My first instinct was to get out and try to move it. As I hurried to the tree, I could feel the heat of the fire exhaling. The tree wasn’t especially large and it didn’t appear to be smoldering. I knew I could lift it. But in fact I couldn’t, either because the drugs had weakened me or because it was just too heavy. Coughing, choking, I got back in the truck.

I slammed the door and spent a crucial minute hacking. There was no choice. I backed up, gathered momentum, and aimed for the tree’s narrow tip. My head smacked the roof as I thumped over, then I yanked the wheel to avoid a crawling flame. The driveway spat me onto the road.

Fire poured around me into towers of smoke. There was no one on the mountain anymore; the evacuations must be complete. I could feel myself cooking in the truck, the windows getting hotter. My eyes gushed and I had to squint through swarming embers as I drove straight down the middle of the road, straddling the yellow line, flames sweeping overhead.

Then I saw the pine. Its upper half had ignited, the pitch boiling inside. As I neared it, I had a premonition of its falling and planted my foot on the gas. It was like a huge hand of white flame, waving and faltering, then the trunk snapped and it all came streaking down. I shot into the road’s closing eye as it plunged. Branches smashed the back end of the truck and I spun out of control, fanning across the lane and then swerving to the side. I was about to hit a wall of orange flame when the truck suddenly skipped over a bump and hurtled back onto asphalt. I regained control and never touched the brakes, soaring down the road.

There came something like actual night. The massive stones along the road were like boulders of ice. Soon I saw the sirens spinning at a checkpoint. A fireman lit up golden yellow in my headlights and waved me to a stop. I rolled the window down.

“Jesus, you’re late,” he said. “Got anyone back there?”

I shook my head.

“Thank god. Everyone’s checking in at Ascension. Make sure they know you’re safe, okay?”

I forced it out. “Okay.”

They let the purple truck through, but I didn’t take it to the hospital. I drove straight to my hotel and parked it down the block with the keys in the ignition. The purple paint had bubbled off.

When I got back to my room, I used every lock on the door and window, stripped off my clothes, and stepped into the shower. The runoff was black, soot in my snot. I could barely stand anymore, so I kneeled in a corner of the stall and let cold water pour over me.