All she could see were flames, fat tongues greedily lapping at the air. Through the crack in the door, she watched them run up the sides of the house leaving oily stains on the white siding, black fingers raked across the facade. Then, through the smoke, she saw flashing lights. Red and white. She heard glass shattering, heard a tremendous groan as the house itself seemed to shift on its foundation. She saw men now, hoses, listened to the screeching hiss of steam as they poured water onto the house. She made herself even smaller, crouched even lower, tried to make herself disappear. And somewhere someone was calling her name.

Then strong hands grabbed her, and she was pulled from the darkness into the bright and cacophonous night, swaddled in smoke, and the houses began to lose their form, and all she could see was colors: orange, red, the ruddy brown of ash, the flashing white of transformers blowing on the power poles, the shimmering sparks like handfuls of falling stars. And then the strong hands held her down, dwarfing her shoulders, and something covered her face, and a cool rush of clean air filled her tiny lungs, and she heard sirens but so far away – ten miles, maybe a million – and above her in the pulsing haze she saw ashes like black snow softly falling toward her.

 

1.

 

There’s no horizon. That thought repeats in her head all the way up the mountain. The trees here are a hundred feet tall. Sunshine only makes it to the ground in pools, dribbles. The trees are everywhere; they swallow everything. The sun. The road. People.

Chris slows the car, looking down at his phone, then stops. He doesn’t pull over; there’s no need. They haven’t seen another car since they left Mendocino. The roads have gotten narrower, the trees taller, and now they’re somewhere on a mountain and Chris is rolling down his window, holding the phone out, squinting to check for bars.

“It’s gotta be this one, but of course I have no signal. The map won’t refresh. Hoo, how about that air, though? Fresh, right?”

Looking out the window, Sidney says nothing. Chris drops his phone back into the cupholder and leans forward.

“Well. It’s gotta be this one.” He turns then, off the two lane gravel road onto a narrow lane in the trees, two ancient wheel ruts promising something at the end. And the road begins twisting, tilting, and they’re going down now, down the mountain, following this road cut from the side of the canyon.

Sidney feels the sun grow even fainter, drift further and further away, blades of light now desperately stabbing through the forest canopy, as the canyon pulls them down into itself.

•

 

Fire Ravages Northern Coast; Sacramento Bee, September 4th, 2023 – (Mendocino County) In what’s being called one of the worst natural disasters in California history, the forest service says nearly 300,000 acres have been ravaged in a series of fires officials have revealed appear to be arson. Governor Gavin Newsom has declared a state of emergency and called upon Washington to release additional relief funds to fight the inferno. Oregon, Washington, and Idaho have all sent fire crews to assist. As of Saturday, more than 60 people are missing, with nine confirmed dead, including two adults and three children killed in their car, unable to escape the blaze in Willits.

•

 

As Chris stops the car in the gravel lot, Sidney realizes she’s never felt more isolated. She’s never felt so removed from the world she knows. Even at the hospital. Even locked away from her friends, even when the warm rush from the nurse’s needle sent her coursing down into the black, even then there was a familiarity. Here, under the trees, with nothing but the wind and the calling birds and the distant breath of a running stream, here she feels alien.

Chris is all smiles as he gets out of the car, taking a big theatrical breath with his arms outstretched. He’s always like this. Chris took over her case about 18 months ago and immediately began working on outside placement. He’s a nice enough guy, and she knows he has the best intentions, but the Mr. Sunshine act drives her up the wall. And now here, at the bottom of what feels like a lunar crater, it’s especially grating.

“Sidney Mead, welcome!” More sunshine, ebullient. Sidney could puke. Instead, she turns to see a lithe old hippie chick approaching, her hair in braids. She’s even wearing one of those cotton smocks with a floral print. Sidney thinks she looks like she fell out of a history book. But she’s real and she’s coming on fast with arms wide open. She pulls Sidney into a hug, tight but quick, then extends her hand toward Chris.

“Dr. Meredith Campo, director, we spoke on the phone.”

“We sure did. Chris Max. Sidney you already met.” They both turn to Sidney, who raises a hand in acknowledgement.

“Sidney,” Meredith says, placing a hand on her shoulder, “We’ve all been so eager for you to join us. I’m sure Chris told you that acceptance here is very competitive. Only so many beds, though as you can see we have no shortage of space.” She smiles broadly, gesturing toward the forest like she’s in a soap commercial. Sidney again feels the claustrophobia of the endless wilderness. She’d never have imagined she’d want to be back in the hospital, back in the never- ending screaming, the days that dragged on forever, the glances from the orderlies and what she knew those glances meant.

Chris has popped the trunk and sets a suitcase down next to Sidney.

“Thank you, Mr. Max. I’ll show Sidney in. As you are aware, this is an all female facility.”

“Oh.” Chris seems slightly flustered. “That’s it?”

Wrapping an arm around Sidney’s shoulders, Meredith says, “That’s it. All the necessary documents were signed last week. I trust you can make your way back to the road.”

