The Maddox Brothers: Beautiful Burn Part 14

I blew an errant long bang from my face, even more p.i.s.sed at myself than I already was, and if I was honest, p.i.s.sed at Paige. She didn't know how hard I'd been working, though. She wasn't responsible for my new path; that was all me.

Tyler guided me to his truck and helped me inside. I tried to face forward and keep my eyes on the road, because riding in the back of the Audi on the way to Winona's an hour before was rather brutal.

Less than fifteen minutes later, we turned onto Mills Drive. His truck bounced over the uneven asphalt and ice as he parked in a lot south of the station.

"Sorry," he said. "We've got a short walk."

A vent was bleeding white mist out of the side of the brown building, and I stepped down and looked across the street, squinting my eyes to try to see if the lights were on yet at the MountainEar.

"If you need to throw up, now is the time," Tyler said, walking around the front to stand next to me. His thick arm hooked around my shoulders, but I shrugged away.

"I'm fine. Don't baby me. I did this to myself."

"Yes. Yes, you did." Tyler stepped through the blanket of snow covering the broad gap between his truck and the station. We reached the back door, and with a quick twist of the k.n.o.b, it was open. Tyler swept his arm toward the hallway ahead. "After you."

I crossed my arms to ward off the cold as I walked inside. It was much harder to keep warm when I was hungover for some reason-another thing to be p.i.s.sed about.

Tyler stomped his boots on a large industrial mat, and I did the same. He gestured for me to follow him down a hallway lined with cheap frames holding pictures of former superintendents and a few fallen fire fighters. The last picture was from the late nineties, and the guy couldn't have been more than twenty-five. I paused, staring at his freckles and sweet smile.

We pa.s.sed an open doorway that led to a brightly lit garage full of pumper trucks, engines, and equipment. Packs and helmets hung from hooks on the walls, and extra hoses were squared away on large shelves.

"I'll let you get some shots in here after we get the okay from the superintendent," Tyler said. "My squad boss said he's in today, sorting through applications."

After a few closed doors, we crossed the threshold of another doorway. Tyler pointed behind us. "That's the squad boss's office. The superintendent is in there now, cussing at the computer. His name is Chief."

"Is he the chief or superintendent?"

"His name is Chief. His position is superintendent. He's the one who has to clear you to stay at the dorms."

"Gotcha. Wait. I'm staying at the dorms? Where are the dorms?"

"Farther into Rocky Mountain National Park. If you're going to follow us around, we can't come into town to get you every time we get a call."

"Holy s.h.i.+t. So I'm going to have to, like ... pack?"

"Yep. These," he said, nodding forward, "are our quarters. TV room," he said, pointing left. Two sofas and four recliners sat in front of a large television. It was a widescreen, but seemed to be its own unit, older than most of the guys watching it. Tyler waved, and they waved back, curious but not enough to move from their chairs. "Another office," he said, pointing to a room farther down on the left. "We do our reports on that computer. And there," he said, pointing right, "is the kitchen."

I walked through the doorway, seeing a rectangular table that seated eight on one side, and a modest cooking area with cabinets on each side, a refrigerator, and a stove. Next to the sink sat a toaster and a microwave. They seemed to have everything they needed, although it was the size of a closet to serve eight or so men.

Tyler continued through a second doorway. "These are the sleeping quarters."

"Seriously?" The room looked like an infirmary, with beds set almost side-by-side, separated only by individual, square, armoire-like pieces. "What are those?"

"They hold our personal belongings-extra clothes, coats, stuff like that. There are two on each side, sort of like lockers."

"You sleep like this? In one big room with a bunch of guys?"

"Sometimes. Yes, some of them snore."

I made a face, and Tyler laughed. "C'mon. Let's go see the superintendent."

We walked back through the kitchen, pa.s.sing the guys in the TV room. They were just beginning to stir, standing up and stretching.

"Are they going somewhere?" I asked.

"They eat breakfast and watch the news. Then they go down and do ch.o.r.es unless we get a call. In off-season, we work a typical forty-hour week, five AM to four PM or four PM to ten PM."

"No fires at night?"

"Yeah, for the full-time engine guys."

"Ch.o.r.es?"

"Yep. Wash the vehicles, sweep and mop floors, dishes ... whatever. We don't have maids here."

I snarled at him, knowing it was a dig at me.

"Downtime-if we get any-is a lot different at the hotshot duty station. We dig new trails and fix fence and signage, run drills..."

"So, not really downtime," I said.

Tyler knocked on the door across from the quarters, and a deep voice growled from the other side.

"Come in, d.a.m.n it!"

Tyler winked at me and opened the door. The superintendent sat behind his desk, partially hidden by several file folders and an ancient, boxy computer, looking frustrated.

"Hey, Chief. I have a journalist here who-"

"Do you know anything about Twitter?" Chief asked, his black eyes targeting me.

"Pardon?" I said.

"The Twitter. Do you know anything about it? Someone with a lot more time and who makes a lot more money than me decided we needed to have a Twitter account, and I haven't the slightest f.u.c.king clue how to ... what is it called?"

