Paradise
Erin Donoho
It’s like night has come early, and it’s only eight forty-five in the morning. I step around Mom, who’s on the couch watching Good Day as usual, and lean to get a better view out the window.
The sky is almost black. In the few minutes I’ve been in the kitchen the smoke has thickened like a blanket over us.
Mom mumbles as I walk to the door.
“What’s that?” I say, leaning down so she can see my face.
She blinks at me. “Are you staying?”
I pat her shoulder. I’ve stayed for four years. “Yep. Just checking something.” She doesn’t reply, probably forgot ever asking me anything, and I step out onto the porch and inhale ash. It’s like smoking a never-ending cigarette.
Around me the mobile home park is quiet, but in the distance orange flickers out the dark. A second later I see another spark, and turn to grab the door.
“Hey!” Dale, standing on the porch of his trailer next door with his arms full of bags, looks at me. “We gotta get out of here! I’m gonna see who else I can grab.”
“All right, let me get a few things,” I say, ducking back inside. I’d knock on people’s doors too, but I have to get Mom.
I go into my bedroom, grab my old duffel bag and stuff clothes in it. In Mom’s room I stack a pile of clothes up and shove them in an old suitcase. Now to find the cats.
“Mom,” I say, coming out with the bags over my shoulders. “Hey Mom. We have to go.”
“Huh?” She looks at me. “Go?”
“Yeah. Go. We have to leave.” I dump the bags on the floor and walk to her. “Come on.” I reach out my hand.
“Where are we going?”
Damn, not this. Not now. She has no way of knowing, but if only she could. “There’s a fire outside, Mom, we have to go. Now.”
“A fire? I don’t see any fire.” She stands slowly, peering out the back window. The sky is black with smoke.
“Come on.” I grab her hands.
“Let go of me,” she says and she’s out of my hands, swatting at me. I let her be for the moment. “We’re leaving?” Her voice rises in that familiar pitch. But I can’t blame her for panicking now. I’ll be panicking if we don’t get out of here in the next minute.
“Yes, we’re leaving. I’ve packed clothes. Let’s go.” I touch her arm.
“This is my home!” She fights me, slaps my arm, thankfully with about the strength of an infant. “Who are you to tell me to leave my home?”
“Mom, a fire’s coming, it’s going to burn your home down and I don’t want you to burn with it.” We should have known. We thought it wasn’t coming down here. Fires move too quickly.
“A fire? Where?” She lunges for the back window but I hold her still.
“Mom, it’s there, let’s go. I’m serious, let’s go. Come on, we have to get out.”
“The cats! The cats!” She looks around, green eyes wide. “The cats . . .”
“I’ll get the cats, I need you to get in the truck. Come on.”
“Where are you taking me?” She pulls harder against me, and I don’t want to hurt her, but she needs to come. There’s no use trying to convince her. I just need to get her compliant enough to get her out. “I’ll leave when I want to leave, I need to know what’s going on!”
“I told you, there’s a fire, Mom.”
“I’ll leave when I want to leave! Who says there’s a fire?”
“It’s everywhere, it’s coming right for us.” Smoke burns my throat. “Come on Mom.” I don’t want to drag her out there, but I’ll do what I have to so she doesn’t burn here.
“I’ll sit here and see, I’ll sit here—”
“No you won’t.”
“You don’t know, fires can pass right over—”
That’s enough of this. I pick her up.
“Michael!” She pounds my back, screaming, halfway hysterical but I just haul her out to the truck and unlock the passenger-side door.
“Get in,” I say, and thankfully she does. “I’m going to get the cats, I’ll be right back,” I say, and lock the door and shut it. Hopefully she won’t go crazy in there. I’ve never locked her in the truck before by herself but it’ll have to work now.
The crackling has only increased, and here inside the trailer my throat and eyes burn. The damn cats are probably hiding from the smoke. I head to Mom’s room where Silver likes to hide. He’s an old cat, Mom got him as a kitten nine years ago, a year after Dad died, and he’s pretty solitary. Cocoa’s a bit friendlier, but he also roams the house more. I lean under the bed. No Silver. Damnit.
“Silver,” I call, eyes watering. I can’t stay in here much longer. “Silver!” I have to keep my voice sweet otherwise they won’t come out, the dummies. I always did like dogs better. “Silver, come here damnit.”
A car horn blares through the darkness. Something bangs. “Mike!” Dale calls through the house.
“I’m getting the cats!” I yell.
“We gotta go!”
“You go, I’ll follow!”
He doesn’t reply, so I continue hunting for Silver. In the bathroom, the tub—there, behind the toilet. When I grab Cocoa he hisses at me, but I tighten my grip and shove him in the carrier in the laundry room. “Shut up,” I say as he moans at me. “Shut up. Just better hope I get your friend out.”
