Finally off the fires, Evan got to sleep in a bed. Not with Krista, but he was past caring. The bunk was heaven.
They’d all unloaded, restaged the gear, and crawled into the showers then their bunks. No calls of “Doghouse Inn!” Not many even made it down the buffet line that Betsy somehow managed to drag together despite following the MHA flight crews from camp to camp with her cook tent and supplies in tow.
Three straight weeks on fires equaled severe sleep deprivation.
Evan managed to resurface by midday, sixteen hours later. He felt so much better, except for the permanent kink in his neck from sleeping the whole time in one position.
He went out in front of the bunk house and, blinking at the late morning sunlight like an owl, started doing some stretches.
“Hey, Rook!”
“Hey, Mast