“Okay. Well, have fun, Sid. We’ll have a check in call next week.” She turns to him as Meredith leads her away, mouthing, Help me. Chris shakes his head, chuckling, then throws his hands up: What can I do? This gets a smile out of Sidney, and she waves to him there, standing next to his car, before Meredith directs her attention to the large bunkhouse at the edge of the trees.

Turning away from Chris, taking those first steps toward the lodge, she feels the forest closing in tight on her. She hears Chris start the car, hears the crunch of gravel as he wheels around to start the climb back out of the canyon, two wheel ruts pointing up and out, the only way back to the world.

The lodge itself is huge, Sidney thinks. Raw timber beams stretch across the high ceilings. A huge central meeting room anchors the building, with tall, broad windows on three walls, giving the impression that the forest itself forms the walls, holds this room against its breast. So much green. It gives Sidney the creeps.

About a dozen women sit, stand, pace throughout the room. Some look up as Sidney enters, smile at her with curiosity. She takes them in: a couple of women sit at an oak table in one corner playing chess. A few read. One tall, thin woman stands at the window, hands in her pockets, gazing up into the trees. Her shoulders are bare in a tank top, framed by a dancing shaft of light coming down through the trees. She faces Sidney now with the corners of her mouth turned up; an invitation.

“You’ll meet everyone in time, Sidney. No need to force a social hour now before you’re settled. We don’t rush things here.” Meredith lets Sidney take it in: the light, the long dining tables at one end, the wide wooden flats nailed into place for the floor. “This room is where we take our meals, where we have our group sessions when weather disagrees with our using the outdoor space, and where you’re welcome to recreate or socialize during the day. The kitchen is through that door there, and the fridge is open to grab a snack, but within reason, please. You may have noticed a quick jaunt to the convenience store is out of the question, so we do pay careful attention to our supplies.”

Meredith walks her down a sloping path through the trees, painted rocks lining the trail, to her cabin. Sidney sets her suitcase on the floor and looks around. It’s small, which is good.

She figures she’ll get used to it. She thinks the same of the bath house and showers. The laundry shed. She tries to be malleable, easy. She doesn’t need any more trouble. Any more disasters.

“There are plenty of marked trails here, Sidney. I’ll let you explore,” Meredith says, squeezing Sidney’s hand before floating back toward the lodge. “Just make sure you stay on the trails here in the upper camp. I wouldn’t trust any of those old footbridges down below after this winter’s rain. Supper’s at 6:00…” she sings and spins, disappearing into the trees.

2.

 

Convicted Murderer Meets Violent End; San Francisco Chronicle, April 20, 2009 – (Chino) Infamous cult leader Hazel Glen has died after what officials are calling an assassination at the California Institution for Women. Under Glen’s leadership and following New Age tenets of simplicity and a guiding spirit they called The Divine Feminine, the Sisters of Light terrorized the I-5 corridor in the 1970s, seducing and robbing dozens of men, mostly truckers, in towns up and down the interstate. The group gained worldwide exposure in 1978 when police were able to link fraudulent credit card charges to a man found dead outside Stockton. The trial of Glen and six of the so-called Sisters riveted the nation, monopolizing headlines and news reports for weeks. Despite rampant speculation about additional victims, Glen was ultimately found guilty of a single count of first degree murder and sentenced to life without the possibility of parole, while three of…

•

 

It starts tonight, the first of the fires. It must, what will come to be known as the Soda Springs Fire. Of course by the time they can smell it, certainly by the time they can see the flames, it will be too late. But tonight – nearly thirty miles from where the first of what investigators will later learn are six homemade incendiary devices ignited over six days goes up in the dried brush along the state highway – as Sidney steps into the lodge for dinner, fire is the furthest thing from her mind for the first time in years.

A woman with short, spiked hair in a white apron sets a steaming plate down at an empty place at the table and beckons Sidney to sit. “Bon appétit,” the woman says, handing Sidney a knife and fork. Sidney sees her hand is covered in small, crude tattoos. She watches as the woman removes the apron and takes a seat on a neighboring bench. Sidney looks down at the colorful dish before her. It’s vegetarian, brightly colored. Broccoli shouts in deep green. Wild rice is flecked through translucent onion, orange carrot, purple beet. Lentils pool like blood. She picks up her knife, feels the weight in her hand. She hasn’t held a knife, a real knife, in –

There’s a crackle over the loudspeakers, and Sidney looks up as a piano melody begins to echo through the great room. She follows as everyone turns their head to watch Meredith enter. She smiles, and the women all beam back at her.

I used to live in New York City…

Sidney thinks the song sounds vaguely familiar. But she can’t place it. She’s watching Meredith go around the room, down the length of each table, stopping at each woman. Meredith approaches the woman with the spiked hair. They smile at each other. Meredith places her hands on either side of the woman’s face. She kisses her forehead, and then presses their foreheads together, eyes closed. Meredith repeats this intimate moment with the next woman. And the next.

