Montero, New Mexico
Rain. We need rain.
His emergency radio squawked. “Fire chief to mayor. Over.”
“This is the mayor. Go ahead, Willy.”
“Javi, we have a smoke plume. I need you out by the lake.”
Shit. The very thought of fire terrified Javier Hernandez, the twenty-six-year-old mayor of Montero. Given the current conditions, the smallest of fires could explode into a monumental catastrophe in mere hours.
“Javi, do you copy?”
“On my way, amigo.”
As he turned his truck to the southwest, Javi caught sight of the smoke plume. Sweet Jesus! Where had that come from? It was close, too close. Upwind from his precious town in the worst possible location. He spotted his fire chief’s truck next to a green pickup with U.S. Forestry Service markings.
Javi climbed out of his vehicle and shook hands with the forester. “Looks bad, Javi,” said Willy. He gestured towards the plume. “The fire is moving this way pretty fast.”
The forester said, “I’ve already sent word up my chain of command, Mayor. We’re going to have to assume the worst here.”
Javi studied the plume, then turned back to the men. “Okay, activate our emergency plan, Willy. I’ll get on the horn and let the county manager know. He’ll wake up the bureaucrats in Santa Fe.”
Three days later, Javi trudged down Main Street towards his office. He was amazed at the amount of air activity this morning. Helicopters churned through the haze delivering supplies, people, and water drops.
From behind the western ridge a massive plume of smoke boiled up to the heavens, marking the location of the main fire. The sky was dark with ash that fell on the town and covered the streets like the champagne powder that New Mexican ski resorts loved to advertise. Here and there embers fell and smoldered. Town firefighters patrolled the almost-deserted streets to prevent sparks from starting fires in the town proper. All the color and sparks of life in his town were being drowned by that damned ash.
He turned to look west towards the two narrow canyons that would dump the fire from the national forest into the small Montero valley if it weren’t stopped. His muscles tensed and anger surged through him. He shook his fist at the smoke plume. “We’ll beat you yet, you son-of-a-bitch!”
His radio came to life. “Town Manager to Mayor.”
“This is the mayor. Go ahead.”
“Javi, we need you . . .we need you now! At the command center for the morning briefing.”
“Roger that. On my way.”
The mood in the Center was all business, no time for fear, anger or doubt. Reports poured in from all directions. NASA satellite photos tacked to the walls showed the extent of the scorched earth. A colossal gray smoke and ash trail stretched across the state right over Santa Fe and into Oklahoma.
The Incident Commander planted himself by the conference table and waved his audience of decision makers closer. “Good morning,” he said in a steady voice. “Thanks for all your efforts so far. It’s going to get tougher from here on in, guys.” He pointed to the table map. “The fire grew over here last night. The wind direction changed again and it’s coming fast, right down our throats here in Montero. I’ve directed fire lines be cut here and here.” Everyone leaned in to check the locations. “This thing could turn into a monster instantaneously.”
The IC motioned towards the Air Ops guy. “The good news right now is that weather has improved enough for aerial tanker support. The planes are flying out of Albuquerque and Winslow so we should have some quick turnarounds.”
“Boss, we need more people here,” said the sector chief from Silver City. “Right now!”
“We have more crews coming in from Taos and Questa. Should be rolling in around noon.” The IC cleared his throat. “One more thing. Early this morning, a bulldozer driver got himself stuck in an arroyo. The fire turned on him. He didn’t make it out.”
That got everybody’s attention. Safety was something they all lived by, depended on. Tired people made mistakes, and stress was the ultimate fatigue generator, no matter how tough, fit or smart a person was. The cadre around the table, all veterans of multiple fires, became subdued and angry at the same time.
The IC turned to Javi. “Mayor, the incident happened in the sector where your guys are. I want to put you on a helicopter. Go tell your people that you—and the rest of us—care about them. Don’t let them think it was their fault.”
Javi nodded.
The IC touched Javi’s shoulder. “Get out there with your troops. Then hustle back here and help us beat this bastard.”
At the parking lot waited a Bell 205, blade turning. The crew chief met Javi and shouted over the roar of the turbine, “Have you ever been on a helicopter before, sir?”
“Are you kidding? In the Guard, we used Blackhawks like taxicabs.”
“Excellent, sir. Here’s your flight vest. Put that on and I’ll get you into the monkey harness before we lift off.”