The trailer park is covered in darkness and people are talking, cars starting, wind whipping, fire snapping and popping ever closer with tiny sparks pricking my skin. Dale’s truck sits idling a few feet ahead; he’s got someone in his passenger seat, maybe Earl, the ninety-two-year-old guy who lives next door to him. I open the back truck door and shove Cocoa in.
“Michael?” Mom’s eyes are wide. “Michael, where are we going?”
That’s a good question. “We’re getting out of here, Mom, I’ll be right back.”
I check the laundry room, the living room, the corner by the TV. No cat. I check the litter box again. This is ridiculous. I’m going to burn looking for a cat. But damnit, Mom loves her cats, and they don’t know any better. Yeah, I’m a real tough guy. I lean under my bed.
Silver darts out, and I swear and grab her. She whips her head around but I move my hand out of the way just in time for her claw instead of her tooth to sink into the soft flesh of my hand between my thumb and index finger. I hiss right back at her and swat her over the head, cursing. “Want to burn to a crisp? Be a fried kitty? Don’t think so.” I shove her in the carrier, hand gushing blood, then dash to the bathroom to grab a Band-Aid. Except we’re out. Shit. The fire roars and wind rattles the trailer, jiggling the medicine cabinet. I should go back to the truck, but this thing is bleeding good. Silver howls. “Shut up!” I yell, rummaging. I finally find a few giant Band-Aids left in the far corner of the cabinet and stick one on. Grab the cat, grab the bags, lock the door behind us.
This isn’t night; it’s another world. The trees up the road are lit with flame and sparks shoot into the dark sky. Brake lights line the road in front of me and Dale.
“We should have got out of here sooner,” Mom says. I clench my fists around the steering wheel and try to keep my head from exploding.
“Did you get the water hose?” Mom asks.
The what? “No. It’s—”
“Why didn’t you get the water hose? We could be putting this out! Go back!” Mom swats at the door—thank God for childproof locks.
“Mom, no, no.” Ah hell, I know it’s no use. I let her yell and cry and writhe about some water hose I’ve never heard of, and then she says, “Your father would know what to do. Where’s your father?”
Shit. The road is bumper-to-bumper traffic, all stopped. Dale leans in front of his rearview mirror, then settles. I stifle a cough.
“Where’s Mark? Why isn’t he with us?”
“He’s not here, Mom.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s been gone a long time.” She doesn’t know, not anymore. Dad wasn’t the last thing she forgot, but when she started forgetting him I knew she was really going downhill. I hit the brakes again, and the carriers in the back slide—too far. “What was that?” Mom shrieks.
“Relax.” I twist around. The carriers have slid right off onto the floor somehow; I didn’t even brake that hard. I should’ve put them on the floor in the first place. I set Silver and Cocoa upright slowly, hoping they know I’m sorry. They’re still moaning and seem all right, so I turn back.
“Use the freeway,” Mom says.
“What?” I can’t do anything anyway, might as well entertain her fantasies.
“The freeway. Get on the freeway. It’s faster.”
I bite my lip. It’s no use. She doesn’t know where we are half the time anyway.
“Michael, use the freeway!”
“Mom, there is no freeway to use, okay, we’re stuck here. This is the only road out.” Stupid town. Stupid town, who makes a town with only four roads in and out? We should have gone north, but the traffic’s backed up that way too. And there’s nothing north except more trees, and more flame, probably.
Something pops to our left and a tree falls, crashing into another one. Mom jumps. I taste ash.
We’re all going to fry here on this road. All of us, sitting ducks, dumb enough to follow the leader. Except that’s all we can do. There’s no getting out of this.
“Is this traffic for the fairgrounds?” Mom asks.
“No.” Geez no. I’d pay a million bucks for this to be about the fairgrounds.
“Isn’t this for the fair? Busier than usual, isn’t it?”
“No—” ah hell Mike, drop it! But we’re not moving. Not moving one bit.
“My son Michael, I wonder if he’s showing a pig this year, he always liked his pigs but Jody with her lamb was just beautiful . . ."
Dale waves. I lean forward, trying to see his hands. He’s pointing—left. I glance that way. Just trees. But he’s pointing, and now his tires turn that way. He must know a way to get through. At this point I’d follow him anywhere. He crosses the northbound lanes and bounces onto the dirt. I pull forward.
A black car honks and creeps up in the northbound lanes, blocking me. What the hell? The driver yells, waving his arms--I’m going, what are you doing?
“I’m getting through!” I yell, even though it’s pointless, you can’t hear anything through the roaring flames. “Let me go! Back up!”
Of course he can’t now.
I squint past the northbound lanes. Dale’s stopped his truck a few yards into the trees, waiting. He shouldn’t wait. What is he waiting for? He needs to haul ass out of here.
“Did you get the cats? Where are the cats?”
“They’re here, they’re here. In the back.”
“Do they have food?”
Shit. “No, I don’t know, they’re okay.” More cars honk up ahead and the guy in front of me here pulls up even farther. The prick. “What is your problem?” I yell at him.
“Michael, where are your manners?”