Young girls are coming to the canyon

And in the morning I can see them walking…

Meredith stops now in front of Sidney. Sidney turns her face up, brings herself to look into Meredith’s eyes. Meredith’s hands find Sidney’s cheeks. She trembles as they touch her; it’s all she can do to not pull away, to not run to the door and out into the encroaching night and all the way back up out of the canyon and down the mountain to the sea. But Meredith’s hands are warm, soft, and when she smiles, Sidney feels a release. She opens herself, she gives herself. Staring into Meredith’s eyes, she allows herself to be lost, and finds herself grateful for being so. Meredith leans in, placing her warm lips against Sidney’s forehead, planting something there.

Cloudy waters cast no reflection. Images of beauty lie there stagnant…

“We welcome a new guest today,” Meredith says, standing before them. She raises a hand to Sidney, presenting her, inciting her to stand. She does, and the other women stand with her, facing her. “I know Sidney is one of us, finally found, and I know she will help us as we will help her.” The women all turn to Sidney, smiling, baring their teeth. “Sidney, it is an honor to break bread with you and to welcome you into our home.”

Meredith gestures and the women all link hands. Sidney feels both her hands taken. She tries to pull back, a deep instinct, to withdraw. But still she finds her hands held. Warm. Safe? Across from her, at the adjacent table, the tall woman from the window makes eye contact. Holds it. Again, the sides of her mouth turn up almost indiscernibly. Sidney feels something move deep in her pelvis, something coming to life.

“And as always,” Meredith closes her eyes, looking skyward, “We thank Her for Her bounty, for Her grace, for Her gift of bringing us here together, stronger than we could ever be alone.” The women bow their heads. Sidney follows suit, feeling herself sink into a long moment of silence. Then her hands are released, and she hears laughter, and she looks up to see all the women laughing. And Sidney, still standing there, she can’t help it. Now she’s laughing, too. She looks again at the woman from the window. They laugh together across the room.

“I’m Katie.” Sidney turns to face the woman beside her. “Sidney.” They shake hands.

“It can be overwhelming at first, I know.”

“It’s… nice.”

“Meredith doesn’t invite just anyone to join us. You must be special.”

“Oh. I…”

Katie nods toward the woman with the spiky hair and hand tattoos, speaking softly: “Rocky was a chef in her past life. You know, out there. We’re really blessed to have her.”

“The food looks incredible. Everything just… you’re right. It is a little overwhelming. The place I woke up this morning, where I wake up every morning, it feels a million miles away.”

“Before you know it,” Katie says, leaning in close enough that Sidney can feel her warm breath on her ear, her cheek, “That’ll be your favorite part.” She nods again, this time at the tall woman from the window, who still sneaks glances in their direction. “That’s Tina. She’s a tough nut to crack. You two must be aligned.”

“Aligned?”

“In time,” Katie says, gently placing a hand on Sidney’s shoulder. “In time it will make sense.”

 

•

 

“I saw you speaking with a few of your new compatriots this evening. I trust you got on with them, and that they’ve provided a warm welcome.”

Sidney nods. She’s sitting in Meredith’s office, a two room cabin above the river, down the road from the lodge.

“Many of these women had the same trepidations you do when they arrived. It’s a real act of faith, Sidney, giving yourself over to the work. Everyone here is here because something happened that shook them, that set them off course. Maybe they were pulled by a current into dangerous waters. All of them – all of us – were hurt. And have hurt. We’ve all seen terrible things, Sidney. We carry those with us. And that is what makes the work so important.”

Meredith stands. She picks up from her desk a file folder. She taps it three times, as if performing a secret knock, then hands it to Sidney.

“They call it rehabilitation. Or healing. But what they mean, Sidney, what they want is to change you. Who you are.”

She watches as Sidney opens the file, takes it in.

Inside is a single page. Hieroglyphs, Sidney first thinks. But no. They’re constellations, all composed of myriad small points within a hexagonal structure of intersecting lines, rimmed with numbers and eldritch symbols. In the top left corner is written Sidney’s name. Her birthplace. Her birth date. Her birth time. She looks at Meredith, hoping for an explanation.

“This is your celestial fingerprint. It’s the alignment of stars, planets, gravitational waves, and energies at the moment of your birth, and your relationship with it can explain a lot of what you think, what you feel, the urges that manifest inside you. Studying this, letting it guide you is the first step.”

“The first step to what?” Sidney feels a nervousness – no, an excitement – building in her. She thinks of the seed Meredith planted the night before, the kiss on her forehead, and feels something spreading through her like long fingers. Like roots.

“In revealing your true self. In embracing her. All of her flaws, all of her powers. That’s what we do here, Sidney. We dig. We sift. We uncover our true selves, unshackled from the bonds of false identity forced on us our whole lives by what they want.” She laughs. “I know this is a lot. Don’t worry. You have all the time you need, and this is the perfect place to spend it. What you have there, that single page in an empty folder, that’s just where you start.”

Meredith reaches across her desk and produces a yellow pad, then a pen. Sidney takes them, turns the pen over in her hand. It’s heavy. She’s never seen a pen like this, let alone used one.

“We will light the path for you. You set the pace.”

When she wakes the next morning, Sidney smells smoke.