Hernandez grabbed the vest and snugged it tight. He stood with his hands on his head while the crew chief wrapped the harness on him. He sat, fastened his seatbelt, and put on his headset.
The crew chief said, “All strapped in and ready to go, pilot.”
“Roger that. Pull pitch.”
Javi felt the chopper go light in the skids and rise to a three-foot hover. With a touch of the cyclic, they were flying. Javi was shocked at the view–it dropped his heart straight into his gut. Main Street was deserted, and the entire downtown area coated with ash, devoid of almost all color. The river was clogged with debris and dirty water was spilling out into the town plaza. He pounded his knee. “Shit, shit, shit!”
The pilot rolled out on a heading along the face of the main fire. The helicopter bounced and wallowed in the hot, gusty air. Javi leaned out of the sliding door for a better view through the haze. In the distance behind the fire, the ravaged landscape was dead, covered in that damned gray ash, littered with debris.
He could see fire crews humping chain saws and backpack pumps trying to mop up spot fires along his route. Blackened matchsticks that yesterday were living, breathing giant ponderosas leaned drunkenly in the mid-morning air, now sulfur-colored through the ash and smoke. The smoke plume writhed and roiled across the landscape, death and destruction joining hands to roar inexorably towards his town, home to the Hernandez family since before the Civil War. The fire was close to Montero, closer than he had allowed himself to believe. The acrid smoke filled his lungs and burned his eyes as the aircraft fought its way through the fire-fanned turbulent air currents. He swore as only a soldier can, using words dredged from all three languages he could speak.
The helicopter circled a small meadow that had a windsock stuck in the ground off to one side. Willy Lujan stood next to his truck, waiting to take him to the crew.
As the skids touched ground, Javi jumped out of the chopper and ducked down under the blade as the pilot added power to climb away. Willy, sweat stained and grimy, looked like he’d been up all night.
The men embraced, then trotted to Willy’s truck. “Let me give you a quick rundown on our sector before we meet with the guys,” said Lujan. He laid a map out on the hood. “It’s turning into a monster, amigo, big and growing fast.” He pointed to an area outlined in red. “Here’s where we think it started. It blew down this draw and spread out.”
Javi produced his own map. “I watched the flames jump this line of fire breaks not ten minutes ago.”
Willy studied the map and nodded. “Yeah, I heard it on the radio. We’ve got flames almost a hundred feet high in some of these areas, bro. If the fire pops over this ridge here,” he pointed, “it’ll take out our watershed. Thank God for the aircraft water drops. They might save our town.”
Javi felt a pang of despair lance through him. “Willy, I hate to tell you this. The Feds may have to shift the aircraft to California because of fires there. More population centers.”
Willy slammed his fist on the truck’s hood. “That would kill Montero! We can’t survive without those planes!”
Javi shook his head. “You’re right, amigo, but we have to deal with this fire here and now.”
Willy leaned on the hood, took a deep breath, and shook his head. Then he clicked his chest-mounted radio and called in his crew. In minutes, two more trucks pulled up and eight grimy and exhausted men piled out.
“Gather ‘round, boys.” Javi knew each and every one. He had gone to school with several. One had joined the Guard with him. Another was a cousin. He embraced and said a few words to each man.
He cleared his throat. “The Incident Commander— and I— are going to order a mandatory evacuation of the town and the surrounding areas.”
“Javi, you know our people out there are not gonna want to leave their homes,” said Willy.
“We’ve been through this before, guys. Most people have left already. All the rest just need to stand in their front yards and look up to see what’s happening. They’ll leave. They’re smart.”
“Yeah, but they’re stubborn, too. Some of their families have been here for two hundred years. They won’t leave even if you put a gun to their head.”
“Well, do everything you can short of that,” said Javi. He dug into his backpack and produced a sheaf of papers. “Give the stubborn bastards each one of these release forms. Tell them to list their next-of-kin and phone numbers so we know who to contact to come get their bodies after the fire. That ought to get their attention.”
Willy flashed a smile. “Amigo, you are one tough s.o.b.”
His radio erupted with his callsign, “Montero Two, this is Command. Do you know the twenty for Montero One?”
Willy unclipped his mic and handed it to Javi.
“Command, this is Montero One.”
“Javi, I need you back here muy pronto!”
