Chapter 2 - The Weight of Logistics"
What is she doing here?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"She was visiting her sister in Placerville," Ryan said, his voice dropping into that clinical register he used when briefing a flight crew on mechanical failure. "They got caught in the outer perimeter. Her niece has chronic asthma. The smoke index here is off the charts. If Chloe stays in this air for another ten minutes, she’s going into status asthmaticus."
"And Brooke?" My voice wasn't loud, but it carried a razor edge that made Ryan blink. "Does Brooke have chronic asthma?"
"Natalie, this isn't the time for your domestic cross-examination," Ryan snapped, his jaw tightening. "Weight is weight. The density altitude is spiking because of the heat. Every pound counts. I have calculated the fuel burn, the passenger load, and the thermal lift required to clear the ridge. Four passengers is the absolute limit for safety."
"We are three," I said, pointing from myself to Caleb, then back to Ryan. "You, me, and our son. Mason and the rest of the camp can shelter in the stone basement—Marcus already organized that. But we are a family. We leave together."
Ryan shook his head, his hand resting instinctively on the door handle of the helicopter.
"Brooke and Chloe are already manifested in my head-count for the outbound vector to Auburn Municipal," Ryan said, speaking with the cold finality of a man issuing a flight plan. "Chloe is a minor in medical distress. Brooke is her guardian."
"I am a medical professional," I said, my chest tightening so severely I could barely pull the smoky air into my lungs. "Caleb has a history of childhood bronchial hyper-reactivity. If we're talking about medical vulnerability, my son’s lungs are just as fragile as that little girl's!"
"Caleb is walking and talking," Ryan said sharply. "Chloe is wheezing. The decision is made."
He turned away from me, walking toward Brooke and her niece, who were hurrying across the scorched grass.
That was when Caleb stopped crying.
My nine-year-old son, who had been clutching my hand with bone-crushing intensity just seconds before, let go. He stood there, his small chest rising and falling beneath his green camp t-shirt, watching his father gesture for Brooke to climb into the front passenger seat of the aircraft.
"Dad?" Caleb called out.
His voice didn't crack. It was small, flat, and hollow.
Ryan paused with his hand on the door frame, not turning fully around. "Get with your mother, buddy. I’ll turn the bird around as soon as I drop these two at Auburn. It'll take twelve minutes. Just stay in the stone lodge."
Then he helped Brooke up into the cabin.
May you like
Brooke didn't look at me. She pulled her niece in beside her, fastened her headset with trembling fingers, and stared straight ahead through the tinted windshield.
The door slammed shut with a heavy, mechanical thud that sounded like a prison gate locking from the outside.