 

3.

 

New Life Breathed into Old Camp; Fort Bragg Advocate-News, April 20, 2004 – The scout camp above Havoc Falls will see visitors again for the first time since it was shuttered under tragic circumstances five years ago. With the aid of private equity and a number of state and federal grants, Dr. Meredith Campo plans to move her practice from San Francisco and reopen a portion of the upper camp as a rehabilitation facility for troubled women.

 

“We have concrete block institutions all across the country where we store folks we don’t want to deal with, where we keep them hidden. Our aim with this project is the opposite, to show women who’ve faced hardships that there is a world waiting to embrace them, a world that is better for having them in it.” Campo says the lower camp – site of the 1999 disaster and condemned after flood waters washed out the road and destroyed a number of cabins, injuring dozens and killing one – will remain closed for the time being, with possible reopening in the future as the program reaches solvency.

•

 

“I have it on good authority,” Meredith says from where she stands on a stump, “the fire is moving north, not west, and we are not in harm’s way.”

The women sit on long benches in the outdoor theater, really just a semi-circular mound of terraced earth where once dozens of scouts sang Kumbaya. Meredith has turned the stump – short and squat – into a stage.

Meredith continues: “That said, we should be prepared to evacuate should notice be given. But again, I spoke with the county fire department this morning, and he assured us they’ll have the situation under control by tomorrow, and probably containment by the end of the week. That means a few smoky days and then fire’s out, air’s clear, nothing to worry about.”

The women murmur, turning their heads up to the sky. Through the clearing in the trees, hazy light spills through, dirty, tainted. Smoke.

“Okay, Tina, Sidney, McKenzie: individual sessions at ten, eleven, and noon. Lunch is at 1:00. Everyone back here at 2:00 for group. Don’t forget tonight is Rocky’s pizza night, so maybe get an extra walk in this afternoon, eh?” She claps her hands, dismissing them. Sidney stands –

– and gasps, startled, as Tina appears in front of her. “Sorry,” Tina says.

“Oh.” It’s the first they’ve spoken, the closest Sidney’s been to her, and finds herself studying Tina’s face when she should be speaking. “Oh, sorry, yeah. I was off in my head somewhere.”

“Yeah, that happens around here.”

“I mean, it’s more me than here.”

“That, too.” Tina seems suddenly bashful. “Listen, I’m first up on the chopping block here. But I thought maybe later, maybe before lunch I could give you some tips. Or pointers. Or.” She looks down, but Sidney can see the grin is there. “You know, show you the ropes. It’s a lot when you first get here.”

“I keep hearing that, yeah.” Sidney is surprised to find herself giggling. “That would be nice. I mean, I’d appreciate it, your shared wisdom.”

“I’ve been called a lot of things, man. Wise is a first. I’ll see you in a bit.” And then Tina’s gone as quickly as she’d arrived, and Sidney realizes everyone else is, too. She’s standing alone now, alone in the center of an earthen circle, an anchor, as soft orange light washes the forest floor around her.

Sidney’s in her cabin an hour later when Tina finds her, knocking on the open door. “Hiding out?” she asks, taking a tentative step inside.

“Oh.” Sidney gestures to the notepad and celestial fingerprint on a small table by the window. “Just ‘doing the work’. I think.”

“Of course. Listen, you want me to leave you to it, or…” She turns slightly, beckoning to the world outside the door. Sidney closes the file folder over the papers and stands.

“You know, you don’t need to take it that seriously.” They’re walking one of the trails that runs along the river. The water is strong, but low.

“My celestial fingerprint, you mean?”

“Yeah,” Tina chuckles. “I mean, she means well, but…”

“But?” Sidney sees a frog hop into the water as they approach.

“I mean, you know who you are.”

“Ooooh,” Sidney says, shaking her head. “I don’t know about that. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“No,” Tina says, stopping. Sidney stops, too, turning toward her. “You do.” Sidney feels it again, something moving inside her, some tension growing, seeking release. Then Tina turns, takes another step, and the moment passes. “We all do. Everyone in here’s fucked up. Lost. But being out here, turning off the distractions of all that, the pressure. Jesus, turning off Instagram…”

“What’s Instagram?” Sidney’s sincere. Tina laughs.

“It doesn’t matter here. That’s the point. You know who you are. It’s just been too loud for you to hear yourself.”

“No, where I was, where I came from –“

“That’s where it’s the loudest,” Tina says, stopping again and looking out over a bend in the river. They can hear the falls somewhere downriver. Just barely. “This place, these girls, that’s the special sauce. You don’t need some map of the stars. You just need the volume turned down low enough to hear yourself think.” Sidney’s looking up at Tina, wondering if she’s addressing Sidney or herself.

After dinner that night, everyone helps push aside the long dining tables and sits on the floor with pillows and blankets to watch Beetlejuice. Sidney moves to sit near Tina, but before she knows it, Katie has her by the arm and is pulling her down, nesting her in a quilt, netting her in an afghan.