"Tweet," Tyler said, trying not to laugh.

He pounded his fist on the desk. "G.o.dd.a.m.n it! Tweet!"

"Yes. I could probably help," I said, "but I'm here on an a.s.signment, Mister..."

He looked at me only briefly before shaking his head and returning his attention to the computer. "It's just Chief. What a.s.signment?"

"I'm a ... photographer for the MountainEar." Even though it was the truth, I felt like I was lying. "I've been a.s.signed to the Alpine Hotshots. Mr. Wick would like to share with the community what you guys do."

"We tweet," he grumbled.

Tyler breathed out a laugh. "Chief, c'mon. Miss Edson would like to-"

"Edson?" Chief said, finally deciding I was worth more of his consideration than Twitter.

s.h.i.+t.

Chief narrowed his eyes at me. "As in Edson Tech?"

"Uh..." I began, not sure which was the right answer. My father had just as many enemies as he had friends. Probably more.

"She's just a photographer," Tyler said. "Quit busting her b.a.l.l.s and tell her yes or no. I'm in here on my day off."

"Yeah, and why is that?" Chief asked.

"I owe her a favor," Tyler said.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Can she shadow the crew and take pics or not?"

"Did she get her red card?"

"Chief," Tyler said, exasperated.

"If she can show me how to send a twit, then yes."

I took off my coat, handed it to Tyler, and walked around the desk, kneeling next to the superintendent. "Tweet, Chief. You tweet on Twitter. And you have to have an account to tweet. Fill this out."

He tapped on the keyboard, following the steps to create an account.

"Click on that b.u.t.ton," I said, pointing. "Here, you can upload a photo. I bet you have your logo in your Pictures folder." I clicked a few times, and like I'd thought, the Alpine Hotshot logo was in a file folder. One of their snapshots from the field made for a nice header photo, and then I stood. "All set."

"All set for what?" Chief asked.

"Click on that icon, and type whatever you want."

"Not whatever you want, Chief," Tyler specified. "Type something a.s.sociated with the hotshots, but no cuss words. And keep it under a hundred and forty characters."

He wrinkled his nose. "A hundred and forty what?"

"Just write about that cleanup we helped with the other day. Or the food drive we're doing this weekend. Tell them we're ready for the upcoming fire season and post the group photo. Short and sweet."

"Cleanups and food drives? You guys do stuff like that?" I asked.

"Yeah. All the time." Tyler said the words as if I should have known.

After a knock on the door, a familiar voice began to speak. "Who's the skirt?"

I turned to see Taylor standing in the doorway. It was downright unsettling how identical he was to Tyler.

I glared at him. "I'm not wearing a skirt, nor am I a skirt. And you know perfectly well who I am."

Taylor winked and smiled. "Be sure to tell all your Tumblr feminists you were offended first," he said before turning for the TV room.

Tyler's jaws pulsed beneath the skin, but then he breathed out slowly.

The superintendent's eyes danced between where Taylor stood, Tyler, and me. "What the h.e.l.l was that about?"

"Nothing, Chief. Did you tweet?"

Chief clicked the mouse and sat back in his chair, perching his elbows on the armrests. "It's tweeting!"

"Is Ellie clear?"

"She's clear. Keep her in the black or in the G.o.dd.a.m.n safe zone, and get the h.e.l.l out of my office. I have work to do."

"Aye, Chief," Tyler said, shooing me into the hall.

"The black?" I whispered from the side of my mouth.

"The area that's already been burned to a crisp," Tyler said, mimicking me.

I breathed out a sigh of relief. "That was more difficult than I imagined."

"He's a good guy. He gets s.h.i.+t done, makes sure we have all the equipment we need, even when the bra.s.s don't always think we need it."

"Bra.s.s?"

"Government higher-ups. It's a budgeting thing. Constant fight. Not why you're here. Let's go meet some of the guys."

Tyler led me to the truck bay where the rest of his crew was hard at work. Two of them had the hood up on one of the trucks, two were sweeping and mopping the concrete floor, and a few more were in the corner with the equipment.

"What are those?" I asked, pointing to the axe/hammer hybrids hanging from the wall.

"Oh, those are pulaskis. Those," he said, pointing to a shovel-like tool, "are rhinos. We make those here."

"You make those?"

"Yeah, with the welder, a saw, a sander, and a few other tools. Whatever we can find, really. We have to get creative sometimes."

I pulled out my camera, took a few shots of the tools, and then aimed at the crewmembers going about their day. Tyler approached the men tinkering under the hood of a vehicle that looked like an oversized ambulance.

"This is a crew bus," Tyler said.

"When it runs," one of the men said.

"The sign outside says Interagency, and you have Interagency equipment here, but also engines, and this is the city fire department?" I asked, confused.

Tyler shrugged. "Double duty. Just makes things easier, especially since a lot of us do both urban and wildland. It's closer to town, too, during off-season."

I nodded, pulling out my notepad and pen.