by Owen Davis
Published by Owen Davis at Smashwords
Electronic Adaptation by LesDenton.com
Copyright 2012 Owen Davis
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Table of Contents
About the Author
Becker Lee Knight woke up to the smell of smoke and someone pounding on the side of his camper van yelling, "FOREST FIRE! - EVACUATION MANDATORY!" He heard the campground coming to life as he got dressed.
Looking windward, a bright orange wall of light with yellow flames flashing high into the night sky cast an ominous sight that hastened everyone's activity. Disconnecting more than fifty huge motor homes from the RV Park's electric, water and sewer utilities, and packing up all their lawn chairs, canopies, grills, pets and children normally took half a day in broad daylight. But now it had to be finished in less than an hour, in the dark of night, under a cloud of smoke.
Becker recognized the developing chaos and did everything he could to prevent panic. He directed traffic and helped fellow vacationers break camp and get their vehicles ready for travel before he carried out the same routine on his own rig. Finally, he jump started the last Winnebago and rescued four hikers with their huge back packs crammed into his small RV and carried them to a high school gym designated as a temporary shelter where evacuees were welcome.
Daylight came just before he parked his rig in front of a Wal-Mart Supercenter at some distance from the inferno. Feeling fortunate to have all the luxuries of his home on wheels, he fixed his breakfast while watching the local news on TV. A report of the inferno's progress got his attention, particularly the part identifying a lightening strike as the origin of the fire.
Becker suspected there hadn't been enough time to fully investigate the fire's starting point because only twenty-four hours had passed since the blaze started and it had not been declared under control. His skepticism of all government related things had developed over years of misleading and downright lying statements from politicians.
As the wildfire spread its destruction for several days, every radio news cast and TV story described the place where the lightening strike hit an old Ponderosa pine, splitting it down the center to ignite the inferno. The constant repetition reminded Becker of the practice often used by biased media outlets telling a lie over and over to make it true. He wondered what they were covering up this time and had to go see for himself where the fire started.
He parked as close as possible and put on his hiking boots, hat and backpack. As he reached the top of the ravaged canyon's north side, the Santa Ana Winds blew his hat off, jerked the chin strap around his throat and whipped his white hair about. He hiked north-eastward against the gale with the line of green vegetation on his left. To his right, the sight down the burned out slope covered with ashes and blackened tree trunks, almost brought tears to his eyes.
He finally reached the grotesque, black “V” shaped remains of the old Ponderosa where the blaze supposedly started, according to the reports. Obviously, a lightning strike had split the tree right down the middle, but its position along the ridge bordering the burned out area did not seem to Becker like the logical corner where a fire might have started. More likely, he thought, the wildfire roared south-westward, driven by the wind, past the big tree and igniting it before the lightning struck.
Turning to face the smoky smelling breeze again, he continued along the wall of trees spared by the inferno looking for signs of the fire's origin. Consumed by conjured up images of the horrific flames that had snuffed out centuries of growth, he couldn't help thinking of all the things that might have been done to prevent the disaster, or at least control the extent of damage.
Each step stirred up a spray of ashes until the edge of the burnt area turned south-east around the top of the canyon. Sensing the direction change might indicate he had stumbled onto the area where the fire really started, he poked through the residue with his feet, hoping to find some clues to what first ignited the fire.
"EEOW!" He cried out and jumped to his right, landing on hands and knees. Pain from his left foot shot up his leg taking his breath away. He scurried over to the unburned area, plopped down on the cushion of fallen pine needles and removed his boot. At his age, just over seventy years, the contortions required to look at the bottom of his foot added to his aches, but he finally saw the red, starting to blister ball of his foot where the pain screamed for attention.
Aching through the ordeal from holding the pretzel like position of his left leg, he removed his backpack and retrieved his small first aid kit. Liberally spreading Sudafed over the painful area and taping in place the only available gauze pad gave the burned area as much sterile protection as possible under the circumstances, but it left his mobility severely impaired.
He pulled a clean cushion sole sock over the bandage. However, the large hole burned and melted through the one inch thick sole of his boot left his sore foot unprotected. To keep the dirt and ashes out, he made a three layer duct tape innersole and, after pulling the boot on and lacing it loosely, he wrapped more duct tape around the boot four or five times.
He tried to hold the front of his left foot up so it did not put pressure on the sore part of his foot as he walked, but he knew his old leg muscles couldn't hold that position for very long. He had to find a way to keep his whole foot three or four inches above ground, so he hobbled through the trees until he found a dead limb with just the right configuration to make a short stilt which, taped to his leg, allowed walking without pressure on the ball of his foot.
With another dead stick in hand Becker limped back into the ash covered area poking through the rubble to find whatever caused his hot-foot. It had to be uncovered, quenched, documented and photographed to substantiate the real origin of the wildfire.
