Fire Page 12

  He decided he’d call back the next day and put a reminder in his phone for 9 a.m.

  He slept, though he tossed and turned. From time to time, he woke up knowing something was terribly wrong, the adrenaline kicking into high before his thoughts straightened out, and then he’d remember what was wrong and how powerless he was to do anything about it. The adrenaline faded, and he’d fall back into a restless sleep.

  By dawn, he was tired of the battle with broken sleep. He rose, showered, put on new clothes, and looked on his phone for a restaurant better than fast food. He found one, went there, and had fruit, a vegetable omelet, and coffee.

  His phone vibrated. It vibrated again. And again. Christ, it was only 7:00, and it had started already.

  By the time he picked it up, it had recorded seven new texts, and an eighth came in as he stared at the list.

  Every one was from Sylvia.

  Chapter 24

  James watched the phone screen as it kept tallying new messages. Ten. Twelve. Fifteen. Seventeen. All from Sylvia.

  Her phone was alive. Was she?

  He started reading at the end. I love you. I love you. I love you. Three different messages. Maybe they were all that. Tell me where you are, woman!

  “Sir, are you all right?” His waitress was standing there with her coffee pot. James looked up, realized she was blurred-looking, and only then knew he was crying. “Sorry. It’s—you know, the fire.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry! Did you—never mind, it’s none of my business. Do you want more coffee?”

  He nodded, though he didn’t know if he did or not. He didn’t know anything right now.

  Sylvia loved him. Or had loved him. He thought of the state she must have been in to send that message over and over, and the tears came more freely.

  His phone vibrated again. Sylvia? No, her mother. God, she’d of course texted her mother. James didn’t answer it. He had fourteen more messages to get through first. And he needed to collect himself before he talked to her mother.

  He read through every message and read through them all again, starting the second time with the first one and moving forward in time. Only the first gave a hint of what happened to her. The rest were sweet. She hadn’t said anything about the argument the last morning. Not a word. She’d obviously been afraid she wasn’t going to make it. Memories. Loving memories. She didn’t hate him at the end, she loved him.

  He knew that he’d want these messages forever. Carefully, he saved them. The phone was a treasure now, and he’d never let it go.

  But as he thought it through, he realized, it might not have been the end for Sylvia, even though she’d obviously thought it was. The phone had survived, right? And so she might have too. The thought sent a wild thrill of hope through him. The phone wasn’t burned! He texted her number. I love you. Where ARE you?

  He wiped his face with a paper napkin, soaking it through, and found the sheriff’s number again. He called, went through the same recorded message, saying, “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” at it, like that would help.

  He got a deputy sheriff. He explained things, but he must have gone too fast, for the fellow was only confused. James forced himself to slow down and start at the beginning. “My wife. She’s on the missing list. The fire up in Pinedrops?”

  “Yes, sir. I see.”

  “So she was in her car. Someone saw her trying to get out of town. No one has heard from her since. Our marriage is solid. She would have contacted me first if she got out. But she didn’t contact me, or her mother, or her friends. Missing for what—forty-plus hours now.”

  “I understand.”

  “And I just got almost twenty texts from her. All at once. They must have reinstated cell service up there, and it’s catching her phone, and her phone is still alive so the messages went. It didn’t burn up, so maybe she didn’t either.”

  “Right.”

  “So my question is, can you take her number and triangulate from cell towers or something, and find her location based on these texts being sent? She’s probably with her phone. She might be alive but hurt. You see?”

  “Well, we need three towers to triangulate, and in that locale, there aren’t going to be three. But the nerd types might be able to get something.”

  “Anything. A direction. A distance from the tower. Anything to give us an idea of where to search. I mean, what if she’s out of drinking water by now?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll start something rolling on this. Give me her cell number.”

  James did. “Thank you. Thank you. And you can reach me at this number any time. Any time at all, do you hear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His phone vibrated. His mother. He took a big swig of coffee and ignored his own mother’s call. He got back to Sylvia’s mother first.

  “Sylvia texted me!”

  “Yes, it’s from the day of the fire. The first day.”

  “It is?”

  “I’m sure of it. I got several texts from her.” He debated telling her the first one said she was trapped. “What does yours say?”

  “That just in case she doesn’t make it, she loves me. And she’s sorry she stole a twenty from my purse when she was fifteen.” Francine laughed, but he could tell she was crying as well.

  “Yeah, same kind of thing with me. And my mother just called, so I’m thinking maybe the same with her. I’ll call my mom back when we hang up.”

  “So where is she? Where’s my baby girl?”

  He explained about the cellphones not working up there, and how this was a delayed spate of texts that got sent.

  “But if her phone is okay, she’s okay, right?”

  “God, I hope, Francine. I hope so with all my heart. I just talked to the sheriff, and they said maybe they can locate the phone. I’m headed up there next. Where are you?”

  “Stuck at the Denver airport, believe it or not. Some mechanical thing. I’m supposed to board the replacement flight within the hour.”

  “Keep me informed of where you are. If you can’t book a hotel room, head for where I have a hotel room. It’s the Best Western in Grass Valley, right on the highway. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Have my daughter with you.”

