Chapter Thirteen
Donovan
Looking ahead, smoke drifted across the sky in the distance. Fred, our pilot for the afternoon, spoke into his microphone headset, and then glanced over to Levi.
“Almost there,” I heard Fred say over the steady thwack of the helicopter blades.
We were headed out to a fire in the western part of Alaska. Much of Alaska was considered the Interior. The area we were headed for was on the edge of the Interior, but not quite on the coast either—where the mostly spruce forest gradually transitioned to tundra and wind whipped across the dry land. We were landing north of Willow Brook by about an hour or so as the crow flew.
We were having a rough fire season this year, but then, it seemed we’d had a rough fire season every year I’d been here so far. Fire season everyw
