Seventeen

The transmission made a loud clunk as the Cherokee was thrown into reverse. The engine revved and the wheels slipped on the gravel. Rich jerkily backed the jeep out of the parking strip next to the inferno and then hit the brakes. This was probably be the only real chance he had to extricate himself from this really bad situation – this really bad time. He recalled that only a few years before, a disgruntled Forest Service employee had set fire to part of the Mogollon Rim and was subsequently sent up to the Federal pen for decades. Rich was certain the same fate awaited himself and his friends, and all of this had occurred simply because they wanted to do something nice for Billy. Everything he and Dave had done here with and for Billy happened with the best of intentions.

Rich collected his thoughts and assessed the situation. The ninja-minstrels were using their sleeping bags and clothing to smother the flames spreading on the ground. Billy was making the feeblest of attempts to douse the campfire by opening his fly and urinating onto the flames from the smoldering picnic table. The tree branches above the fire pit still burned. Dave was nowhere to be found. Rich came to a decision. He wheeled the Jeep around 180 degrees and backed it into the parking strip – back into the inferno. Without saying a word, he exited the Cherokee, picked up the first cooler he saw and dumped its contents into the fire pit. The second cooler got the same treatment.

“The beer!” gasped Billy while zipping his fly.

“Shut your fucking mouth, get down here and help me or I’ll kill you right here, tonight.” Rich replied emotionlessly. He climbed up onto the roof of the jeep from the back bumper with the firewood axe and began to hack at the flaming tree branches surrounding him.