  “I’ll try. I’ll really try.”

  His mother’s text message from Sylvia had been a goodbye as well, and a thanks for raising such a kind and gentle son. “Is she dead then?” his mother asked.

  “I don’t know,” James said, thinking it was interesting that Sylvia’s mom had taken the text as proof of life, while his mother had taken it as the opposite. “It’s a good sign the phone is working, but I don’t know. What if she left the phone in the car and had to run, and the fire caught up with her? What if the phone works, but smoke inhalation got her? I just don’t know. I want her to be alive.”

  “We all do, son,” she said. “Your father wants to speak with you.”

  “James,” his father said. And then he said nothing for a time, though James could hear him breathing.

  “I’m here.”

  “Whatever you need, we’re here. You come home.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I love you.” He never said that, never, and he hung up before James could reply. “Yeah, me too, you tough old bird,” he said to the dead phone. He teared up again.

  He threw down a twenty and took off. His gas gauge was good. He would head up to Pinedrops and call the sheriff again from up there. They might know where he should start looking by then. And if not, he’d just look. He saw a gas station sign ahead and pulled in and ran inside. “Do you have any maps of the area? Topo maps. Detailed maps of the county?”

  “Not anymore. People have cellphones, you know.”

  He needed maps that showed the fire roads. He’d prefer a paper map, but internet maps were going to have to do him. He made sure Google Maps was updated on his phone, and he found Open Maps to use that later, when he stopped. Hopefully the cell service would keep working. He supposed the best place to park was t
he Red Cross shelter. There was on-street parking there, and he could study the maps and make a plan.

  Nerves were getting the best of him. He felt like he was in a marathon and this was the last mile. He had to gather himself for it, tired and frightened as he was, and hang onto the hope that the text messages had given him. Somehow, he was going to find her. Today. Before it was too late.

  And if it was already too late? He pushed the thought aside. There was still reason to hope.

  Chapter 25

  A van was parked at the shelter, with a family loading into it, obviously relatives or friends coming to take the survivors away. Everyone was chatting excitedly as half a dozen people hugged and got themselves arranged inside the van. He was happy for them that they’d found a place to stay, and surprised he could feel happy for anyone else, even the dulled and distant way he felt that for them. His heart didn’t lift. His lips didn’t form a smile. But he was glad for them that they had found a temporary home.

  He parked and used both the maps on his phone to decide where to go from here. There were fire roads crisscrossing the northern part of his county, and some notes on OpenMap about old mining trails. Only two came near Pinedrops. Had Sylvia known of them? Or had she followed someone else who claimed they knew where they were headed? She didn’t have four-wheel drive, so he only had to worry about marked roads. Unless she had struck across country, and then he had no hope of finding her.

  But he’d keep looking until he did.

  He looked up the cell service coverage map to make sure there weren’t any dead spots for his carrier. If there were, he would eliminate them from his first search. Sylvia’s phone had worked to send the texts to him and their parents. Therefore, she was in an area of coverage.

  This would all be so much easier with a paper map. He texted Pasquale. Do you have a topo map of the county? He’d drive to get it, or beg him to meet down in Nevada City. Pasquale was staying with Lindsey in her tiny condo in Truckee, a ski-season place, really, though far better than what James had to live in right now, which was his car and a hotel room. Though the car would hold everything he now owned, and then some. If he had to live out of it for a night or two, he could.

  He didn’t want to go down that road of thought, worrying about how much there was to buy to replace all that was lost. Some things couldn’t be replaced. People couldn’t. Out of all this horror, he could find one point of gratitude. He and Sylvia hadn’t started a family yet. They didn’t even have a dog or cat to worry about. Imagine having both your wife and kids missing.

  James shook off that thought and returned to the maps, working out a route to the south of the town. He’d drive until he couldn’t, and then he’d hike past any obstructions the fire had caused. He sent texts to his mother and Sylvia’s, warning them he might drop out of cell service briefly, that he was looking for Sylvia in the woods.

  Francine sent back, “Good.” His own mother sent back, “Be careful.”

  He drove down the highway to the turnoff he wanted, as Google Maps directed him to. So much was burned right here, it was difficult to tell the road from the non-road. The gap in the tall trees was the only clue. When his phone told him to turn, he parked the car off the road, got out, and walked to make sure he was in the right place. In about a hundred yards, he came upon a gate, so he knew that was the road. Was it locked? Yeah, it was. The lock was scorched too, as were the hinges.

  It didn’t mean it had been locked on the day of the fire. Probably, but he couldn’t bank on that. Sylvia still might have come this way. So how to get through it?

  Ah! He’d bought a crowbar, not thinking of this particular issue, but it’d do the trick. He walked back to his car, drove it up to the gate, and went to work on the lock. It wasn’t budging, so he tried the hinges. After working up a sweat, he realized the posts holding the gate were wood, and of course they were charred too. The fire hadn’t spared them. He went at one of them, swinging the crowbar, and the metal sunk deeply in. In five minutes, he had it broken in two. He lifted the whole gate, still attached to its post, and shoved it over to the side. There was enough room now for him to drive through.