I will not explode. I lean my head back on the headrest, breathe, squeeze the steering wheel, release, squeeze, release. Another tree crashes.
We’ve got to go.
I inch up as close as I can to the black car. Other cars have stopped, seeing what I’m doing; they’re all polite. The guy in the black car pulls forward, but I still can’t make it.
“Come on! Are you serious?”
“Jody would never have yelled like that, she was always so gentle and calm . . .”
The black car inches up. The driver behind him nods to me, waves, Go ahead, at least he knows what I’m doing, and I wave to him, Thanks, and gun it through.
We jostle around from the impact with the dirt, but these tires are tough, made for four-wheeling, as if I ever four-wheeled myself. First time for everything, Dad might say. Funny I still quote him after all these years. Dale pulls forward and I follow, increasing speed, twenty-five, thirty, forty, fifty. He better know where he’s going.
The trees around us loom black, backlit by bright orange flames, wood crackling and sparking. We’re surrounded by flames. My skin glares red. We’re headed straight into a forest of flames. There’s no road here, but at least we’re moving. Maybe that’s a dumb thing to think but at this point I really don’t care.
Dale brakes. I slam my foot down.
He waves in the mirror and points right. Wherever he thinks is best, I’ll go.
We accelerate but only to forty-five, because the trees are thicker here. And just as on fire as the ones back there are. Damn, this fire moved quick. They always do. No one’s ever prepared. Why didn’t anyone tell us to get out?
Dale accelerates. I do too.
“Did you get the cats? Michael, did you get—”
“Yes Mom, they’re in the back seat. They’re okay.”
“Did you get their food?”
For the love of everything holy. “No. They’re fine. They’ll be fine.”
“Are they even in here?” Mom tries to turn.
“Yes, they’re in here.” Why do I try. It’s been a long four years. I thought I could take care of her. In some ways I can. In some ways--
“I don’t see them, Michael.”
“Because they’re on the floor, Mom. Can you hear them?”
Shit, they’re not making any noise. “Hey,” I reach a hand back and thump on a box. “Hey there. Silver. Cocoa. Hey.” I thump harder.
“Mew,” says Silver or Cocoa. Thank God.
“See, they’re fine,” I say, tears running down my cheeks from the flames. My shirt is stuck to me, soaked with sweat. My hands are slick on the steering wheel, and I keep moving them around to dry spots but they only stay dry for a few seconds. My chest is tight and when I think about it I realize I haven’t really been breathing. I try to inhale deep. I can’t.
“If we’re going to Jody’s,” Mom says—my sister’s, she lives way down near the East Bay, “you better call her. You know how she works all hours.”
Right. She works hard and I don’t. Paula up in Spokane works hard and I don’t. I never have. I’ve always been “where are your manners” Mike, “what are you doing,” “why don’t you do this.” Not that I have anything personally against my sisters; they’re nice enough. And Jody knows I’m doing what could be her job. You’re crazy, she said, moving to Paradise just for Mom. We’ll put her somewhere. You can’t do that.
I can and I will, I said. I’ve already found a job in Paradise, I said. What do you think of them apples? I didn’t say that part.
You’re crazy, she said. We’ll put her in a facility.
She’s not bad enough for that yet, I said. I’m doing it. I’m just moving from Chico, for God’s sake. It’s only fifteen miles. No big deal.
I took on the work she didn’t want to do herself. As if I could do it.
Damn it is hot. I can’t get a proper breath at all anymore, and I’m sure Mom with her COPD can’t either. I’ve got to get us out of here. Come on Dale, where is the road? He grew up here. If he doesn’t get us out of here I’m never going to forgive him.
Mom coughs.
“Cover your mouth with your shirt,” I say to her. Of course she doesn’t comprehend. “Here.” I grab her shirt collar, glance over to see her face, pull the shirt up--
The turn is too tight, we’re too fast, and the truck slams into the tree.
No airbags burst open. That’s a good thing. Maybe.
“You all right?” I turn to Mom. She looks fine, shirt not over her mouth. “Mom.” I pull her hand back up over her mouth. “Keep it there.”
“Hey!” echoes through the roar. I open my door and double over from the burn of the smoke, skin pulsing with heat. Everything smells like ash, the world’s largest fireplace burning out of control. When I force open my eyes a slit I see sparks everywhere.
“You okay?” Dale yells from over the hood of my truck.
“Yeah!” I can’t tell about the truck. The hood could just be crumpled a bit, or the radiator could have been impacted. “I need to check under the hood!” Smoke fills my throat and I cough, unable to see.
“Get in!” Dale’s yelling. I can’t see. Then I can, and see he’s getting Mom out of the truck. I like his plan. I pull out the keys, sling the bags over my shoulders, grab the cats and tramp around the back of the truck. The world is black, cracking, charring, and my skin is blood red. We’re being roasted alive.
Dale takes the cats from me. “Get in the truck!”
“Where’s Mom?”
“Back seat, get in the back with—” he doubles over, hacking. I can barely make out his truck, and aim for the door handle.