Katie whispers, “I loved this movie when I was little. Now I dig anything where men face accountability.” It takes Sidney a beat to realize it’s a joke. Katie gestures to something under the blanket, and Sidney sees she has a small bag of Reese’s Pieces. Katie shakes a few into Sidney’s hand, then puts a finger to her lips: Shhhh.

Sidney pops the contraband in her mouth and nearly moans aloud. She closes her eyes and lets it melt on her tongue. When was the last time she had Reese’s Pieces? She honestly can’t remember. When she opens her eyes again, she sees Tina shaking her head, smiling at her from across the room. Sidney gives a little shrug.

“Isn’t this great?” Katie whispers. “It’s like a sleepover.”

Sidney, who wouldn’t know, whispers back: “Yeah, it is.”

Sidney’s just getting back to her cabin when she hears someone behind her and spins. “Sorry. Again,” Tina says, stepping through dappled moonlight. “I promise to stop doing that. You’re a fast walker.”

“I don’t mind when you do it,” Sidney says, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. “Do you want to come in? Or something?”

“Against the rules.” Tina takes a step closer.

Sidney takes a breath, asks, “Why are you here? Sorry. Oh, god. I’m sorry, I just –“

“No, stop, it’s fine.” Tina holds out a hand. “Really, it’s fine. Like I said, we’ve all been in your shoes. New kid. Fresh fish. Lots of questions.”

Sidney looks down at her feet, saying quietly, “It was rude.”

“It’s fine. And drugs.”

Sidney looks up.

“Drugs. Most of us, actually. Uppers, downers, prescriptions. Rocky was dope. McKenzie stabbed a guy for coke. Katie was speed.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, imagine her cranked up to eleven.” They both chuckle, some of the tension receding. “Oxys for me. I’m lucky to be here. I’m lucky to be anywhere.”

“I’m glad you are. Here, I mean.”

Taking a step closer, Tina says, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna ask.”

“I –”

“When you’re ready.” Tina’s very close now.

Sidney can smell her. It fills her up, the smell, overtaking even the smoke that’s hung in the air all day. She steadies herself with a shoulder against the doorframe.

Following suit, leaning a shoulder against the old wood of the cabin’s doorway, Tina says, “But I would like to ask you something.”

Breathing deep, exhaling, Sidney says, “Oh?”

Biting her lip, Tina asks, “Can I kiss you goodnight?” Sidney’s breath catches in her throat. She thinks she’s choking. She feels her heart pound in her chest, feels her head go faint.

“Isn’t that against the rules, too?” she asks, her hand now gripping the doorframe.

Leaning in, moving slowly, deliberately, savoring the moment, Tina says, “It’s just a little rule.”

Feeling that pressure again inside, warm tendrils moving through her veins, spreading out, filling her, she whispers, “I don’t know how.”

Her fingers finding Sidney’s, lacing through, pulling their bodies close, Tina says, softly, “I’ll show you.”

And she does.

 

4.

 

“Hippie Cult” Follower Granted Parole; San Francisco Chronicle, March 26, 1996 – (Chino) The doors of the California Institute for Women opened Tuesday morning for the release of Meredith Zax, 36, famous as a member of the Sisters of Light, a so called “hippie gang” comprised entirely of young women. The group, led by the charismatic Hazel Glen, gained infamy in the late ‘70s when a 500-mile trail of robberies eventually led to one confirmed murder, rumors of others, and a conviction for Zax of aiding and abetting. Citing a record of perfect behavior, Governor Pete Wilson said in a statement, “Through various pilot programs offered to inmates, Ms. Zax has not only completed her bachelor’s degree, but has been a model of the future of rehabilitation here in California. She serves no threat to society, and we have no doubt she will benefit our community and serve as an upstanding citizen.”

 

Asked by reporters of her future plans, Ms. Zax replied, “I’m going back to school. I just want to help people.”

•

 

“Sidney. Sidney, where did you go?” Sidney opens her eyes and Meredith is there, close. They’re standing in the center of the theater, the two of them. The rest of the women are seated, watching, rapt, but for a moment Sidney forgets they’re there. For a moment, she’d forgotten she was there.

“I… the smoke. I don’t know. I just got lost for a second.”

“Lost is fine, Sidney. We’re here to make sure you find your way back. What about the smoke?”

Sidney breathes deep, and it fills her nose, her lungs. It’s in the air, yes, and in the sky, stained sooty orange now, three days since the first fire started. All down the coast. And that is what she smells, that smoke, a thousand year old redwood forest, but it’s not all she smells. She closes her eyes and breathes in again and it fills her up and carries her away.

“I’m hiding,” she says. Squeezing her eyes shut, she whispers, “I’m scared.”

Meredith leans in close. She closes her own eyes. She puts her hands on Sidney’s shoulders, presses their foreheads together. She exhales: “I am here.” Breathes into her: “We are here.”

Filled with smoke, filled with fire, Sidney shouts, “No!” Their connection broken, Meredith takes a startled step back. Sidney, lost, swings her arms. “No! No, don’t!” She steps blindly backward, trips. Meredith holds up a hand to the women watching: don’t get up. Don’t help. Sidney pushes herself backward, yelling, “Don’t give me back to them!” Then she folds in on herself, pulling her knees up to her chest, burying her face.

