“Come on in!”
It had been months since I’d seen Sean and Sam, and as they stood on the doorstep I realized how much I had missed them. As soon as they were through, I closed the door to keep too much smoke from getting in. Even though the thick air painted the poor light from the windows a dull brown, the escape from the smoke was a welcome one. Alex had done a good job making the place look cute, so it didn’t feel as claustrophobic not leaving for weeks at a time.
“The fires have been crazy. Wind’s blowing the smoke straight at us right now. These cartridges are shot.” Sean said, after removing his respirator. Creases where the rubber went around his face were etched deeply into his skin. We all exchanged hugs, then Alex and I gave them a moment to get comfortable; taking off helmets, goggles, boots, and getting their bags in the kitchen.
“You took the bikes. How was the ride?” I was glad they had come, even though the trip must have been daunting. They couldn’t afford a car with their jobs, and it was impossible to get a share when there were fires this close.
“Oh, not too bad. Didn’t even use half the charge on the bike batteries, so we’ll have an easy ride back, too.”
“How long did it take?” Alex asked.
“Just about two and a half hours.” Sam said, digging through an insulated bag. “I’m parched.”
Upon producing a bottle of white wine, I got us four glasses and she gave us each a pour. The white wine was still chilled, and incredibly refreshing. A decade ago I would have thought it cheap, but we were glad to have any at all. For a moment, there was a lull in conversation, where everyone was smiling.
“Oh, that smells great! The pièce de résistance!”
Sean leaned toward the oven, taking a deep whiff of the baking turkey. That caused him to cough a bit. This season had been murder on his lungs.
“So where’d you get it, again?” He asked.
“Oh, you know Tum Tum Road? If you take 20 past Philomath? Just a few miles down that. Was going for deer, of course. Hadn’t seen a turkey in, oh, ten years? And didn’t expect to see one out there since it had all burned so recently. But in a little patch of brush, there he was! So don’t mind the hole in it, I used the thirty-aught.”
“Like we would complain!” Sam chimed in. “It’s been ham since… what was that, ‘53 when we did Thanksgiving at the Leery’s?”
That had been five years ago, and a rough five years it had been. Everyone looked at the floor, not knowing what to say. Mark Leery had died of lung cancer three years ago, and Sharon had moved back to St. Louis to take care of her mom, who was somehow still alive, despite type 2 diabetes doing its worst on her. I’d asked why her mom didn’t just take the shot; it sounded like her life was constant suffering. Not to mention, I had no idea how Sharon afforded to take care of her. But her mom didn’t want to, and that was that.
“That was a great Thanksgiving.” Alex said. “Now all we have to do is not fuck up this turkey. I buttered the living hell out of it, so we just pray it doesn’t go cardboard on us.”
“Cheers to that.” I added. It seemed like Alex always knew the right thing to say, to keep things light. Even if times were hard, I found myself deeply grateful for the good company as our glasses clinked together.
“Would you guys be alright with doing the salad early? I’m a bit famished, if I’m being honest.” Sean let out a small, practiced cough, which he successfully quenched with a sip of wine and significant will power.
“Of course!” I said. “We’ll start with that, then work on the potatoes.”
“I mean, I’m going to start with this, and I brought enough for the whole class if anyone wants any.”
Sean produced a small container with gummies, eating one and offering it to the rest of us. Sam took one, while Alex looked at him skeptically.
“How much are these?” She asked.
“Oh, they’re tens. I can cut ‘em down to whatever, if you’re interested.”
“I’ll do an eighth, if that’s alright.” Alex said. She was a bit of a lightweight, as was I.
“I like these.” Sean said. “My buddy makes them in town, been getting a lot of them since I quit smoking last year. Can’t justify that anymore.”
“You couldn’t justify it for a long time.” Sam said, raising an eyebrow at him. She had been very vocal in her concern about his health.
“Yeah, yeah, well I already quit. I can’t quit any more than I already have.”
“And I’m proud you did.” Sam added, giving him a quick kiss.
They started putting the salad together. It was mostly collard greens and spinach, with goat cheese and a balsamic vinaigrette. It looked amazing, and Sean even began to cut some almonds for it.
“Hey, Mr. Fancy over here with the almonds.” I said. He laughed.
“You know, they’re not that bad. These were ninety a pound. They started growing them down near Junction a few years back.”
“Oh yeah, I heard about that. Serious money in it after they banned them in California.”
My phone vibrated, and Alex gave me a look. She knew the sound was only for fire notifications. The news wasn’t good.
“It’s jumped the line, and is hauling ass east towards Lewisburg. Crown fire.”
