Running On Empty

ERIN AND MAX (Write to Rank 2023 Round 6)

Day 1: We survived the crash. I'm okay, just a broken finger and a bunch of bruises and scratches. Max is totally fine, thinks we're just on a camping trip. That's a Lab for you. I'll head west, there should be civilization that way...eventually.

Day 6: We've got to be thirty miles from the plane. I know that's nothing, but I'd hoped to see something by now. A trail, lights, something... At least we've found water, a stream here and there. Rationing food, should be able to last another week if we're okay being hungry...

Day 9: Max is nervous. The sun looks red like a cough drop this morning. I smell smoke.

The fire was too close.

Erin called to Max. The dog had stopped long enough to gulp down some small animal he'd found on the forest floor. A dead mouse, maybe. A lab's mind was always on food. The big black dog had never had to work for a meal in his privileged life, but he'd caught on fast.  

At least it helped with the food situation. She'd packed all that was salvageable from the Cessna, but she'd been planning nothing more dangerous than a few days on an Oregon beach, not a wilderness odyssey.

Good thing she'd done a few of those, too. She knew what she was doing.

She armed sweat from her forehead and rearranged her ponytail. God, it was hot. The woods looked dull and stressed.

The wind picked up, rattling dry leaves and needles in the canopy overhead. The smell of smoke intensified.

"Oh boy," Erin sighed. Max sniffed the air and whined. "We'd better put the leash back on, dudebro. Almost at the top."

As they gained the summit, Erin stopped. For the first time since the crash, she was at a loss. Before her was a wide valley, with no signs of human habitation. A column of white smoke plumed into the sky from the southern edge of the valley, on their left. 

Erin turned and looked back the way they'd come.

Now she saw flames behind them, blooming like sinister marigolds in the strengthening breeze. There had been only smoke before, enough to irritate her throat as she trotted steadily up the slope of the big hill. Just smoldering, she'd told herself. Keep moving. Keep moving.

A gust of wind blew soot and dry dirt into her face. Max sneezed.

The way down into the valley was steep but looked passable. Maybe there was a river down there, a good one.

From behind her came a sudden cracking roar as a tall, half-dead spruce burst into angry flame. Erin yelped as bits of hot, charred bark landed on her arms.

"Time to go, Max!"

She took the dog's leash off, not wanting it to get tangled, and together they plunged down the slope and away from the fire.

It was a long way down, longer than it looked from the top. Erin ran in a zigzagging course to the north, panting in the harsh air. She jumped over rocks and fallen trees, slipping and sliding at times as her backpack shifted. At one point her ankle turned, sending her rolling nearly twenty feet before she caught hold of a tree stump. Her hands oozed blood from multiple scrapes and her fractured pinky finger groaned.

Finally she reached a small clearing near the valley floor and stopped, coughing and gasping. "Max?" she choked out.

Max emerged from the trees, his tongue nearly sweeping the ground. He looked all right. Four legs were better than two for running down small mountains.

"Good boy." Erin walked a few steps to test her ankle. No real pain; she'd been lucky. "All right, we're down here. Fire to the left, fire behind us. So we'll go...right. I mean, north—"

Over the wind and the crackling rush of the fires, she heard the first human-made sound to greet her ears in over a week: the steady rhythmic whirr of helicopter blades.

"Dammit," Erin coughed. She couldn't see the aircraft, but it sounded like it was over to the south. Maybe it was dropping water on the fire. "Should've stayed up there. Done something to signal them. I miss my goddamn plane."

The wind gusted again, shrouding them in gray, abrasive smoke. Coughing again, Erin turned to see the fire rushing toward them down the slope, the treetops igniting as if by a blowtorch.

"Max!" Erin yelled, and took off at a run.

Her dog obeyed, loping at her heels. Erin sprinted, face streaming with sweat, lungs bursting and protesting at the smoke. It was hot, so damn hot.

Now the creatures of the forest emerged: birds bursting into the sky, rabbits and squirrels skittering for cover, deer bounding away from the flames. She hadn't had time to put Max's leash back on, but the big Labrador ignored the animals. Erin wasn't sure if the wildlife knew something she didn't, but she followed the animals' general direction.

Then the ground disappeared.

Erin started to stop, then saw that they were at the edge of a drop-off into a river. The river she'd hoped for, both for water and for a direction to go. It was a long way down, though, and she had no idea how deep it was.

The fire was catching up.

Can't see any rocks. No choice. Deep breath...and go!

The water closed over her head, blessedly deep, blessedly cold. Erin swam to the surface and looked up, sputtering. Max ran along the edge, whining.

"Come on!" she cried out. "Max, come on!"

At the last moment—the dog was silhouetted against the flames—he jumped, landing almost on top of her. "Chicken dog," Erin gasped.

They swam downstream, the fire chasing them along the ridge above. Erin lost track of how long they'd been in the water. The flames roared, but she still heard, faintly, the helicopter.

Finally, Erin found herself stumbling onto a low, rocky shore. The fire was far behind them now, though the air was still roasted and filled with smoke. She collapsed to her knees, coughing, and Max flopped beside her. He didn't even shake the water off.

"Good boy," she exhaled. "Now what do we—"

The sound of the helicopter came back, and she jumped to her feet. She saw it now, flying overhead and almost obscured in the blowing smoke, but she waved her arms, running back and forth on the bank. It didn't pause, only continued on to the north.

"Fuck," Erin spat. She choked back further vitriol—it would just waste her breath. But she was tired, so tired, and the fire had terrified her as much as the crash.

If it wasn't for Max, I think I'd just lie here and let the fire catch up.

Then she heard the helicopter. This time it it was lower; it coasted overhead, close enough to see the people on board.

Flashes of mirror-light met her eyes. They were signaling. Max barked.

Day 9 1/2: They saw me. They saw us. I'm crying. I haven't cried since the crash. We'll be home soon.