Meredith is there in two steps, kneeling before her, placing her hands on Sidney’s shoulders. She nods to the other women, who approach and also kneel, laying their hands on Sidney’s back, her legs, stroking her hair as she trembles, her face – her shame – hidden. They stay like that for a full minute, all of them there on the ground, knees in the dirt, silent in their camaraderie, in their comfort.

Sidney slowly returns. Back in her body, she slows her breathing like Dr. Wechsler taught her. She concentrates on her breath, on the feeling of her body on the ground, on the feeling of touch – yes, touch – from all sides. It’s warm. It’s good in a way no touch has ever felt, like she’s part of some larger organism. She breathes, counts, breathes. And then –

“Sidney.” Sidney opens her eyes, slowly raises her head. The women, all of them, are standing. When did they stand? They’re fanned out behind Meredith, who offers her hand. Sidney reaches out, slowly, and takes it and Meredith pulls her up and Sidney stands and now they’re standing over her, they’re all standing together. And from behind Meredith, two women step forward with a log, over five feet tall, steadied by planks at its base. Most of its bark is gone, and it bears countless scars, slashes, divots, chips. They stand it before her. Over the top of the log, Sidney can just see Meredith’s eyes, focused.

A shadow passes between them, and Sidney sees Tina now, holding something out to her. Their eyes locked, Sidney reaches out, wrapping her hand around the grip of a machete’s worn wooden handle. She holds it in front of her face, lost in the broad stroke of its long blade. Meredith motions for the women to stand back, and they all do. Meredith herself stays planted, not two feet on the other side of the log.

Still staring at the machete, Sidney asks, “What do I do?”

Her eyes hot, Meredith says, “That’s up to you.”

Sidney looks at the log, then back at the blade. She looks into Meredith’s eyes, at the raw energy boiling in them, at the furnace that resides in this woman, in all women. Even in her. She feels fear melting out of her, feels pain surfacing, igniting. Fuel. She swings the machete.

It buries itself half an inch into the log with a loud thwack. Sidney sees Meredith is smiling. She swings again. And again. With each impact, something falls out of her. Each time she wrenches the blade from the wood, she is born again. Wood chips fly. The sound of the machete echoes through the forest. It carries up the trees and up into the sky, where an artificial night looms to the east, a wall of smoke.

Sidney swings, an animal noise rising from within her. She swings at bars on windows, at juvenile court. She swings at Bill the orderly, his dirty fingernails, his rank breath. She cuts chunks from doctors, from police men. She screams now, bellows, and she’s hacking to bits the chaplain who bids her sit on his knee, says he has something to show her. A fire inside her, she breathes smoke and swings, taking apart her father and his friends, all of them stinking of beer and cigarettes, flipping coins to see who goes first. She swings.

She swings. 

She swings.

•

 

Sidney’s wide awake, but the knock still startles her. In the dark, three taps, gentle, on her door. She puts a hand to her chest. Then a rap on the window. She looks, squints. She sees movement, then –

A face in the window, lit from below. It’s ghoulish at first, and Sidney sucks in a quick breath, but then she sees it’s Tina, and Tina’s making monster faces, exaggerated expressions, all teeth and the whites of her eyes. Relief washes over Sidney, then gladness. She crosses the small room and opens the window.

Whispering, “What are you doing here?”

Croaking, “I’ve come to suck your bloooood.”

“Stop it. Get in here.” Tina starts to pull herself through the window. “The door.” Sidney shakes her head, closing the window, then opens the door. Tina stands, leaning against the door jamb for effect, a flashlight in her hand.

“Heard you had some trouble with the pipes.”

“Oh, you’re a comedian now?” But Sidney can’t help laughing.

“Put your shoes on.”

“What? No! It’s after midnight.”

“Come on. There’s something I want to show you. Just be quick about it. And quiet.” Sidney is both.

The sky glows orange above them. Sidney doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like that she can taste smoke and ash in her mouth. She wonders briefly how much of it is wood ash and how much is – she pushes the thought out of her head.

“Do you think we’ll have to evacuate?” Sidney asks.

Tina responds with a shrug: “Hard to say. I imagine they’re waiting until the last minute because we’re such a motley crew; they don’t want to overwhelm the shelters if they don’t have to.” She looks up at the orange dome above them, the high clouds that look like smoldering ember. “Frankly, I don’t think they know what to do.”

They’re walking close to the river, and Sidney realizes they’re in a place she hasn’t been before. The trees here open up, and even without the flashlight she can make out the trail, make out a bend in the river, a broad sweep that narrows as it heads toward the falls. And then she sees–

“Oh. Are we…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to. They approach the footbridge and stop. It’s mossy, wet with mist from the river beneath it. The wood is covered in lichen. It looks slippery. Worse, she can’t see what’s on the other side of the trees crowding in along the river’s edge.