“Shit.” Sean paused his cutting.
“There’s houses out there, lots of them.” Alex said.
“Well, I hope they already packed up and left. Nothing else to do but let the fighters try their best.” I sounded colder than I meant to.
“Paul’s out there.” Alex said.
“He’s stubborn as hell, too.” And boy, did I know it.
I checked his location, just to make sure he was out. I wasn’t a huge fan of sharing my location with my boss, but Alex had talked me into it. It made sense to share with everyone we knew in the area if there were fires. My concerns were valid.
“God dammit, he’s still at his house.”
As I called him, it occurred to me that it was Thanksgiving, that we hadn’t seen our friends in too long. I didn’t want to call him, but I had to. It was the right thing to do. He didn’t answer the first or second time, but I was persistent.
“Matt, stop calling me.”
“That fires gonna get to you in minutes. It could get to the road before it gets to your house, and if it does, you’re dead.”
“Yeah I’m almost done packing.”
Alex grabbed the phone from me. “Paul. Get the fuck out, now.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
I hung up, but just kept watching his dot on the screen. It hadn’t moved yet. The fire line crept toward it, and it looked like he had a couple of minutes still, but you couldn’t rely on the satellites to be accurate with the smoke from a quarter million acres of forest getting blown across everything.
“Do you think he’s going to be alright?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know. I’m gonna tell him to come here, and that I’ll head up and meet him on the way.”
“What the hell are you gonna do?” Alex asked. “Let the fighters handle things, you’re just going to get in the way.”
The almonds were unattended on the counter. I noticed Sean in the entryway already swapping fresh respirator cartridges.
“Baby, I swear I won’t go west of the 5.”
***
The truck’s lights cut harsh lines into the brown smoke. It was hard for me to see anything, but the nav was doing just fine. Paul’s dot was moving, seemingly on top of the advancing fire. Our side of the freeway appeared nearly empty, save for the single pair of dim tail lights about fifty feet in front of us. The far side was dark, but would briefly illuminate with the haunting red flashing of a fire truck every few seconds.
A gentle shaking pulsed through the windows, and for a moment I wondered if there was some kind of cataclysm, an unseen explosion or landslide. I realized it must be low flying helicopters, the huge ones used to dump water. No amount of soundproofing could drown those out if you were right under them, which we probably were. They could have been a hundred feet above us, and still invisible.
“We’ve gotta turn around, man. He’s moving south, he has to be in his truck. I know he’s close, but putting ourselves in this much danger isn’t going to help him. We’re right fucking on top of this fire. The air is fucking black. We shouldn’t be here.”
I had told myself that it would be okay, as long as I stayed on the 5. This was the biggest freeway in the west, the best fire break in Corvallis or any other city anywhere up or down this part of Oregon. I stared at Paul’s dot on my screen, less than a quarter mile ahead. Looking up a second later, I realized that the black sky was no longer black. It was turning a hellish orange, and I glanced at the thermometer. 122° F.
My phone rang, and I answered instantly.
“Matt, I’m stuck in the median. I need you to get me, man. I don’t think the fighters can even see me.”
I put on my respirator. Sean did the same.
When I stopped the truck, I could barely make out his headlights twenty feet away. They pointed into the ground at an awkward angle; it seemed like he had driven off the road uncontrolled. I called him, told him I was there, to just run toward the opposite side of the freeway.
When my back door opened, a wave of smoke instantly filled the cabin. Something flew into the backseat; a hacking, coughing monstrosity. I jumped as long white teeth materialized out of the smoke over my shoulder, the black form baring them invisible. Even before this, my heart had been racing, but I consciously felt each beat as I tried to slow it, realizing what I looked at.
It was Paul’s labrador, Bongo, who thumped into the opposite door as Paul threw him in, then clambered up himself, slamming the door behind. Everything ahead was glowing that unearthly reddish hue, and everything behind was black nothingness. If the fire had jumped the freeway ahead, or even gotten too close, it could kill us.
I made what was possibly a poor decision. Flipping the truck around in manual, I drove the wrong way on the shoulder of the freeway. Every single shitty automated alarm was flashing at the same time, on the screen, dash, and HUD. ‘WARNING: MANUAL DRIVING CAN RESULT IN INJURY OR DEATH. TRAFFIC VIOLATION, WRONG WAY, HIGH TEMPERATURE WARNING, ENGINE TEMP WARNING, VISIBILITY WARNING, CHECK AIR FILTER, SEAT BELT. I managed not to punch the screen, but made a mental note to see if I could get a lawsuit for them omitting ‘seizure warning’ with all these fucking flashing lights. I couldn’t see anything through the smoke, and Paul was coughing his lungs up while Bongo the dog was throwing up in my back seat. I saw a single pair of headlights pull right and come to a complete stop ahead of me; thankfully their nav had seen me coming. There was no possible way the driver did.