One poke paid off. The end of his stick flared up like a match touched to a red hot coal. Startled at first, Becker realized the ashes hid an awesome power because the instantaneous ignition far surpassed the slow progress of flames he had observed many times when adding a new log to a bed of glowing hot coals in a fireplace.
Becker marked the spot and jammed the stick into the ground several times to smother the flame. He used his hat to fan the ashes away from a light shining up through the gray residue. With each wave of the hat, the light intensified and warmth radiated upward. Then, as the last flakes of ashes blew away, he jumped back from the heat stinging his face.
Regaining his balance at some distance from the source, he circled around to get the wind at his back and put on gloves and sun glasses from his backpack. He wished for welding goggles to better protect his eyes from the blinding light which seemed brighter than the sun.
He looked through the holes in his straw hat to filter the light and held his open canteen at arms length as he approached what appeared to be two white hot objects about the size of a robin's egg. The whole content of his canteen emptied on the stones spewed forth a cloud of steam without any noticeable cooling effect. He backed off to consider his next move.
With his hunting knife in his gloved hand and his arm extended as far as possible, he ducked into the hot zone and knocked the objects apart. The extremely high temperature instantaneously vaporized a notch into the blade where it touched the things which began fading into a bright orange.
No heat source he'd ever seen, acetylene or laser torches, coal furnaces, or gasoline fires, even approached such high temperatures that could instantaneously notch a carbon steel specimen without leaving any molten residue.
Taken aback by the strange phenomena, Becker knew no one would believe his discovery. In fact, he questioned whether he had seen it or dreamed it. Nothing in his extensive but obsolete technical knowledge and abundant common sense could possibly explain such extreme heat generated by two plain looking rocks. He had to see it again.
If real, it would be the most significant life changing event since he retired ten years ago and lost his Wife a short time later. He had kept his mind sharp, providing for his Son's education, traveling around the country pursuing whatever interested him at the moment. He liked to help disaster victims and found plenty of them in the wake of Katrina where he volunteered his organization skills, operated heavy machinery, or wielded an ax, chain saw or shovel. His nomadic life style might have seemed strange to some, but he took satisfaction in making things happen the best way possible for all concerned.
With serious doubts about the unimaginable display he had just witnessed, he pushed the stones together again. They flashed white hot just like he had seen before and his knife suffered another notch while flicking them apart. Disbelief gave way to unanswerable questions.
He wondered if an arsonist had placed the stones where he found them. Or, could they have come to earth as a meteor? If they had been in the location for hundreds of years how did they get pushed together? Do they pose a radiation hazard? Do they have commercial value?
Approaching voices interrupted Becker’s thoughts.
His decision came quickly. While he did not doubt his discovery of the wildfire's real origin, he had to give up any further effort to correct the public perception of the wildfire's origin. Instead, he accepted the greater responsibility for keeping the stones out of the hands of those who might exploit them for personal gain and making sure they helped the most people.
Fortunately the stone’s had cooled enough to handle. He put one in his pocket and the other in his backpack and limped several miles, mostly down hill, back to his home on wheels.
Soaked with perspiration and panting, he found the sun baked interior unbearably hot and regretted leaving the doors locked without cracking open the widows and turning on the exhaust fan. He punched the control panel switches to start the generator and air-conditioner and relaxed for a few minutes in the passenger side captain’s chair, turned to face rearward.
The burn on his left foot had not quit hurting, and the knee high stilt taped to his leg felt like it weighed a couple hundred pounds. His whole left side ached from the awkward limping and swinging the added weight, but the makeshift contraption had kept his foot out of the dirt and ashes. He knew the bandage needed changing and he should have a doctor look at it, but that had to wait. Luckily, he could drive without using his left foot.
Becker had selected his Roadtrek RV for its economy, small size and relatively inconspicuous appearance while providing all the accommodations he needed without buying a forty foot long luxury land yacht at six times the price. With a lot of care and skill he could actually maneuver it into a parallel parking space.
He grabbed the wireless keyboard, booted up the most powerful personal computer money could buy and began composing an e-mail describing the stones and how he found them. Like many powerful men who ran the country's industries through the last half of the twentieth century, he had no idea what made his computer work or how to fix it when anything went wrong, but he learned how to use it up to a point. He just never got comfortable trusting the internet or depending on digital records so everything confidential went by snail mail and all the important stuff got printed out and filed in hard copy.
The e-mail disappeared with the delete key and Becker opened his cell phone, highlighted his Son's name, Lee Becker Night, in the contact list and punched the talk button.
“Hi Dad. Where you callin from today?”
“Oh, I thought I told you. I’m still out here in California, trying to make sense out of these burned out hills and canyons where the forests used to be. It’s really sad.”
“Yeah, I know. Too bad they didn’t do more thinning and underbrush control.”