“Don’t worry,” Tina says, and she takes a step onto the bridge. Smiling as the old wood creaks, she says, “It’s perfectly safe.” Facing Sidney, backing further onto the bridge, the corners of her mouth turned up in her trademark grin, she assures her, “They don’t make ‘em like this anymore.”

“I don’t think we should.” But then Sidney watches as Tina turns and scrambles across the bridge, jumping up and down on the other side. Unscathed. Tina flashes the flashlight three times. Sidney doesn’t know Morse code, doesn’t know what that means, but she gets the hint. Taking a breath, she steps onto the old bridge. It creaks under her weight softly, but she doesn’t feel it give. She takes another step, all her weight now on the ancient wood. Holding the railing, her eyes glued to Tina, she moves forward.

The air over here is different, and even with the ever present smell of smoke, it’s earthy. Wet. She hears the falls somewhere nearby, maybe off to her right.

“Come on,” Tina says, taking her hand. Now she does turn on the flashlight, and its beam cuts a narrow tunnel through the gloom. Sidney sees faint trails. These aren’t like the ones she’s been following for days from her cabin to the lodge. No painted stones. No orderly lines where a rake’s tines have swept away dead leaves and needles. They step over fallen trees, their footsteps crunching in the bed of pine needles.

And then the beam of the flashlight finds a straight line. And another. And as they approach, Sidney can make out the shape of the cabin, the doorway, and eventually a carved wooden number hanging askew on the moldering cedar siding.

“Cabin 28.” Turning to Tina, she says, “We’re in the lower camp.”

“What’s left of it,” Tina says, and she runs the flashlight through the trees, where Sidney sees the ghostly silhouettes of more cabins. Most of them have partially collapsed. Fallen walls sit at obscene angles. Crumbled roofs gape like mouths, slick with moisture and glistening like rotted gums. They pass piles of debris, a half-collapsed stone fireplace. Broken glass crunches underfoot.

“What happened here?” Sidney asks, incredulous. It’s like time simply moved on and left this place for the trees to take back, for the earth itself to reclaim.

“Flash flood. One very wet winter and a run of storms and I guess the river decided to claim what it could take. A bunch of kids were trapped over here. One kid they found way downriver like a week later. He was purple by then, all swelled up with water, almost bursting.” Tina sees Sidney’s face go slack, and says, “Sorry.”

“Jesus,” Sidney whispers. For just a moment, she imagines this place flooded with sunlight, teeming with life, echoing with calls and enthusiastic footsteps. Then she sees a wall of water peek over the footbridge, rush forward with terrible speed; in under a second it’s where she’s standing and it’s tall enough to –

“Over here.” Tina’s stepping into a clearing. She turns off the flashlight and Sidney joins her, stepping carefully to where Tina stands, looking down at something. No, looking over the edge of something. Sidney stays a couple feet back. “It’s okay,” Tina says, reaching out for Sidney’s hand. She takes it, and she creeps forward to stand next to Tina. Beneath them, bathed in the sickly orange of the burning sky, is Havoc Falls. There’s a steep drop of about six feet onto rough stones, huge boulders deposited by the river ten years ago or a thousand or ten thousand.

“Holy shit,” is all Sidney can say. “Holy shit.” She turns around, looks back at the camp, imagines the water greedily pulling everything it can grab toward her, toward this, pulling whatever it can hold over the edge with it, down and down and down into the black.

“Gnarly, right. But I also think it’s beautiful. Especially at night.” Tina turns to Sidney.

“You come here a lot?”

“Not a lot.” She shrugs. “When I can’t sleep.” Sidney’s still looking down into the water, but now Tina reaches up, touches her face, and leans in. Their lips touch, and Sidney forgets about the wall of water and damnation at the bottom of Havoc Falls. Tina eases her onto the grass, and she is unburdened by memory, she is free of guilt. Their hands on each other’s bodies, they leave the clearing and the forest and the threatening haze and the sky is clear and the stars are brilliant. Their eyes closed, they speak with fingers and tongues.

Tina runs a hand down Sidney’s side, traces the line of her pants from back to front. Sidney’s head rolls back as Tina’s hand slips inside her waistband. She shudders as Tina lightly pushes, rubs, caresses. Tina makes small circles with her finger, her teeth on Sidney’s neck, then slowly pushes inside of her.

And in an instant, Sidney is back on the wet ground, and then she’s going down further, through the earth, and she’s being raked through time itself and she smells stale beer and cigarettes and she feels Bill the orderly’s breath on her and his fingers with their dirty fingernails are –

She pulls back and stands with a cry.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tina says. Standing up now, too. “I’m sorry. I didn’t..” She reaches out a hand, touches Sidney’s shoulder. Sidney pulls back, her face in her hands. Hidden. Hiding. “Sidney? Listen, we don’t have to, I mean, I didn’t know.” She’s taking another step forward, gingerly reaching out, pulling Sidney in close, her arms enveloping her. Sidney is trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Sidney, I’m sorry.” Moving her face close to Sidney’s ear, she says softly, “I’m so sorry.”

