“What does that mean?” I asked Tyler.

He smiled. “The ground crew will mop up after us. They’ll pull together piles in the black and burn them out until the fire is cold. We’re done unless embers jump the fire line.”

The hotshots were already packing it in, making the long haul back to the vehicles. I walked with my camera in hand, making it easier to document the return hike of exhausted, ash-covered men trudging through the forest without a single person to thank them for saving countless miles of trees and homes. The public would never know the reality of what had happened here, or how hard the hotshots had worked to make sure no one would. The only evidence was the scorched earth we’d left behind.

A small white flake touched the end of my nose, and I looked up, seeing thousands more falling to the earth. The snow seemed to give the crew a second wind, and they began chatting about the day and what they might do with the rest of their weekend.

“Are you warm enough?” Tyler asked.

“As warm as one can be in twenty-degree weather,” I said.

“Did you get any good shots of me, Ellie?” Watts asked, pretending to flip back the long hair he didn’t have.

“I’m pretty sure I got at least three hundred of everyone,” I said, lifting my camera to click through the shots again. I was impressed with myself. Every time I snapped the shutter, the result was better and better. My adjustment time was faster as well.

The hotshots walked in a single file line to the trucks, the lights on their hardhats piercing the dark. The smell of smoke was all around us—in the air, on our clothes, saturating our pores—I wasn’t sure I would ever smell anything else.

An animal scurried through the snow-covered brush just feet from us, and I startled.

“I think it’s a bear, Ellie,” Taylor teased. “You’re not scared of large animals with teeth that could rip the flesh from your bones lurking in the dark, are you?”

“Knock it off,” Tyler said from behind me.

I readjusted the straps on my pack, unable to stop smiling, and relieved Tyler couldn’t see it. My new love for what Chief called adventure photography wasn’t the only thing that made me feel I was on the right path. The fires and photographs were a thrill—surprisingly, Tyler’s presence had a calming effect. Together they replaced the risks and narcotics I’d been destroying myself with since I was fourteen.

I frowned, unhappy with that revelation. Did I have to replace old vices with new? I was digging one hole to fill another. That didn’t seem right, either.

“Do you want me to carry that?” Tyler asked.

I tightened my grip on my pack. “I’ve got it.”

“We’ve still got a few miles to go. If you need me—”

“I’ve got it, Tyler. Don’t coddle me.”

Smitty looked at me over his shoulder and winked, but his expression fell when his gaze drifted behind me to Tyler. I wasn’t sure what exchange they’d had, but Smitty turned back around in a hurry.

The hotshots in the long line ahead had already started the trucks and had them toasty warm by the time we reached fire camp. The tents had been broken down and the equipment and generators loaded. Tyler opened the door for me, and I climbed in, scooting close to Taco to give Tyler plenty of room.

The engine revved, and the cab rattled before we pulled forward, heading for the back mountain road we’d taken there. Tyler fidgeted, barely able to sit still, as if each second sitting next to me was torture.

I clicked through the different pictures, deleting the junk and keeping my favorites. After a few miles, Tyler finally tapped my knee and leaned close to whisper in my ear.

“What did I do?”

I looked into his russet eyes. He was confused, and maybe a little hurt, but I couldn’t explain something I didn’t understand myself.

“Nothing,” I said.

I started to mess with my camera again, but he gently touched my chin, tilting my head to meet his gaze. “Ellie. Tell me. Was it when I pulled you back? You know I’m just trying to keep you safe, right? If I was rough, I’m sorry.”

“No, I know. It’s fine,” I said, shrugging from his touch. “I’m not mad; I’m tired. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

He scanned my face, trying to discern if I was telling the truth. He knew I was lying, but nodded, choosing to let it go while we were riding in a truck full of his crew. The hotshots were being lulled to sleep by the rumble of the motor and the vibration of the tires against the uneven terrain.

Tyler looked out the window, vexed and frustrated. I touched his arm, but he didn’t move. After another ten minutes, his body relaxed. His head was propped against the glass, bobbing with the movement of the truck. I returned my attention to my camera, assessing the remaining images and hoping Jojo would be happy with at least a few.

Taco was snoring in the front seat, his head tilted back and his mouth hung open. The engine was so loud it almost drowned out the sound, and the others didn’t seem to notice.

I tapped on Jubal’s shoulder. “You’re driving the whole way?”

“I like to drive home. Clears my head.”

“It was a good run,” I said.

“Any day without injuries or fatalities is a good day.”

Jubal was smiling, but I sat back, stunned. The hotshots went out to each call hopeful, but never truly certain, if they would all return. I couldn’t imagine a sadder family unit than that, and I finally understood why a group of men from all over the country—some of them strangers—were so close.

“What kind of injuries?” I asked. “Aside from burns.”

“I’ve seen a lot of guys get hurt by snags—the trees still standing in the black. They can topple so silent, you never hear them coming. Lotta guys hurt that way. We work with a lot of sharp equipment—the saws, pulaskis—not to mention the drip torches and flares. Pretty much everything we do can get somebody hurt, and we’re operating on little sleep and physical exhaustion.”

“Why do it?” I asked. “Loving the outdoors and physical labor is a given to even think about this job. But when you’re exhausted and surrounded by fire in the middle of nowhere, what makes you think, ‘This is worth it’?”

“My boys. Doing something so difficult for months on end makes for a tight-knit crew. We’re family. Some days I think I’m getting too old, and then I remember there’s nowhere else you can find what we have. Soldiers, maybe. That’s all I can think of.”