Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
I let out a sigh of relief and grinned wide. “Vic, I could kiss you right now.”
Her eyebrows lifted, and a dimple popped. “I charge extra for that.”
The memories of IndexEcho faded into the background of my mind, where they usually lived comfortably after these four years. And I focused instead on making sure Chief Judd Kincaid would be out of my hair as soon as possible.
So I could get on with the plan of following my dreams.
6
KINCAID
DrunkenPoet: It’s taking all my self-control not to ask for a pic of you.
IndexEcho: I’m suddenly hating that I’m a stickler for the damned OpSec rules on this job, Poet.
_____________________
I was scanning through emails at work when I came to a permit request for a restaurant to operate open-flame grilling during an outdoor event next weekend. The person applying for the exemption? Alex Marian on behalf of Timber.
Because of course it was.
“Jesus fuck,” I muttered under my breath before barking, “Sujo, get in here.”
Javi came hustling in, hair still damp from his post-workout shower. “Yeah, Chief. What’s up?”
I showed him the request. “What’s this Slingshot Showdown at Sundown?”
He grinned. “Oh man. It’s killer. A group of scouts started it like twenty years ago or something, and now it’s an annual tradition. You know the mountain’s called Slingshot, so the Showdown is basically a massive slingshot tournament. It starts in the morning with different brackets and narrows down to the best of the best by the evening. By the time the final round happens, it’s more challenging because of all the shadows on the mountain. You planning on going? You totally should, man. They’ve got food trucks and live music, crafts and shit. It’s a good time for sure.”
“I wasn’t asking because I’m looking for a good time,” I said, trying to retain my patience. “I was asking because Timber is applying for an open-flame permit.”
He pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah. I think they do their Swiss mushroom burgers and stuff like that. Obvi can’t bring the pizza oven out, you know?”
“We’re on strict fire restrictions right now,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, but people gotta eat.”
I grunted and hit Reply, referring back to my first email from Alex Marian for help with the wording of my response.
Subject: Re: Application for Exemption Permit
Dear Alexander “Aspiring Arsonist” Marian,
Thank you for your last-minute and wildly optimistic application for an open-fire grilling permit during the Slingshot whatever-the-fuck.
While I appreciate your eagerness to earn a few bucks by endangering the local populace as well as all vulnerable wildlife and personal property, I feel compelled to point out a few things:
The “controlled outdoor cooking” you’ve proposed is, in fact, you attempting to operate open flames during peak fire season where a single spark could ignite half the county—something you might understand if your job involved preventing disasters instead of creating them.
The proposed grilling location is too close to combustible material, including dead trees, dry brush, and, I assume, a Timber-branded napkin caddy.
Finally, as you are aware, the company applying for the permit is currently on a temporary probationary status in regards to fire safety compliance due to previous “incidents”. (See mugshot attached.)
So while I admire your commitment to the “ignore all safety protocols for a good burger” approach, I respectfully deny your permit before I start explaining to bereaved families why their homes burned down because someone needed a flame-grilled mushroom and Swiss.
With sincerest regard (for fire safety),
Judd Kincaid
Chief, Legacy Fire Department
I shot it off without stopping to think about it too hard, which was probably a mistake. But the day ahead was slammed, and I was out of patience with Alex Marian.
After replying to several more emails, making a few follow-up calls, and checking in with the crew on shift, I headed out to SERA to help with one of their wildfire response exercises.
Slingshot Emergency Rescue Academy was a widely known and respected educational school for wilderness emergency response. They taught first responders in wilderness emergency medicine, wildfire response—including smokejumping, search and rescue, swift-water rescue, and helo extraction.
Today’s exercise was a wilderness pump and hose deployment exercise, using portable pumps creekside, running progressive hose lays uphill, and maintaining necessary water flow.
By the time I returned to the station, I was drenched in sweat, filthy with creek mud, and starving. The drill had been delayed twice by pop-up storms, and we’d ended up finishing at dusk.
I walked into my office and closed the door before tossing down the fire-retardant Nomex shirt I’d already taken off, peeling off my cotton undershirt to join it in the pile, kicking off the woodland fireboots, and reaching for the button on my Nomex trousers. My goal was to get into my private shower and stand under the cold spray until my stomach’s complaints were louder than the pounding headache I had from overheating.
“Um, I feel like maybe I should alert you to my presence. But, by all means, continue the show.”