But all Sidney can hear is the laughter of her father’s friends; and all she can feel is Bill the orderly’s hot, stinking breath on her neck. And she needs to get away right now right this instant. She can feel their hands on her, feel their arms – so thick, so strong, so big – swallowing her up. And she tries to get clear. She tries to get away. And she pushes as hard as she can. And she’s free. Her eyes squeezed shut, she feels like she’s floating in space, and then it all comes rushing back as she hears a snap, a sickening crunch, wet and hollow.

She opens her eyes and she’s alone. 

Sidney doesn’t move for a long moment. This can’t be real. Maybe it’s not. Maybe she’s back in the hospital. She must be. She never left. But she hears the water and she smells the smoke and above her the sky burns. And she steps slowly to the edge. And she looks down.

5.

 

House Fire That Kills Two Deliberately Set, Victims Named; Santa Rosa Press Democrat, March 26, 1996 – Investigators say the house fire that killed an elderly couple early Sunday morning was arson. In an even more shocking development, they claim the fire was started by a seven-year-old girl left home alone, later found hiding in a shed on the property and hospitalized for smoke inhalation. The identity of the girl is not being released, but police say she lived with her father, and he has been charged with neglect and criminal endangerment.

 

The fire started shortly after midnight in the girl’s home and quickly jumped across a narrow divide to the house next door. Neighbors describe Tim and Carrie Gillchrist as “shut-ins” and “hoarders”. Officials have not made an official statement on the matter, but one rescue worker we talked to described the conditions in the house as “claustrophobic” and said rescue attempts were hampered by rooms and hallways stacked high with debris. The pair were recovered the next morning after the flames were extinguished.

Police Chief David Knight hinted that more charges may be pending for the father, but refused to elaborate, citing an ongoing investigation and “a lot of evidence we need to go through”. The girl remains in protective custody.

•

 

Sidney shakes awake to a deafening roar from above. She squeezes her hands against her ears, looking up just in time to see the red tail of a plane disappear behind the canopy of the trees. She hauls in a breath and coughs. Her eyes burn, and as she gathers herself, she sees that the forest is thick with haze. She’s at the edge of the clearing, the air choked with heavy smoke. It’s daylight, she thinks. It must be, but everywhere is dark with smoke.

Another roar overhead, this time a helicopter. She sees the red and white livery and knows what it means. She stands then, and knows what she has to do. She approaches the drop off, hearing the water surging below. A few feet away, she drops to her hands and knees, begins to crawl. Then she lowers herself onto her belly and pulls herself to the edge.

Directly beneath her, as if a ragdoll carelessly discarded, is Tina. Her left arm and leg are both twisted at impossible angles, bent where Sidney knows there are no joints. Tina’s back faces up, but her head, dashed on the rocks, is spun horrifically 180 degrees and also looks up toward Sidney. One grey eye stares past her. The other is gone. Something black and oily has leaked from where it should be. One of Tina’s arms stretches out into the water, and Sidney thinks she sees small silver fish pulling away what look like pink feathers from the fingers Tina once threaded through her own.

Then something inside Tina moves, and Sidney watches as a wet rat pushes out of her abdomen. Something long and red trails behind it. Sidney turns away from the edge, and she doesn’t know that she can ever move again, but then another plane roars overhead and she sees what it is: a tanker. She’s read about them, seen them on television. She crawls toward the tree line, but all she can see is Tina’s broken face. Her arm and shoulder in the water. She remembers the kid who was swept away. They found him downriver. Swollen. Almost bursting.

Her eyes already burning from the smoke, Sidney doesn’t feel the tears welling, tracing lines through the soot on her face, tragic tributaries. Moving on her stomach, sucking smoke, she barely registers the bile creeping up her throat. She reaches the tree line, her arms cut and bleeding, and continues to crawl, cracking through undergrowth, climbing over deadfalls. Her hair catching and pulling in branches, she claws her way through the ruins of the camp.

Above her more helicopters, more planes. The sun blotted out with smoke, she pulls herself along the ground through artificial twilight, the pine needles softly giving way beneath her. She hears sirens now, floating ethereally through the forest. And voices, amplified, muffled. A loudspeaker, maybe. A bullhorn. Still she crawls. And then she’s slipping into a cool darkness. No pine needles here, just rich earth, damp with rot. She pulls her arms and legs close. She can see out, can see the trees and even the footbridge, barely a shadow in the haze.

“Sidney! Tina!” It’s Meredith’s voice. She recognizes it now. But not just Meredith. A man, too. And the sounds of machinery. Saws, maybe. Trucks. She tries closing her eyes, but with them closed all she can see is the rat, engorged, lazily sliding into the river. So she keeps them open. Meredith’s calls might be getting closer. Sidney coughs. It’s hard to tell. She coughs again and hears a tree fall somewhere close.

It’s getting darker still. Sidney lies on her side, her legs pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. From here in the damp dark, she watches as the smoke thickens. She sees animals now, all of them running. She hears Meredith calling her name, but it all seems very far away now. She almost feels peaceful, there under cabin 28, looking out toward the footbridge as ash and embers begin to fall from the sky like snow.