“Roger that. Where’s the chopper?”
“The chopper crashed. No survivors. Get a truck and get out of there, now!”
Shit! Javi cursed the fire again and again. Those poor bastards. “Wilco. On my way.” He turned to Willy. “You heard him. I need your truck.”
Willy nodded. “Okay, but be careful, amigo. The fire’s building.” The two men studied his map. “Go this way, Javi. Here and here. This area is a mess. Do not go there.” He carefully folded the map. “Do you want me to go with you?”
Javi shook his head. “Your place is here with your troops.”
“Okay, jefe. There’s a radio, a fire kit, and water in the cab.”
Javi embraced each of the men, climbed into the truck, and set off on a trail that corkscrewed its way down the mountainside. He reached a fork at the bottom and stopped to consult the map. Willy had marked the right fork. Javi shook his head. Too slow. He gunned the engine and turned left, back towards the leading edge of the fire–and Montero.
He climbed up to the next ridge and paused. Through the haze, he could see airplanes and his spirits rocketed up as he watched multiple passes of aircraft bombing the inferno with retardant. It was airpower against the might and fury of Mother Nature at her most ferocious and the only way to stop this monster.
Javi drove along the ridge watching the fire gallop through the treetops, flames thrusting high into the sky. He spotted a faint jeep trail that led down into a canyon. He drank some water and soaked the bandana covering his face. Then down he went, ever closer to the fire’s track, crossing over behind the flames, hot spots smoldering all around.
As he drove the twisting, rutted trail, he gasped for breath in the hot air. His eyes stung from the smoke. He felt like he was driving into a crucible. The furnace-like heat sucked his energy. The truck cab was sweltering, and he was soaked in perspiration. His hands were scorched and his skin glowed red from the heat. He screamed and cursed, “Damn it, Javi! Don’t give in! People need you!”
The thick smoke eddied around him. Flames raced to cut him off. It was nearly impossible to distinguish the road through the smoke. He crashed through a copse of small aspens and bulldozed down a gauntlet of juniper saplings.
There! Nearly concealed in the haze was a logging road, his escape route from death. He punched the accelerator and willed the truck through a burning mass of orange flames. More embers rained down on the truck clattering on the roof like shrapnel on the battlefield and just as deadly.
He raced ahead, saw another familiar logging road that now looked like a superhighway. Javi spun the wheel left and climbed the twisting high road. The smoke was thinner now. He glanced at his watch. Nearly two hours had passed since he started. He searched the sky. Nothing. Where were the planes? Where were the planes?
Despairing, he plunged down the mountainside into the canyon and climbed the final slope. He crested the ridge and skidded to a halt at the town overlook. He grabbed the binoculars, leapt from the truck and focused on the town.
To the west and northwest, he saw a massive, towering plume of smoke. At its base were flames, racing towards Montero. The monster fire was ready to pounce on the town. The narrow canyons leading into the business district sluiced flames, ember showers and super-heated air into the heart of Montero. He watched buildings light up in a flash. The flames jumped from building to building, accelerating down Main Street.
His beautiful town was being consumed right before his eyes, the lifeblood of dozens of families. A solid wall of fire moved inexorably towards the structures, then enveloped and consumed them like some giant organism sucking the life from its victims and moving on.
Nothing was left alive in Montero.
Javi’s heart shattered. Agony at the horror crippled him. He dropped the binoculars, fell to his knees, then all fours, and retched. His stomach contorted and knotted again and again until his abdomen was sore. Exhausted, he rolled over on his back, then struggled to his feet. He stumbled to his truck, slid behind the wheel and tried his radio.
“Command, this is Montero One. Come in.”
A pause, then an excited voice barked, “Montero One, this is Command. What’s your twenty?”
“I’m on the overlook south of town. I just watched the town burn.”
“Copy that, Montero One. Javi, we need you here to help sort things out. Can you make it on your own?”
“Roger that, Command. On my way. Montero One out.”
Javi slumped forward, head on the steering wheel.
He sat, breathing deeply as he searched for a handle on the moment. Then he sat up and put both hands on the wheel. “We rebuilt Montero once, damn it. We can do it again.” He slammed a fist on the wheel. “Better this time!”
He started the engine, took another look at the smoldering remains of his town then drove slowly down the hill. It was time to go home.