I took the first exit, which was technically an onramp. Once we were off the freeway, I could turn the nav back on. The light of the fire diminished, leaving just the sickly smoke, which the truck could thankfully see through. Sean called home for us, and Sam said that she would see us when we got back in a low, forced voice. I could tell they had been scared shitless. My hands were shaking, and I was trying hard to suppress a cough myself.
With the sun completely choked out and no visibility, there was nothing to do but let the truck drive home. I found myself looking at the fire map, at the updates. 340,000 acres, >5,000 homes lost, 68 fatalities with 23 confirmed in the last hour, and >600 missing persons. It was predicted to be the 7th worst fire this year. Sean was giving Paul and the dog some water, and Paul was seeming okay. Bongo sat on the floor, making this sort of wheezing noise as his chest heaved in and out, and mucous ran out of his nose and mouth.
I didn’t really start to calm down until we got home. Alex and Sam opened the garage door and helped us in. The smoke was much worse than when we left, and there were power outages in town. Luckily, our new HVAC was on battery and seemed to be holding up. I’d cleaned the ash off of the solar this morning.
Inside the house, we could breathe. Sean and I were fine, we’d had it much easier than Paul or Bongo. Even spending a few seconds outside the truck without a respirator had given the dog smoke inhalation, just downwind of the inferno. He seemed to be improving though, enough that Paul could let him rest on a blanket in the corner.
“My damn truck froze up when the fire got to the road. It must have taken me thirty seconds to get the thing into manual, and that was thirty seconds I didn’t have.”
Paul sipped some water, sitting at the table.
“I mean, I should have left sooner. You were right, you were right. But by the time I could get going, it was hot enough to melt the tires, I guess. Managed to get out to the freeway, but I was down to the rims on the right side. Went off the road just before you got to me, and thank God you did. That whole stretch burned. Wouldn’t have been anything I could do with the smoke, I mean I only had Bongo out of the car for ten seconds, and look at him. We couldn’t have even run.”
“Can we get you anything? Do you want any wine?” Alex put a hand on his shoulder.
“Maybe later, thanks. Water is just fine. I’m not hungry yet, still feeling a bit nauseous, but you should eat. It’s Thanksgiving.”
“We’ve got plenty, so whenever you’re ready let me know.” She told him.
We got started, and despite everything the mood was good. The only light through the windows was an ominous dark brown, but the inside of the house looked welcoming inside the double-paned windows. Paul’s house was ash, but he was glad to be alive. Things had worked out, so Sean and I weren’t going to get grilled by our wives for almost getting ourselves killed, or at least not tonight. I was alone in the kitchen grabbing some water when Paul came in, after eventually eating.
“You got a turkey? I think I’m paying you too much.”
Avian influenza had been hitting turkeys badly the last few years, and the culls made them prohibitively expensive.
“I shot a turkey. And I think I went above and beyond the job description. I had today off, you know.”
We’d been making bad jokes like that all night, but it still got a good laugh out of him. I’d narrowly avoided saying something like ‘I’d better get a raise’, which would have been an unwelcome reminder of how financially fucked Paul was going to be for the foreseeable future. He’d lost his house, his truck, and all his tools.
Paul was never going to be a close friend of mine. He just wasn’t, we didn’t fit that way. Every now and then, he could be an asshole, and as my boss, I couldn’t do anything about it. But there was something about having him here safe, with my wife and two of my best friends on Thanksgiving that I loved. Returning to the table, Alex had opened another bottle of wine, and when Paul looked over, it occurred to me that I was just sitting there with a smile on my face.
“Alright, I have to do it.” He said, standing up from his seat at the table.
“I’m thankful that you’re a good man, Matt. And I’m thankful that you’re a good man, Sean. You saved my life today, when you didn’t have to, and I swear I won’t forget it.”
Tears ran down his face, in the light of the lamps scattered around the room. Alex did her best to make the place feel cozy, and she’d done it well. Behind him, the couch where he would sleep was made up as a bed, and Bongo was already asleep on blankets next to it. The table had a rusty orange tablecloth, and at its center the turkey was surrounded by salad and mashed potatoes and yams and brussel sprouts. Normally we had a couple of candles out, but we skipped them this year for the sake of air quality.
Alex was the first to speak.
“We’re glad you’re here, Paul. And I’m thankful we actually have a turkey!”
We all raised our glasses.