CHAPTER 25: My City Was Gone

Shortly after sunrise, Ginnie Anderson drove north along Fireroad 35 to Shannon’s Peak, through charred trees and blackened brush and past tired, sooty men mopping up the hotspots. “Not a pretty sight, Ginnie!” one yelled.

“How many acres?” she asked.

“Am thinking ’bout a hundred or so,” he replied.

“Good job,” said Ginnie.

Ginnie found a high point and parked to take a look. Off to the east, the fire inspector walked the area slowly as he backtracked the path of the fire, seeing its source. Cheryl was still sleeping so Ginnie got back in her truck and chose a road skirting the burn. She turned a corner slowly.

A soot-covered Seamus Boyle was checking the ties on the drones in the back of his black Suburban when Ginnie’s green truck pulled up. He closed the back door quickly, but a dragon egg—its orange and white exterior painted charcoal—rolled out. He kicked it into the brush, hoped she hadn’t noticed.

Ginnie saw him kick what she thought was a dog’s ball into the brush. She popped her head out the window. “Hey,” she said. “You worked hard.”

“Was out hiking,” said Boyle. “Stayed to help. Needed some sleep. Clearing out now.”

Ginnie gave him one of her prettiest smiles. “You did a great job. Thank you,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m Ginnie.”

“Mark,” said Boyle, smiling and shaking her soft hand firmly. Blonde bombshell, he thought, noticing a little girl sleeping in the back seat.

“Need something to eat?” asked Ginnie.

“No, thanks,” he said. “Just ate. Gotta get back to Seattle.”

“Well, thanks again,” she said, driving away, waving over her shoulder.

Boyle waved back, turned his back and pulled out his notebook, jotted down her license plate. He searched in the brush, found the charcoal-colored dragon egg and placed it in a box with the others in the back of the Suburban, shut the door. He got behind the wheel and sat for a few minutes, his hands shaking ever so slightly.

This time things hadn’t gone well. Using a drone and dragon eggs, he’d set the fire from at least ten miles away, but the wind had moved the fire back in his direction and sheriff deputies had blocked the road. He told the locals he’d been hiking and offered to help. After they’d called it a wrap, he was so tired he pulled onto a side road and slept long and hard.

Who would think looky-loos would be driving around this early in the morning? he thought. And a blonde bombshell to boot!

He turned the ignition and put the Suburban into drive. Although he desperately wanted to put some distance between himself and this place, he drove slowly, slightly under the speed limit.

Depressing Silvercreek, he thought, swerving to avoid a deer. Let the animals have it. It was theirs first anyway.

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From a ridge to the south, sheltered by a stand of trees not burned by the fire, Nate Halpirn was surprised to see Ginnie’s truck so early. He worried when he saw her stop and talk to the suspect. What if that guy really is an arsonist, panics and hurts Ginnie? he thought, his heart racing. He breathed a sigh of relief when Ginnie drove away unharmed.

Nate knew that arsonists often hang around to watch their fires do their terrible damage. He’d heard they got pleasure that way so, after Grace’s radio call, Nate kept track of the black Suburban.

Beyond the crew brought in by Masters Logging, there was only one other stranger, a tall man with fading red hair cut short on the sides, just like Grace had described.

The man said he was Mark Reading from Seattle. Said he’d been hiking, saw the fire so he’d come to help. Nate thanked him, asked him where he’d parked. He pointed to the black Suburban. There was a Mickey Mouse air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror, just like Grace had said.

Nate gave him a Pulaski and a primer in brush clearing. It was obvious he’d never worked a fire line before, but he was in good shape and had some skills. Military? thought Nate. Later, Nate sent one of the ladies over to snap a photo of the Suburban and its license plate. She’d sent the shots to Nate’s phone.

After the fire was under control, Nate followed the man he knew as Mark Reading as he drove away in the black Suburban and pulled onto a side road. Nate drove a bit further and took the ridge road, parked behind a stand of trees, looking down on the Suburban, watched as it parked. He waited in the cab with his window open. What the heck am I doing? he asked more than once as he fell in and out of sleep.

The sun was barely up when the sound of a door closing jolted Nate awake. The man Nate knew as Mark Reading stretched, opened one of the back doors and pulled out a cooler. He sat on the back end of the vehicle and ate a sandwich, drank a bottle of water, placed his garbage into the cooler. He took a piss and lifted the cooler back into the vehicle, checked on something inside as Ginnie’s green truck pulled up. He jumped out and a small black ball rolled out. He kicked it into the brush and closed the doors quickly.

He and Ginnie talked and then, as she pulled away, he jotted something down in a notebook. Ginnie’s license plate? thought Nate perched on the ridge, watching through his binoculars.

The man Nate knew as Mark Reading searched in the brush and picked up the small black ball he’d kicked there, placed it in the back of the vehicle.

A dog’s ball, wondered Nate, or a dragon egg painted black?

A few minutes later, the black Suburban pulled out and headed to the main road.

Nate drove down the ridge road and waited for him to pass, then turned his big, navy blue truck onto the main road. As they approached Silvercreek, he sped up to make sure the vehicle didn’t get too far ahead of him. They were on the only road a city guy would take to reach Seattle and Nate knew he had time before he had to worry about losing the Suburban in traffic.

He called the sheriff’s office and left a message that he was trailing a suspicious person, included a description and the license plate. “Details to follow,” he said.

Oh, well. Nice day for a drive, he thought, popping in a CD. He drummed his hands on the steering wheel to the familiar beat of Chrissie Hynde’s “My City Was Gone”.

Nate sang along:

I went back to Ohio / But my city was gone / There was no train station / There was no downtown / South Howard had disappeared / All my favorite places / My city had been pulled down / Reduced to parking spaces / Ay, oh, way to go, Ohio

Well, I went back to Ohio / But my family was gone / I stood on the back porch / There was nobody home / I was stunned and amazed / My childhood memories / Slowly swirled past / Like the wind through the trees / Ay, oh, way to go, Ohio

I went back to Ohio / But my pretty countryside / Had been paved down the middle / By a government that had no pride / The farms of Ohio / Had been replaced by shopping malls / And Muzak filled the air / From Seneca to Cuyahoga Falls / I said, ay, oh, way to go, Ohio

Good job, Chrissie, thought Nate as he continued on down the highway.