Dave Eggers - Heroes of the Frontier

“Is there a fire, Mom?” Ana asked.

“Not near here,” Josie said.

“Angie said it was close,” Paul said, and then seemed to realize he’d erred. He was usually so careful about keeping news of danger from his sister.

“No,” Josie said. “Angie said it would take an hour to get here. That’s a long way off. And we’re driving away from it, so every mile we drive we double the distance. In an hour we’ll be two hours from it. In two hours we’ll be four hours from it. You understand? We’re heading the opposite way.”

The road was empty, and Josie took this to mean she had been the first to leave the park, and would soon be the first on the highway. She felt like a lone spacecraft escaping an exploding planet — all was dark, all was quiet, and with her two children she had all she needed. In her jumbled mind, spinning with adrenaline, she briefly conflated the fire and this place with her own town, and pictured their house in the path of the fire, being taken by the flames, and she wondered if there was anything inside she would miss. She thought of a dozen things and then reversed herself, believing she would feel cleansed and free if everything inside was burned, gone, turned to ash.

“Where do we go?” Paul asked.

“We’ll drive a few hours to be sure we’re far enough, and then we’ll find a different place to sleep. Or we’ll park somewhere.” Josie pictured a parking spot near water, like the one they’d used their first night, when the trooper had sent them on their way. She wanted to be near water in case they — in case what? Fire overtook them and they needed to jump in the lake? And they would swim in this lake? Or fashion a watercraft and sail away? She decided the specifics didn’t matter. “Strange,” she heard herself say aloud.

“What’s strange?” Ana asked.

She thought it strange that she wasn’t seeing any cars, but then corrected herself, remembering that she was the first to leave the park, and that it was midnight and this was Alaska, and there wouldn’t be dense traffic on any night here, let alone with a wildfire at their heels.

“Nothing,” she said.

“ What’s strange?” Paul asked.

“How much I love you,” she tried.

“No really. Tell us. Tell me.” And now Paul was in the passenger seat. He thought it was something only he should know.

“No. Nothing’s strange.”

“I don’t want to be alone back here!” Ana roared.

“Mom,” Paul whispered. “Tell me.”

“Everything’s strange,” Josie said.

Now he was quiet. It was a plain and truthful statement that went nowhere. It was not the forbidden secret he’d hoped for.

Josie turned on the radio and found Dolly Parton, “Here You Come Again,” and settled in.

“Can you go sit with your sister?” she asked.

He retreated to the back. “Is this Dolly?” Paul asked.

Josie affirmed it was and turned it up. Ahead of her, she found the highway and took the exit. Though she wasn’t expecting traffic, she was surprised to see no cars at all, nothing in either direction. She felt even more like they were alone in space, in an ancient spacecraft, a loud spacecraft, but alone and with no directives to obey.

And now, sneaking around a high hill a quarter mile ahead, there was a light. It was an orange glow peeking around the curve of land, like a sunrise, and Josie found herself checking the time to make sure it couldn’t be the sun. No. It was twenty after twelve. She slowed down. She assumed it was some safety thing, warning lights of some kind. She got ready to stop.

The road wound around the blind turn and when she emerged, a bright orange stripe filled her view. The hillside was on fire.

“Is that a fire, Mom?” Ana asked.

It was a fire, a mile wide and depth without end, but it couldn’t be a fire. There was no one around. No police, no fire engines, no barriers. The road she was taking would more or less take her directly into the flames. Her spaceship was heading into the sun.

“Mom, what are we doing?” Paul asked.

Josie stopped the Chateau. Her heart was leaping but her eyes were mesmerized by the strangely passive sight of the wall of flames. A gust of white wind overtook her view, a burst of dust.

The loud clapping of a helicopter emerged from somewhere above her, and a spotlight appeared on the hillside, and then focused on the road before her, and finally it flooded the Chateau. White light cut through the blinds, striping the faces of her children.

“My arm’s glowing!” Ana said brightly.

A voice barked something from above. She couldn’t make out the words. She opened the window and immediately choked. The air was acrid, poisoned. She coughed, gagged, and closed the window.

“Mom, you have to turn around,” Paul said. “That’s what they’re saying.”

Now Josie heard it, too. “Turn around immediately,” a woman’s voice said from above, sounding like a god both mechanical and annoyed. “Turn around and go. Move, now.”

Josie did a three-point turn as the helicopter hovered above her and then she was on the road, going in the opposite direction. Over the next few miles the helicopter periodically swooped into view as if to confirm Josie was not some suicidal driver bent on self-destruction.

“Remain on this road,” the voice said. “Do not turn around. Continue north.” The helicopter soon lost interest in her and they were alone and in the quiet black again.

“Was that a real fire, Mom?” Ana asked.

“Of course it was,” Paul said. “A forest fire. It was a million acres.”

“Will it burn us now?” Ana asked.

Josie told her no, it wasn’t a million acres, wouldn’t burn them. nothing could, and anyway they were far away already, that they were safe, would outrun any fire.

—

She drove north for an hour, two hours, and the kids finally fell asleep. There were no signs in this part of the state, no rest stops or signs of human settlements. It was madness to keep driving, having no idea if they were heading into the dark heart of the state — wasn’t it mostly national park, ruled by bears?

Josie looked for any kind of accommodation or RV park, but found nothing. She drove on, and finally saw a sign that said BED AND BREAKFAST, and stopped. She checked the time. It was four thirty. They pulled into the dirt driveway, the kids waking to the change in speed. The property was a spread of about three acres set against the high bluff. The main house was a two-story family home with bicycles and tricycles out front, and even a child-sized motorized car, upon which Ana’s eyes had already seized. In the darkness Josie and the kids got out and looked around the house, trying to figure out which was the front, then rang the bell. No one answered.

A small amber light was visible through the thicket behind the house and Josie guessed it to be the guest cottage. She led Paul and Ana to it. “Are we staying here?” Ana asked, and Josie thought of the strangeness of what they were doing, tramping through a path in the woods, to a cottage high on a bluff, long past midnight, alone.

The cottage came into view and looked new. The amber light came from a sconce on the porch, happy with new chairs and heavy cushions. There was a light on inside, too, and Josie, while feeling half-sure that the cottage was occupied, and that there was some outside chance someone would appear, angry or armed, also had a distinct confidence that the cottage was empty. She peered in and waited for movement. There was none. It was an A-frame, and all within was visible and built of new pine: a tidy kitchen, a pair of couches and matching chairs, a loft above where a large bed, empty, was visible, covered in a thick yellow comforter.

“We can’t go in there,” Paul said.