  As he drove on, it dawned on him that he’d probably just committed a crime. Maybe two crimes. No matter. He’d spend six months in jail in exchange for finding Sylvia today, and he’d consider it a good bargain.

  Around him, the smell of burning forest was still strong. He saw one tiny spot fire, no bigger than two of his hand spans, with a thin wisp of smoke trailing up from it. While he thought there wasn’t enough fuel to get it going, he stopped the car, got out, and peed on it. Then he used the crowbar to dig up some dirt and mixed it up. He watched to make sure it didn’t re-ignite. Last thing he needed was to get trapped back here while a fire kicked up again and set the trees ablaze.

  Driving with the window rolled down, he could feel the wind picking up as the sun climbed up the eastern sky. It would be another hot day, and windy as well. He wondered if they’d gotten the fire all the way out yet. If not, it might flare up to the east. It wouldn’t hurt him now, for it had done all the hurt it could to him, but other people were in its way, and he didn’t want anyone to ever go through what he was going through.

  Sick with worry, sick with grief, and exhausted from carrying those feelings for so many hours, he wondered how he was going to get through the next week, or month, or year feeling like this. It was as if he was carrying a hundred-pound pack on his back all the time. How long could a person feel like that and still function?

  The phone rang, startling him out of his thoughts, and he stopped his car to answer.

  It was the sheriff. “Mr. Teschler?”

  He let it go this time, the wrong name. “Yes.”

  “We’ve checked on the cellphone situation. We can’t get a location for that number. I’m sorry. But search and recovery operations are ongoing. Rest assured, we won’t quit looking until we find everyone.”

  “How many are still missing?”

  “Five. We’re down to five. And, um, I need to send you a photo.”

  “Okay. From your tone, I assume it’s of a body.”

  “A wedding ring.”

  “I see. Go on.” He braced himself. The photo came through, a ring on a blackened finger. No. Not Sylvia’s. Christ, couldn’t they have removed the ring first? Then he realized it might not be so easy to remove. It might be cooked into the flesh. He felt a wave of nausea at the thought. “No. It’s not hers.” He looked down at his own wedding band and touched it. “Hers is platinum.”

  “Good to know. Is there any other jewelry she might have on?”

  “Studs in her ears usually, simple, like gold or small stones. Sometimes a necklace, but probably not at home. Unless she put something on when she fled, like her pearls. They’re the most expensive thing she owns. But she’d probably have grabbed her jewelry box instead.”

  “Okay, Mr. Teschler. We can reach you at the same places?”

  He thought about explaining that he was out in the burned woods hunting for Sylvia, but thought better of it. He didn’t want to be ordered away from the area. What was the saying, better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission? “I’ll drop by the Red Cross shelter in North San Juan sometime later today.”

  “I’m sure they’ll call you if she shows up there.”

  “Can’t hurt to check.”

  “I guess not. Rest assured, we’re still looking for her, Mr. Teschler. Lots of people are. Take care, now.”

  James clicked off and drove on. “Rest assured”—what a strange phrase under the circumstances. As if he could rest. Or feel assured by anything less than seeing Sylvia’s eyes looking back at him.

  As far as he could tell, no one had been driving on this road, though with the burning, it was impossible to be sure. Ash might be covering tire tracks. But he kept driving along it until, as he’d anticipated would happen, it was blocked by debris. There was a tree across the road, an oak. It wasn’t huge, and he thought he could move it.<
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  Then he touched it and snatched his hand back, sucking on his fingers. Hot. It wasn’t big, the tree, but it was too big to put out that fire by peeing on it. Besides, he was an experienced camper. He knew that whole logs of this size burned for days. He’d seen a lot of idiots dragging a huge log onto a fire, setting a fire Saturday night at a camp, and leaving Sunday noon with the thing still red and glowing beneath a crust of burned material. He’d called more than one park headquarters about it, telling them about the campfire left unattended.

  So the tree was small enough to move, but he couldn’t touch it. He’d have to hike past it instead.

  He’d be taking a chance by walking beyond this point. There were some tall trees nearby, and some looked to be dead pines, dead from the long drought. What if it all caught fire? It wouldn’t do Sylvia any good if he ended up in the same situation that she was in.

  But he had to find her. Had to try. And this was his very last idea, hunting through the woods and fire roads for her. If he didn’t do this, what would he do? Pace at his hotel room? No. He had to try this, and taking any risk would be worth it if he ended up finding Sylvia.

  So he backed his car up until he had a space wide enough to turn it around, nose out toward the highway, safely distant from the smoldering tree. He packed up his gear, stopped to consider the crowbar, and decided to walk with it in his hand, despite the extra weight. He double-checked that he had his gloves, a small flashlight, phone, and water. All he secured in his pack. He was good to go.

  As he left his car, he felt a strange reluctance, and a new kind of fear. He was leaving his easy escape. If the fire re-ignited, or if the wind shifted and it flared up and came back this way, he might be in serious trouble. It wasn’t a debilitating fear. It was probably a hundredth of what Sylvia had felt. Whatever her situation had been, the texts told him she’d been scared. She’d been thinking it was time to say goodbye to everyone she loved. This anxiety, in comparison, was nothing.