Zeke was already soaked. He removed his helmet just long enough to wipe the dripping sweat from his face. “Yeah,” he smiled, looking down at me. “Thanks for picking me up from work.”

Zeke climbed on the back of my ATV, wrapping his arms tight around my middle, Taylor with Trex, Tyler with Sloan, Fish with Martinez; Runt and Smitty crawled on with Kitsch, Watts and Cat with Harbinger. The smoke was already choking us by the time we pulled away.

Sloan pulled a bit ahead, and I surged forward. The Complex fire crew was gone when we arrived at the fence line, and even through the smoke, I could see that the warehouse doors were closed. The ATVs kicked up dirt when we paused, ash falling around us.

Soaked, bleeding from sharp branches, saturated with mud, soot, ash, grass, gravel and leaves, we slowed to a stop near the entrance of the Complex. The parking lot was just a few hundred yards away. Everyone turned back, watching the fire twist and devour everything in its path.

“Hold up,” Zeke said. “It’s about to turn.”

The trees beyond the fire line that had moments before waved their branches toward us, showing the flames the way to the Complex, were now sacrificing themselves, inviting the fire to devour them whole.

We heaved, trying to catch our breaths through the thick smoke as it seemed to be magically pulled away with the wind. Just like that, the fire moved in a different direction, away from the Complex, away from us.

We sat for a moment, in disbelief that we were no longer being chased. A breeze was the difference between death and destruction.

Sloan removed his helmet. “Holy shit. It’s like that damn thing has a mind of its own.”

“I have to remind myself that it doesn’t,” Zeke said.

I turned to face him, his arms still around my waist. “How did you know? That it was about to turn?”

Zeke winked at me. “It’s a secret.”

Fish groaned, looking down at his swollen ankle. He was missing a boot, and Smitty’s arm was burned.

“Trex to Saunders. Come in, over,” he called over the radio, leaning my head toward the mic.

“Saunders,” he repeated, his radio clicking off.

“These men need medical attention. Call for a couple of ambulances to meet us at the first security check and make a call to their HQ to report their guys are safe, over.”

“Copy that, over,” Saunders said, his side going silent again.

“Isn’t there a medical facility on site?” Zeke asked.

I kept my voice down. “It’s a top-secret, high security military base. No one gets in without prior clearance. No exceptions.”

He looked down at my shoulder patch, my badge, then simply nodded.

Trex motioned for us to continue, transporting the dirty, sweaty, exhausted hotshots to the first booth via the ATVs.