The cats are down by our feet. Mom says, “Who are you again?” to either Dale or Earl, the old guy up front who Dale gave a ride to. Dale guns the engine.
“You better know how to get us out of here,” I say, my voice crackling just like the flames.
“Don’t worry,” Dale says, as if we’re perfectly safe. He’s too confident.
“Are you Mark? Mark?” Mom leans forward.
“Mom, no. No. He’s not Mark.” I cough. My eyes won’t stop watering. I don’t really want to get into a whole conversation with her now.
Dale swerves suddenly. “Where the hell is the highway,” I ask him.
“Gimme a second, this was an old logging road, it’ll come out here somewhere.”
Somewhere. Great. Well, at least our options are clear-cut: get out, or burn alive. Simple enough.
“Where’s Mark? Did we leave him behind?” Mom asks, in a rare moment of actually knowing we’re in a dangerous situation.
“No,” I say, and hack. “No. Cover your mouth.” I push her shirt collar up over her mouth again while trying not to cough. She won’t keep her hand up, though. Geez, her COPD’s going to go crazy. I didn’t get her any of her meds. Shit. I just shortened her life.
“Mark used to have a car like this. Rode nicely, too. Big seats, big windows. We went camping in it. We slept in the back seat, it was so big.”
They didn’t go camping in it—they drove to San Francisco in it, and when they went camping in later years, slept in a tent—but I don’t correct her. Once the long-term memories start going it’s no use trying to correct anything anymore. It’s taken me long enough to learn that.
Road. “Gun it!” I yell at Dale, but he brakes, the idiot, except there’s traffic on this road too. He’s smart. Damn. “Go!” I yell at the traffic. We’re going to get stuck here. Stuck again. We’re really going to die.
“Relax,” Dale says, and pulls out smoothly, waving to thank the man who let him out. We’re barely doing twenty, but at least we’re moving. Kind of.
Walls of flame hem us in on both sides. I hold Mom’s hand on her shirt up over her mouth and do something I haven’t in a long time: pray.
The truck rolls to a stop. All around us flames shoot into the black sky. My body feels like it might implode from the heat. It’s a wonder the vehicles aren’t melting.
After the fifth time we inch forward and stop I lose hope of getting anywhere. Thirty minutes stretches into an hour and we don’t move above fifteen miles an hour. And still the flames burn, right along the sides of the road, causing sweat to drip down ours faces and shirts and Mom to cough. Two hours, and she’s coughing more, and I’m wishing I had brought water. Three hours, still surrounded by flames, and we’ve moved only about eight miles.
God, please. I don’t know what quality of life Mom can really have anymore, but she doesn’t deserve to die like this. Dale and Earl don’t deserve to die like this.
A tree crashes feet away from my window, and I flinch. Sweat rushes down Earl’s face, down Mom’s face. She’s fallen silent, no longer coughing, lips parted for breath, eyes open but seeing only her own world, or maybe nothing. Her chest barely rises. I press my hand more firmly over her mouth and wrap my arm around her, as if that’s going to help anything. “You okay?” I ask her. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t look at anything.
I close my eyes and push down the panic in my chest.
“Hey!” Dale calls. I open my eyes. “We’re getting out of it.”
That can’t be possible, but it is: the flames are gone, the grass and buildings along the sides of the road are unscathed. We’ve dipped down into the valley, creeping toward Chico. “I think we’re out of it,” Dale says, squinting against the still-dark sky.
Forty minutes later Dale pulls into an office building parking lot along with hundreds of other cars. People are everywhere, children clutching blankets, parents clutching children, dogs on leashes. The sky is still black.
We climb out. I leave the carriers in the truck for now, but lean in to check on their occupants. Both cats are scared and hiss at me, but they’re all right.
The old man Earl stands with his cane by the passenger-side mirror. “You okay?” I ask, touching his shoulder.
He nods. “Yeah, by some miracle.” He coughs. He probably needs some oxygen. At the least we could use masks.
Dale walks over, eyes bloodshot. “They’re setting up shelter in a church down the way.”
“Okay.” Maybe they’ll have masks.
“Where’s your mom?”
I spin around. She’s nowhere. “Mom!”
Then I see her. She’s talking to a woman, a younger woman with two kids clutching her hands and a blanket around her shoulders. “Well, I’ve got to find my husband,” Mom is saying. “He’s around here somewhere, I know it. Have you seen him?”
“What does he look like?” the younger woman asks.
Mom doesn’t reply, because she doesn’t know. The woman sees me, I smile at her, and Mom turns.
“Mark! Oh, it’s good to see you!” She squints at me through her glasses. “Mark? It is you, right?”
I laugh, and my chest hitches and tears run down my face. There is nothing to say.
Dale appears, talking to her, leading her back toward the truck. He glances at me as he passes, and squeezes my shoulder. The tears course down my face heavy and wet, forging paths through the grime on my skin.
A moment later I turn and follow him.
