Alaska Spark

it. The fire robbed the air of sound except for its own tornadic roar. A scream lodged in her throat, searing it.
Somewhere, a nearby car gas tank exploded, causing Tara’s heart to stutter. She stumbled backward and hit the ground.
Tara choked back nausea as revulsion gripped her. Her body numbed despite the unforgiving heat. She couldn’t will herself to stand. Her muscles wouldn’t work. Paralyzed, she sat on the ground, glued to the unburnt green, transfixed by smoke and flame.
“Get out of there!” yelled a nearby voice as something slammed against her. Strong arms locked around her abdomen, lifting her and dragging her back.
She struggled for a grip on the moment, trying to free herself from the vise grip. “Let go!”
“Wait till the flame front passes,” a deep voice pressed.
Internal hysteria seized her, and her breathing became sporadic and ragged. “I couldn’t get him—"
“Nothing you could do,” said the gruff voice. The arms restricting her released. A firefighter stepped around her and rested gloved hands on her shoulders. His once yellow shirt was sooty with grime, matching hers.
“Look at me.”
She locked onto the taller firefighter’s big blue eyes, an oasis in the orange and red chaos.
“I can’t—can’t breathe…” She couldn’t inhale without coughing. Her mouth tasted like cinders and her stomach’s contents still wanted out. She hated her confusion, her lack of control.
The man lifted Tara’s filthy goggles onto her hardhat. He placed a firm hand under her arm to support her. “Look at me. Inhale…exhale...you’re going to be okay.”
She focused on the gritty face looking down at hers. “Shouldn’t have stopped me,” she croaked, planting her boots apart for stability.
“You were in danger. I had to get you out.”
“He was a dad…a grandpa…” she choked out, erupting into a coughing fit. The image of the man engulfed by flame had etched itself inside her head. She wanted to run screaming across the burnt black to erase it… because you never run into the green. You could die.
She almost had.
“He wasn’t yours to save.”
“Who are you, God? I can take care of myself.” She gritted her teeth and stepped back.
The stranger let go of her shoulders and opened a water canteen, holding it out to her. “Take a sip.”
“Thanks.” She gulped greedily, then splashed water on her face. Her heart still knocked from the turbo injection of adrenaline. “Sorry about the God comment,” she mumbled.
He gave her a dimpled smile. “No worries. You could have died with the homeowner. What’s your name?”
“Tara.” It came out angry and she didn’t care. She swayed, then steadied herself. She raised her hands in front of her and squeezed her eyes closed. “Give me a minute. Where’s the—where are we?” Don’t lose it. Not here, not now.
“In the black. Out of harm’s way.” He pushed his goggles up onto his hardhat, revealing white circles around the pools of blue. Ash and grit streaked his neck and clung to the stubble on his rugged face.
He snapped his fingers. “Tara, look at me. You’re safe. You’ll be okay.”
“But he isn’t.” She could hold back the tears, but not the tremor in her voice.
“You did what you could. Compartmentalize. Focus on the job.” His deep baritone offered her a lifeline. It steadied her.
“Working on it.” She eyed the flames moving away from them, her breathing still ragged.
He fixed his gaze on her and held it there. “Slow your breath. You’ll hyperventilate.”
She saw empathy in his eyes. “Okay, dammit. I am.” She sucked in smoke-tainted air and blew it out, battling for normalcy. There was nothing normal about seeing a person burn to death and failing to prevent it.
Jim made his way to them and peered at Tara. “You okay?”
“Yes.” No. She was still trying to figure how the fire reached the old man before she did. That was not supposed to happen.
Jim nodded at the firefighter. “O’Connor, thanks for helping out.”
O’Connor smiled at Tara’s boss. “Hey, Jim. Came around a building and saw her close to the flames.” He motioned at her. “She’s dazed, but okay.”
Jim spat on the ground. “She tried to get a homeowner out. Did you see him?”
“No, just saw her on the ground in front of the flames. She seemed to be in shock,” said O’Connor.
Tara snapped her brows together. “Hello, don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”
“Sorry, I’m explaining to your crew boss—”
“I can explain it myself, thanks.” She forced a quick smile at O’Connor.
Jim shot her a look and shifted his long-handled Pulaski Axe to extend his hand to the firefighter. “Appreciate your helping out.”
O’Connor shook it. “No worries. Glad I was close enough to help. I’m sure you’ve heard this hellcat’s running and we’ve lost containment. The Incident Commander ordered crews to retreat. He’ll hit her hard from the air.”
Tara sized up his confident, easy manner. He’d brought calm to her storm. She was thankful, but couldn’t form the words.
“Caught it on the radio. We’re moving out now.” Jim looked from O’Connor to Tara.
“I need to find my smokejumper crew,” said O’Connor. “Don’t envy you having to do an AAR for the line of duty death of the homeowner.”
“Yeah, I’ve done After Action Reviews. They aren’t fun, but necessary for lessons learned,” replied Jim.
“Our jump crew will be meeting with McGuire shortly,” said O’Connor. “I’ll inform him about the fatality unless you want to since a member of your crew was involved.”
Jim’s gray mustache became a straight line. “I’ll do it.”
Tara gave O’Connor a double take at the mention of her ex-fiancé, Travis McGuire, a smokejumper and the incident commander for this fire. So, O’Connor was a smokejumper. Of course he knew Travis.
“Smokejumpers are the superheroes of wildfire,” said Tara with a wry smile. “I’ve always thought part of your standard issue should be red capes with an “S” on your jump suits.”
O’Connor’s face softened into another dimpled smile. “You're back in action now.” He hoisted a chainsaw to his shoulder as if it were made of aluminum foil.
“I was never out of the action.” She squinted up