Wildfire

Chapter One
El Diablo

When the evacuation order came, most of Abel’s neighbours were already gone. He worked early mornings for the local newspaper, so his alarm clock (Abel had bought one with battery backup, just in case—sure enough, the power was out) had just gone off when there was a loud banging at the door. “Mandatory! Get out now,” the police officer threw over her shoulder, already running next door. The homes on the block to the northeast were fully engulfed; the fierce Diablo winds blowing directly into Abel’s face. His camera bags and equipment were in the car, parked in the driveway and ready to go at a moment’s notice; he grabbed his flashlight, found his laptop, phone and a change of clothing, and got the hell out, the wind suddenly whipping him from behind.

Abel had just begun looking for a motel room when his journalistic instincts kicked in—what am I doing? I need to go to work! Returning to his neighbourhood, Abel was stopped by another officer who looked at his proffered press badge and allowed him access as long as he promised to “be careful!” Fishing with his other hand into the bag he’d dragged from the floor behind him into the passenger seat, Abel found his Nikon DSLR, already mounted, and began making shots of the damage, including still-burning homes that were spitting embers all around him as he drove. For some photos, he had no choice but to roll up the window, the flames occasionally way too close for comfort.

Hours passed; blocks and blocks of devastation met his lens. Hundreds of homes, gone.

Abel was afraid to drive down his own street—his entire life was in that house—so he drove up to the rich neighbourhood instead. More devastation; the larger yards and greater distances between homes were no match for gusting winds and angry embers. The farther up the winding streets he went, the more appreciation Abel gained for the name ‘Diablo winds’—it was like the devil himself had blown through his city.

Donde el diablo puso la mano …

Somehow not ablaze himself, Abel managed to make his way back out of the inferno and was looking for more to shoot when his cell phone rang. “Able!” yelled his assignment editor, using her favorite nickname. “Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours!”

“No cell service. Power’s off everywhere.”

“Where are you?” Betty repeated, not mollified in the slightest.

“Making pictures,” Abel answered. “ ¡Dios mío! It’s terrible. Everything’s gone.”

“I should’ve known better. Of course you are,” Betty sighed, relieved. “Ready and Able, huh? Send me what you’ve got while you have a signal. Keep up your usual amazing work!”

“Of course,” Abel teased, and ended the call. Pulling over, he sent everything to the company email, waited for Betty’s confirmation, and got back to work.

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As the morning light came, there was no sun; an orange haze was the only evidence of the passage of time. Homes that were burning when he’d first shot them were smoldering ruins, still belching flames from ruptured gas lines. Abel felt much safer leaving his car at this point; bag over his shoulder, he went to individual homes, framing whatever still stood by the devastation around it: brick and stone entryways, undamaged trees, mailboxes, whatever. He shot cars, bicycles, tricycles and more; some burned to melting, some untouched. Abel loaded memory card after memory card, unable to transmit without cell service. By late morning, he had no more memory, and he’d had enough of the depressing view for now. Back to the office for a much-needed break …

… and then he spotted her. Sitting on the curb, a young girl was staring into her phone, tears silently streaming down her dark face.

Chapter Two
La Niña