the tall trees, on the fourth a sheer drop to the water. From the bluff's edge stabbed a finger of rock from which vital imaginations could have envisioned Mohammed stepping off into the sky, or more appropriately, Ammonites casting sacrificial children into the smoldering valley of Gehenna.

The women stretched out on the clover. "We've got about eighteen hours," Ramona said. "I wonder where they'll send us next?"

Faith looked at the gasoline tower standing forth like the brooding potentate of King's Lake a quarter mile away. "Is the wind picking up?"

"I hope not."

"Ramona, I think I made a big mistake. I'm not up to this."

Ramona propped herself on one elbow. "Don't say that."

"It's true. I can't hack it."

"You're doing fine. This isn't an ordinary fire, Faith. None of us can hack it. And you're not going to throw away two years of training. When you talk like that you sound like..." She stopped and set her lips. "The guy was a jerk, Faith. It's been long enough, I can say that now."

"Ramona, please..."

"You were his fiancée for three years, for Christ's sake. That's not an engagement, it's casual dating."

"Don't be mean."

"You sound like him again."

Faith closed her eyes. "I'm too tired for this."

Ramona watched her for a moment, then dropped back to the clover, and in the silence they both went finally to sleep.

Too soon, clamoring engines woke them. They looked to King's Lake where a traffic jam clogged the main road while firefighters and civilians hurried about. Faith glanced up at the trees.

"The wind has picked up."

"We'd better get back."

They found the road heavy with traffic. Hoping they would not put her back on the line, Faith stumbled behind Ramona, and noticed as they entered King's Lake that on the sign which read, "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here," someone had drawn flames in red marker.

D Company gathered beside the truck and milled about until Chuck Evans emerged from the hotel with the other captains and the battalion chief. The captains broke for their various companies; Chuck strode over to the truck and with raised hands settled his people.

"This is the story. The latest FSA from Incident Command indicates that the winds are shifting and should be picking up over the next forty-eight hours. Hell's Burning is changing direction. It's heading dead east." A nervous trill went through the company. Chuck said quickly, "That's not as bad as it sounds! They expect it to follow the canyons into the High Sierra where it should burn out when the fuel fails. But one of those canyons is King's River, and when the winds pick up it could spot south. So we're evacuating everything from King's River to the northern edge of Sequoia National Forest."

Someone called, "Tell me we're going to stay here and fireproof the town."

"You wish. We're going down to help establish a containment line at the east end of Kaweah Canyon."

Someone shouted, "Are they nuts!" and someone else said, "We didn't get any sleep!"

"Settle down. BIFC is sending resources from Idaho. But they won't get here for a few hours, and until then we have to get the containment started. You'll all be in bed by sundown. So get your gear, we leave in twenty minutes."

* * *

In Faith's mind hung a haze just as dark. Thinking the life of a firefighter proved less than glamorous if it included so little of the saving of babies and so much of the shoveling of dirt, she toiled with an insensate labor. The increasing wind which brought with it a sharp tincture of smoke passed beneath her notice, as did the thinning of the company as they worked along the line. Forsaken as well passed the stride of time, its hours abridged into minutes; dusk was approaching when she paused to catch her breath.

She set down the drip torch and looked about a backburned field not much larger than the bluff above the lake. Chuck had been summoned back to the advance camp some time ago and the remainder of the company had disappeared around a turn in the road. The wind -- which had shifted yet again, due south as best she could judge -- whipped the treetops like a taskmaster bending reluctant charges to their toil. She scratched a sweaty itch where the heavy turnout coat chafed her neck, stomped her boot to dislodge a sodden fold of sock wedged between her toes, thought about bed, and once more hefted the torch.

A bush tanker with a company riding its bumpers appeared on the road to the west and shot by the field. She waved, but they quickly disappeared again into the trees.

She returned to work. The wind suddenly gusted, thrusting into the field and tossing her helmet to the ground. She picked it up and returned it to her head, then paused; with the gust came the tang of smoke, thicker now, a raspy reek which made her cough. She looked to the north, but the falling dusk mixed so deeply with the smoke that she could not tell one from the other.

Her radio beeped. She unclipped it and stuffed her gloves into her belt. "D Company."

"Kelly!" came Chuck's voice. "Ramona just did a head count. Why aren't you with the company?"

"I thought I was. What's happening?"

"I'm at King's Lake. The fire spotted across the Canyon. Everyone's been ordered up the road."

"Where's the fireline now?"

"Last position reported was around the eighty-five mile marker. Where are you?"

She walked to the road, read the number on the metal signpost, and said stiffly, "I'm at eighty-five miles."

"You'd better get out of there. Don't head east, it'll take you towards the fireline. Head west. There's a company working there that can take you to Squaw Valley."