They had smelled the smoke for days. They had seen the planes and once a helicopter. But tonight Kelly awoke to see a long thin edge of flame somewhere across the valley. She woke Rodge.
``The wind's against it,'' he said. But all night she could not sleep. In the morning black ash was sifting down on them.
``We have to leave,'' she said.
``They'll find us. They'll arrest us.''
``We have to leave,'' she said.
They didn't carry much. A smoke blackened pot, two sleeping bags and a lightweight tent. A collapsible water carrier.
``It's all around us!'' said Rodge.
``We have to stay ahead of it.''
``It's all around us!''
They headed down hill with the wind behind them then followed a creek bed. They could feel the heat now, and they were not alone. A bear and her cub scrambled along in the rocks ahead of them. A small herd of elk, snorting fearfully, overtook them and suddenly the ground was covered with snakes.
The crowns of the trees were blazing. They stood together in the creek bed their arms around each other.
``Let's pray to god!'' Rodge whispered in her ear.
She tore herself away from him and struggled on, rage blazing like the tree tops.
How could he? A devout anarchist like him to suddenly start whining in a baby voice to a god he knew did not exist!
Then she stepped into a hole and found herself under the overhanging creek bank and up to her waist in soft mud.
It was a good place to be.