Erin Donoho
It’s like night has come early, and it’s only eight forty-five in the morning. I step around Mom, who’s on the couch watching Good Day as usual, and lean to get a better view out the window.
The sky is almost black. In the few minutes I’ve been in the kitchen the smoke has thickened like a blanket over us.
Mom mumbles as I walk to the door.
“What’s that?” I say, leaning down so she can see my face.
She blinks at me. “Are you staying?”
I pat her shoulder. I’ve stayed for four years. “Yep. Just checking something.” She doesn’t reply, probably forgot ever asking me anything, and I step out onto the porch and inhale ash. It’s like smoking a never-ending cigarette.
Around me the mobile home park is quiet, but in the distance orange flickers out the dark. A second later I see another spark, and turn to grab the door.
“Hey!” Dale, standing on the porch of his trailer next door with his arms full of bags, looks at me. “We gotta get out of here! I’m gonna see who else I can grab.”
“All right, let me get a few things,” I say, ducking back inside. I’d knock on people’s doors too, but I have to get Mom.
I go into my bedroom, grab my old duffel bag and stuff clothes in it. In Mom’s room I stack a pile of clothes up and shove them in an old suitcase. Now to find the cats.
“Mom,” I say, coming out with the bags over my shoulders. “Hey Mom. We have to go.”
“Huh?” She looks at me. “Go?”
“Yeah. Go. We have to leave.” I dump the bags on the floor and walk to her. “Come on.” I reach out my hand.
“Where are we going?”
Damn, not this. Not now. She has no way of knowing, but if only she could. “There’s a fire outside, Mom, we have to go. Now.”
“A fire? I don’t see any fire.” She stands slowly, peering out the back window. The sky is black with smoke.
“Come on.” I grab her hands.
“Let go of me,” she says and she’s out of my hands, swatting at me. I let her be for the moment. “We’re leaving?” Her voice rises in that familiar pitch. But I can’t blame her for panicking now. I’ll be panicking if we don’t get out of here in the next minute.
“Yes, we’re leaving. I’ve packed clothes. Let’s go.” I touch her arm.
“This is my home!” She fights me, slaps my arm, thankfully with about the strength of an infant. “Who are you to tell me to leave my home?”
“Mom, a fire’s coming, it’s going to burn your home down and I don’t want you to burn with it.” We should have known. We thought it wasn’t coming down here. Fires move too quickly.
“A fire? Where?” She lunges for the back window but I hold her still.
“Mom, it’s there, let’s go. I’m serious, let’s go. Come on, we have to get out.”
“The cats! The cats!” She looks around, green eyes wide. “The cats . . .”
“I’ll get the cats, I need you to get in the truck. Come on.”
“Where are you taking me?” She pulls harder against me, and I don’t want to hurt her, but she needs to come. There’s no use trying to convince her. I just need to get her compliant enough to get her out. “I’ll leave when I want to leave, I need to know what’s going on!”
“I told you, there’s a fire, Mom.”
“I’ll leave when I want to leave! Who says there’s a fire?”
“It’s everywhere, it’s coming right for us.” Smoke burns my throat. “Come on Mom.” I don’t want to drag her out there, but I’ll do what I have to so she doesn’t burn here.
“I’ll sit here and see, I’ll sit here—”
“No you won’t.”
“You don’t know, fires can pass right over—”
That’s enough of this. I pick her up.
“Michael!” She pounds my back, screaming, halfway hysterical but I just haul her out to the truck and unlock the passenger-side door.
“Get in,” I say, and thankfully she does. “I’m going to get the cats, I’ll be right back,” I say, and lock the door and shut it. Hopefully she won’t go crazy in there. I’ve never locked her in the truck before by herself but it’ll have to work now.
The crackling has only increased, and here inside the trailer my throat and eyes burn. The damn cats are probably hiding from the smoke. I head to Mom’s room where Silver likes to hide. He’s an old cat, Mom got him as a kitten nine years ago, a year after Dad died, and he’s pretty solitary. Cocoa’s a bit friendlier, but he also roams the house more. I lean under the bed. No Silver. Damnit.
“Silver,” I call, eyes watering. I can’t stay in here much longer. “Silver!” I have to keep my voice sweet otherwise they won’t come out, the dummies. I always did like dogs better. “Silver, come here damnit.”
A car horn blares through the darkness. Something bangs. “Mike!” Dale calls through the house.
“I’m getting the cats!” I yell.
“We gotta go!”
“You go, I’ll follow!”
He doesn’t reply, so I continue hunting for Silver. In the bathroom, the tub—there, behind the toilet. When I grab Cocoa he hisses at me, but I tighten my grip and shove him in the carrier in the laundry room. “Shut up,” I say as he moans at me. “Shut up. Just better hope I get your friend out.”
The trailer park is covered in darkness and people are talking, cars starting, wind whipping, fire snapping and popping ever closer with tiny sparks pricking my skin. Dale’s truck sits idling a few feet ahead; he’s got someone in his passenger seat, maybe Earl, the ninety-two-year-old guy who lives next door to him. I open the back truck door and shove Cocoa in.
