Under The Ashes

         Strong winds pushed the billowing black smoke across the dry hills, flames licked at the heels of the dark cloud. The horizon blazed in colors of orange and red, transforming the sun from its customary bright yellow to flaming crimson. From her front porch Betty watched as ash fell softly on her green lawn leaving black snow covered grass and shrubs.

            “It’s far away I don’t think we’re in any danger,” Betty whispered to herself, but just to be on the safe side she got her important papers together and set them by the front door. She walked through the house admiring family pictures she had collected through the years remembering the day they were taken, the children so young, her blond hair not streaked with gray. Her old Labrador lay on his bed on the patio, his black fur covered with a blanket of ash. The pool was dark and still with a thick layer of dead pine needles floating on the once blue water.  She was worried the giant Redwood might catch fire if live ash fell, so she walked to the back of the property to make sure it was alright, (too far from the house to hear the phone.) She was thinking about the coyotes, rabbits and squirrels that would make their way down the mountain, unless they got burned along with all the trees. The air felt hot as though the sun was too close to the earth. She could feel the heat on her back. The smoke was getting heavier. Her lungs ached with each breath. Betty had called her daughter to pick up the baby early. She didn’t want him breathing in all this smoke. She shivered in the heat as a sense of doom swept over her like a cold wind… the hair on her arms stood on end. She turned on her heels back toward the house in time to hear the sound of shattering glass. Flames danced on the roof, smoke poured from broken windows, fire made its way through her home seemingly joyous with the new found fuel.                       

 Betty took a towel from the fence and wet it in the pool covering her head as she ran. Holding her breath she ran blindly through the burning house led by instinct and memory to the

baby’s room. The first floor was in flames, but hadn’t reached the stairs; Betty cleared two steps at a time till she reached the landing. The door to the baby’s room was hot as she pushed it open.

Grabbing a blanket she wet it in the tub before wrapping her grandson and heading back toward the stairs. She stood at the landing and watched as the flames curled around the railings. It was too far to jump; she would have to run through the fire. She ran back and got another blanket wet to wrap around herself then went as fast as she could down the burning stairs. Her dog was barking wildly at the back door. She couldn’t see through the smoke, but ran toward the familiar sound. Her eyes watered, her lungs were empty; she knew she had to get out fast.  Her faithful old dog continued to bark as she made her way to the patio door. She could feel the flames crawling up the edge of the blanket; she ran to the pool and jumped in rising quickly then rushing to the far side of the property. Her grandson coughed as she laid him on the ground quickly removing the blanket. Tears streamed down his soft cheeks. Betty lifted him to her shoulder worried he had inhaled too much smoke, but he opened his eyes and gave her a big smile.

            “We made it little one.” Tears of relief spilled over her face as she smothered the baby in kisses. “We’ll be okay.”                                                                                                                         

 The wind had changed, moving the fire down hill. Betty held the baby tight against her breast as she watched the rest of her house fall leaving black timbers, hot embers and ruin.  Squirrels jumped from the Redwood to the pepper tree chattering a warning as they made their way through the branches. Soon all was still.  Betty stared across the flat space where her house once stood, where roses once bloomed, memories were made and children raised.  A coyote approached and rested on the other side of the chain link fence panting in the heat. 

Each sat in silence, not knowing where to go or what to do. Her life was saved by a barking dog, the coyote’s by instinct.  Betty waited until she saw her daughter’s car barreling up the street screeching to a halt at the blackened driveway. Betty and the coyote stood facing each other before each turned, walking slowly in opposite directions. They would both start over; both make new homes, new lives and new memories. The coyote stopped before he reached the end of the fence turning his head to face Betty, a question in his sad eyes.                                                                                                                                                   

“I know how you feel, old boy. You’ll be okay.”