be here?”
He tilts his head, flashing an easy-going smile that seems rehearsed. “You mean Millie? Oh, yeah. All cleared. Just got my badge last week. Figured I’d jump right into the fire, right?”
“Mhm,” I respond, not fully convinced. “What’s your unit?”
“Uh… just got re-assigned to this range from the Diamond Ridge. You know how it is —new guy, new assignments?—”
I cut him off. “You sure know how to look the part. But are you equipped for the real deal? This isn’t some training exercise, Blake. Lives are on the line.”
He raises an eyebrow, a smirk curling his lips. “Of course. I’ve trained for this. Trust me, I can handle myself.” Then, without waiting for my reply, he lunges forward, revving the chainsaw aggressively.
“Whoa!” I step back, my instincts kicking in. “What the hell!” I point toward the direction of the fire, where embers still leap dangerously close to the dry brush.
“Right! Got it, my bad.” He chuckles, a nervous tinge creeping into his laughter.
It’s edged in a bravado that resonates false, I can tell. There’s something off about his boldness, something that feels rehearsed, almost too good to be true.
A sudden gust of wind shifts the flames, sending a wave of heat crashing toward us.
“Everyone back!” I shout, trying to usher the crew to safety as the fire roars back to life.
Blake holds his ground, eyes gleaming with a zeal that unnerves me. “Let me handle it! I can cut that path!” He steps forward again, as if he’s eager to dive headfirst into danger.
“No!” I bark, alarm lighting in my chest. “We’ve got a plan! Stick with me or get to safety!”
“But—”
“No ‘buts,’” I glare.
In this job, you can’t afford to falter. You have to trust the guys around you. And right now, instincts are screaming that this newcomer might not have the team’s best interests at heart.
He pauses, studying me with an intensity that sends chills down my spine. “Alright, Ass Supe Russ. Show me the ropes, then.”
Something about his tone twists the tension in the air, a predator hiding in plain sight.
His twisting of my name and position is a clear violation of the respect that we have for each other.
And as the flames crackle and consume the surrounding trees, I realize I need to keep a close watch on the hotshot in our midst who seems to think he’s the alternative hot shot meaning.
He might just be here to ignite more than just the fire.
I join up with the others. “You guys know there was supposed to be a new guy coming?”
They all shake their heads.
I never asked Millie.
I should’ve.
But now, I think we’re with the enemy.
I have to keep one eye on my guys to protect them, one eye on the forest to protect it, and one eye on Blake…
And that’s one too many eyes.
We’re making headway and I have to admit that the new guy isn’t half bad. He’s all fucking bad. He’s allowed a break in the line and he’s barely able to wield a chainsaw without almost taking off his or someone else’s head.
I pull out my phone. Signal’s moving in and out of one bar to SOS.
Callum: How are you doing?
I wait and continue to man the field of attack then pull my phone back out.
Millie: I’m good. There’s a raccoon I’m making friends with. I’ll be a fucking forest Cinderella in no time.
A happy chuckle escapes my lips, a fleeting moment of levity in the oppressive atmosphere.
But the moment’s shattered when Blake casts a sidelong glance at me, his expression twists into what feels like a haughty sneer. Each encounter with him sends a wave of unease through me, raising my hackles.
Every moment in his presence is like I’m watching a predator ready to pounce.
The tension coils within me, tightening its grip with every glance he sends my way.
“I gotta make a SAT call,” I announce, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Need to see if we can get an airdrop of water up here.”
My team nods, the necessity of the mission hanging thick in the air.
All except for Blake.
I can feel his eyes boring into me, a predator circling its prey, and the simmering disdain made every nerve in my body pulse with warning.
“I’ll go with you and have your—” he began, his tone deceptively casual.
“No, you’ll stay here and continue the line work.” I cut him off sharply, my heart racing as I stand toe-to-toe with him, the heat of confrontation coating our interaction. Inches apart, the animosity crackles like wildfire between us. “You’re not in Diamond Ridge, Weston. Here you’re nobody.”
He huffed in disbelief. “Fuck you, Phoenix.”
The atmosphere turns heavy, the air thick with the unsaid words and resentments bubbling just beneath the surface. The other hotshots pause, unease rippling through the ranks as Blake savors his low shot.
He chuckles darkly, “What? You guys don’t give each other shit? Oh, come on you pussies. See, like that. Fuck, what a bunch of wet blankets.”
No laughter echoes back from any team member, only tension, palpable and dark.
My heart sinks. I can’t imagine what Millie was thinking hiring this douche.
I know she worked at Diamond Ridge for a while, but this guy…
this guy is Class A Asshole. We have to get rid of our pride and work together if we want to survive this season, but how can we do that when one of the guys is a toxic force?
My mind races with thoughts of team dynamics and the fragile web of trust we’ve built over the years.
Just a few hours in with this guy, and it’s already fraying at the edges.
“Team, I’ll be right back,” I state, more firmly than I feel, casting a sidelong glance at Evan.
He nods with understanding. He’s the most senior firefighter on my team, but even he knows better than to dismiss Blake.
“Watch out for him,” I mutter under my breath, striding away from the brewing storm.
Reaching for my canteen, I yank off my helmet, allowing a desperate breath of air to kiss my face.
Then, I fish around in my warbag for the SAT phone, feeling the familiar weight.
The device is my lifeline in a crisis. With parched lips, I raise the canteen to my mouth and gulp down the cool water, a fleeting comfort flows through me before pulling up Millie’s cell number.
Dialing Millie's number on the SAT phone —any hotshot’s personal lifeline— steeps in urgency, knowing that my cell won’t reach her.
Texting is an option, sure, but not now.
Montana's text-to-9-1-1 feature has limits, and my voice is my strongest anchor in this moment. I hit ‘call’ and there’s a heartbeat of tension as it rings out.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
“Come on, Millie, pick up!” Irritation seeps through my desperation.
My palms sweat inside my gloves as the line continues to ring. My patience is stretched taut like the wires of a downed power line in a storm.
I pull the phone closer to my ear, whispering urgently, “Shit, Millie, pick up.”
The silence on the other end us an abyss, swallowing my hope bit by bit.
Then, abruptly, I hear footsteps behind me. An instinct screams at me to turn, to brace myself, but it’s too late.
Crack!
Pain explodes in my skull, sending an electric shockwave blurring the edges of my vision, the world fading into a dark haze. Darkness creeps in, a suffocating blanket that threatens to pull me under.
I can almost hear my own voice screaming in my head— never take off your helmet.
Never.
Ever.