“Michael?” Mom’s eyes are wide. “Michael, where are we going?”
That’s a good question. “We’re getting out of here, Mom, I’ll be right back.”
I check the laundry room, the living room, the corner by the TV. No cat. I check the litter box again. This is ridiculous. I’m going to burn looking for a cat. But damnit, Mom loves her cats, and they don’t know any better. Yeah, I’m a real tough guy. I lean under my bed.
Silver darts out, and I swear and grab her. She whips her head around but I move my hand out of the way just in time for her claw instead of her tooth to sink into the soft flesh of my hand between my thumb and index finger. I hiss right back at her and swat her over the head, cursing. “Want to burn to a crisp? Be a fried kitty? Don’t think so.” I shove her in the carrier, hand gushing blood, then dash to the bathroom to grab a Band-Aid. Except we’re out. Shit. The fire roars and wind rattles the trailer, jiggling the medicine cabinet. I should go back to the truck, but this thing is bleeding good. Silver howls. “Shut up!” I yell, rummaging. I finally find a few giant Band-Aids left in the far corner of the cabinet and stick one on. Grab the cat, grab the bags, lock the door behind us.
This isn’t night; it’s another world. The trees up the road are lit with flame and sparks shoot into the dark sky. Brake lights line the road in front of me and Dale.
“We should have got out of here sooner,” Mom says. I clench my fists around the steering wheel and try to keep my head from exploding.
“Did you get the water hose?” Mom asks.
The what? “No. It’s—”
“Why didn’t you get the water hose? We could be putting this out! Go back!” Mom swats at the door—thank God for childproof locks.
“Mom, no, no.” Ah hell, I know it’s no use. I let her yell and cry and writhe about some water hose I’ve never heard of, and then she says, “Your father would know what to do. Where’s your father?”
Shit. The road is bumper-to-bumper traffic, all stopped. Dale leans in front of his rearview mirror, then settles. I stifle a cough.
“Where’s Mark? Why isn’t he with us?”
“He’s not here, Mom.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s been gone a long time.” She doesn’t know, not anymore. Dad wasn’t the last thing she forgot, but when she started forgetting him I knew she was really going downhill. I hit the brakes again, and the carriers in the back slide—too far. “What was that?” Mom shrieks.
“Relax.” I twist around. The carriers have slid right off onto the floor somehow; I didn’t even brake that hard. I should’ve put them on the floor in the first place. I set Silver and Cocoa upright slowly, hoping they know I’m sorry. They’re still moaning and seem all right, so I turn back.
“Use the freeway,” Mom says.
“What?” I can’t do anything anyway, might as well entertain her fantasies.
“The freeway. Get on the freeway. It’s faster.”
I bite my lip. It’s no use. She doesn’t know where we are half the time anyway.
“Michael, use the freeway!”
“Mom, there is no freeway to use, okay, we’re stuck here. This is the only road out.” Stupid town. Stupid town, who makes a town with only four roads in and out? We should have gone north, but the traffic’s backed up that way too. And there’s nothing north except more trees, and more flame, probably.
Something pops to our left and a tree falls, crashing into another one. Mom jumps. I taste ash.
We’re all going to fry here on this road. All of us, sitting ducks, dumb enough to follow the leader. Except that’s all we can do. There’s no getting out of this.
“Is this traffic for the fairgrounds?” Mom asks.
“No.” Geez no. I’d pay a million bucks for this to be about the fairgrounds.
“Isn’t this for the fair? Busier than usual, isn’t it?”
“No—” ah hell Mike, drop it! But we’re not moving. Not moving one bit.
“My son Michael, I wonder if he’s showing a pig this year, he always liked his pigs but Jody with her lamb was just beautiful . . ."
Dale waves. I lean forward, trying to see his hands. He’s pointing—left. I glance that way. Just trees. But he’s pointing, and now his tires turn that way. He must know a way to get through. At this point I’d follow him anywhere. He crosses the northbound lanes and bounces onto the dirt. I pull forward.
A black car honks and creeps up in the northbound lanes, blocking me. What the hell? The driver yells, waving his arms--I’m going, what are you doing?
“I’m getting through!” I yell, even though it’s pointless, you can’t hear anything through the roaring flames. “Let me go! Back up!”
Of course he can’t now.
I squint past the northbound lanes. Dale’s stopped his truck a few yards into the trees, waiting. He shouldn’t wait. What is he waiting for? He needs to haul ass out of here.
“Did you get the cats? Where are the cats?”
“They’re here, they’re here. In the back.”
“Do they have food?”
Shit. “No, I don’t know, they’re okay.” More cars honk up ahead and the guy in front of me here pulls up even farther. The prick. “What is your problem?” I yell at him.
“Michael, where are your manners?”
I will not explode. I lean my head back on the headrest, breathe, squeeze the steering wheel, release, squeeze, release. Another tree crashes.
We’ve got to go.
I inch up as close as I can to the black car. Other cars have stopped, seeing what I’m doing; they’re all polite. The guy in the black car pulls forward, but I still can’t make it.
“Come on! Are you serious?”
“Jody would never have yelled like that, she was always so gentle and calm . . .”
The black car inches up. The driver behind him nods to me, waves, Go ahead, at least he knows what I’m doing, and I wave to him, Thanks, and gun it through.
We jostle around from the impact with the dirt, but these tires are tough, made for four-wheeling, as if I ever four-wheeled myself. First time for everything, Dad might say. Funny I still quote him after all these years. Dale pulls forward and I follow, increasing speed, twenty-five, thirty, forty, fifty. He better know where he’s going.
The trees around us loom black, backlit by bright orange flames, wood crackling and sparking. We’re surrounded by flames. My skin glares red. We’re headed straight into a forest of flames. There’s no road here, but at least we’re moving. Maybe that’s a dumb thing to think but at this point I really don’t care.
Dale brakes. I slam my foot down.
He waves in the mirror and points right. Wherever he thinks is best, I’ll go.
We accelerate but only to forty-five, because the trees are thicker here. And just as on fire as the ones back there are. Damn, this fire moved quick. They always do. No one’s ever prepared. Why didn’t anyone tell us to get out?
Dale accelerates. I do too.
“Did you get the cats? Michael, did you get—”
“Yes Mom, they’re in the back seat. They’re okay.”
“Did you get their food?”
For the love of everything holy. “No. They’re fine. They’ll be fine.”
“Are they even in here?” Mom tries to turn.
“Yes, they’re in here.” Why do I try. It’s been a long four years. I thought I could take care of her. In some ways I can. In some ways--
“I don’t see them, Michael.”
“Because they’re on the floor, Mom. Can you hear them?”
Shit, they’re not making any noise. “Hey,” I reach a hand back and thump on a box. “Hey there. Silver. Cocoa. Hey.” I thump harder.
“Mew,” says Silver or Cocoa. Thank God.
“See, they’re fine,” I say, tears running down my cheeks from the flames. My shirt is stuck to me, soaked with sweat. My hands are slick on the steering wheel, and I keep moving them around to dry spots but they only stay dry for a few seconds. My chest is tight and when I think about it I realize I haven’t really been breathing. I try to inhale deep. I can’t.
“If we’re going to Jody’s,” Mom says—my sister’s, she lives way down near the East Bay, “you better call her. You know how she works all hours.”
Right. She works hard and I don’t. Paula up in Spokane works hard and I don’t. I never have. I’ve always been “where are your manners” Mike, “what are you doing,” “why don’t you do this.” Not that I have anything personally against my sisters; they’re nice enough. And Jody knows I’m doing what could be her job. You’re crazy, she said, moving to Paradise just for Mom. We’ll put her somewhere. You can’t do that.
I can and I will, I said. I’ve already found a job in Paradise, I said. What do you think of them apples? I didn’t say that part.
You’re crazy, she said. We’ll put her in a facility.
She’s not bad enough for that yet, I said. I’m doing it. I’m just moving from Chico, for God’s sake. It’s only fifteen miles. No big deal.
I took on the work she didn’t want to do herself. As if I could do it.
Damn it is hot. I can’t get a proper breath at all anymore, and I’m sure Mom with her COPD can’t either. I’ve got to get us out of here. Come on Dale, where is the road? He grew up here. If he doesn’t get us out of here I’m never going to forgive him.
Mom coughs.
“Cover your mouth with your shirt,” I say to her. Of course she doesn’t comprehend. “Here.” I grab her shirt collar, glance over to see her face, pull the shirt up--
The turn is too tight, we’re too fast, and the truck slams into the tree.
No airbags burst open. That’s a good thing. Maybe.
“You all right?” I turn to Mom. She looks fine, shirt not over her mouth. “Mom.” I pull her hand back up over her mouth. “Keep it there.”
“Hey!” echoes through the roar. I open my door and double over from the burn of the smoke, skin pulsing with heat. Everything smells like ash, the world’s largest fireplace burning out of control. When I force open my eyes a slit I see sparks everywhere.
“You okay?” Dale yells from over the hood of my truck.
“Yeah!” I can’t tell about the truck. The hood could just be crumpled a bit, or the radiator could have been impacted. “I need to check under the hood!” Smoke fills my throat and I cough, unable to see.
“Get in!” Dale’s yelling. I can’t see. Then I can, and see he’s getting Mom out of the truck. I like his plan. I pull out the keys, sling the bags over my shoulders, grab the cats and tramp around the back of the truck. The world is black, cracking, charring, and my skin is blood red. We’re being roasted alive.
Dale takes the cats from me. “Get in the truck!”
“Where’s Mom?”
“Back seat, get in the back with—” he doubles over, hacking. I can barely make out his truck, and aim for the door handle.
The cats are down by our feet. Mom says, “Who are you again?” to either Dale or Earl, the old guy up front who Dale gave a ride to. Dale guns the engine.
“You better know how to get us out of here,” I say, my voice crackling just like the flames.
“Don’t worry,” Dale says, as if we’re perfectly safe. He’s too confident.
“Are you Mark? Mark?” Mom leans forward.
“Mom, no. No. He’s not Mark.” I cough. My eyes won’t stop watering. I don’t really want to get into a whole conversation with her now.
Dale swerves suddenly. “Where the hell is the highway,” I ask him.
“Gimme a second, this was an old logging road, it’ll come out here somewhere.”
Somewhere. Great. Well, at least our options are clear-cut: get out, or burn alive. Simple enough.
“Where’s Mark? Did we leave him behind?” Mom asks, in a rare moment of actually knowing we’re in a dangerous situation.
“No,” I say, and hack. “No. Cover your mouth.” I push her shirt collar up over her mouth again while trying not to cough. She won’t keep her hand up, though. Geez, her COPD’s going to go crazy. I didn’t get her any of her meds. Shit. I just shortened her life.
“Mark used to have a car like this. Rode nicely, too. Big seats, big windows. We went camping in it. We slept in the back seat, it was so big.”
They didn’t go camping in it—they drove to San Francisco in it, and when they went camping in later years, slept in a tent—but I don’t correct her. Once the long-term memories start going it’s no use trying to correct anything anymore. It’s taken me long enough to learn that.
Road. “Gun it!” I yell at Dale, but he brakes, the idiot, except there’s traffic on this road too. He’s smart. Damn. “Go!” I yell at the traffic. We’re going to get stuck here. Stuck again. We’re really going to die.
“Relax,” Dale says, and pulls out smoothly, waving to thank the man who let him out. We’re barely doing twenty, but at least we’re moving. Kind of.
Walls of flame hem us in on both sides. I hold Mom’s hand on her shirt up over her mouth and do something I haven’t in a long time: pray.
The truck rolls to a stop. All around us flames shoot into the black sky. My body feels like it might implode from the heat. It’s a wonder the vehicles aren’t melting.
After the fifth time we inch forward and stop I lose hope of getting anywhere. Thirty minutes stretches into an hour and we don’t move above fifteen miles an hour. And still the flames burn, right along the sides of the road, causing sweat to drip down ours faces and shirts and Mom to cough. Two hours, and she’s coughing more, and I’m wishing I had brought water. Three hours, still surrounded by flames, and we’ve moved only about eight miles.
God, please. I don’t know what quality of life Mom can really have anymore, but she doesn’t deserve to die like this. Dale and Earl don’t deserve to die like this.
A tree crashes feet away from my window, and I flinch. Sweat rushes down Earl’s face, down Mom’s face. She’s fallen silent, no longer coughing, lips parted for breath, eyes open but seeing only her own world, or maybe nothing. Her chest barely rises. I press my hand more firmly over her mouth and wrap my arm around her, as if that’s going to help anything. “You okay?” I ask her. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t look at anything.
I close my eyes and push down the panic in my chest.
“Hey!” Dale calls. I open my eyes. “We’re getting out of it.”
That can’t be possible, but it is: the flames are gone, the grass and buildings along the sides of the road are unscathed. We’ve dipped down into the valley, creeping toward Chico. “I think we’re out of it,” Dale says, squinting against the still-dark sky.
Forty minutes later Dale pulls into an office building parking lot along with hundreds of other cars. People are everywhere, children clutching blankets, parents clutching children, dogs on leashes. The sky is still black.
We climb out. I leave the carriers in the truck for now, but lean in to check on their occupants. Both cats are scared and hiss at me, but they’re all right.
The old man Earl stands with his cane by the passenger-side mirror. “You okay?” I ask, touching his shoulder.
He nods. “Yeah, by some miracle.” He coughs. He probably needs some oxygen. At the least we could use masks.
Dale walks over, eyes bloodshot. “They’re setting up shelter in a church down the way.”
“Okay.” Maybe they’ll have masks.
“Where’s your mom?”
I spin around. She’s nowhere. “Mom!”
Then I see her. She’s talking to a woman, a younger woman with two kids clutching her hands and a blanket around her shoulders. “Well, I’ve got to find my husband,” Mom is saying. “He’s around here somewhere, I know it. Have you seen him?”
“What does he look like?” the younger woman asks.
Mom doesn’t reply, because she doesn’t know. The woman sees me, I smile at her, and Mom turns.
“Mark! Oh, it’s good to see you!” She squints at me through her glasses. “Mark? It is you, right?”
I laugh, and my chest hitches and tears run down my face. There is nothing to say.
Dale appears, talking to her, leading her back toward the truck. He glances at me as he passes, and squeezes my shoulder. The tears course down my face heavy and wet, forging paths through the grime on my skin.
A moment later I turn and follow him.
