Smoldering Light

Chapter 31

Trigger Warning: Depictions of drug use, discussions of recovery and major character injury.. Please be mindful. It's not too bad in terms of this story, but still...

"Mayday!"

Maya gasps, lurching upward in bed, clutching her hands to her throat, seemingly unable to breathe. She paws at her clammy, sweaty skin, eyes darting around the room as she places a palm to her beating chest, trying her hardest to orient herself.

The flames and engine from her dreams slowly start to dissipate, the scenes of her bunk filling her senses and replacing the strangled mayday calls of her nightmares. Her chest was still pounding, a bright red hue to the skin from the heat of her nightmare.

Her eyes finally focus, and she takes in the morning as her breathing calms down. The air was still, eerie and stagnant, a very rare morning coming to wake in solitude. It was likely just before 6am as Maya's internal clock always woke her before sunrise. The sun was beginning to break over the firehouse and paint the valley behind them in pinks and reds, hazy still from the lingering smoke. The dewey grass was frosted, an indication that the nights were getting colder, the autumn slowly nipping at their heels.

Maya groans as she lifts herself off of her bunk, looking down at her feet, nails bloodied and purple, her ankle adorning a permanent swell. Her bones crack as she stands and stretches, her aching ribs, stiff neck groaning with movement. She shuffles into her running shoes, the prevalent tremor in her bad hand impeding her ability to fully loop the laces.

She sighs, trying her best to remain calm, to ignore the pain, and just soak in the nothing. Maya very rarely got a moment to herself these days, constantly overburdened by her new captaincy and a storybook wildfire season. She hoped to catch a decent run before the world and its problems rumble awake and begin bombarding her. Though she had been burning the candle at both ends all summer long, there was no cure for an anxious and over tired Maya greater than a run.

Her feet pelt the bark-chipped path circling around their station, each stride feeling worse than the next. She could feel her muscles kicking off warning signs, tightening and refusing to relent, her thoughts the same. Each task, each worry or unfinished thought, each lingering temptation began to swirl in her mind like a mixing bowl of shitty, shitty ingredients.

Runs were usually the best form of therapy for Maya, taking her tangled yarn ball of spiraled thoughts and straightening each one out as the tempo of her thundering feet banged the drum, marching her forward toward clarity and calm. This morning, however, was the opposite. Her feet were in thick, viscous mud, snagging and catching at every step. Her lungs burned a little more than she had liked, the sticky pain of cardio on a cold morning coming with a bigger bite than usual. It was a sign she was out of shape, and likely a sign that a summer's worth of wildfire exposure was dragging her down.

Today was a going home day. Carina had a few hours in the pit, followed by therapy, and physical therapy, so she was going to be extra tired. Going home days always brought an extra spring to the entire station's step, especially her A and B teams, who had shouldered a vast majority of the wildfires this season. Today was a much-needed reprieve.

Except, Maya didn't feel an ounce of that reprieve. It was like as she ran, it sped up the crank in her mind's motor, reflecting and ruminating on every single shortcoming. Her near misses, her near deaths, the costly mistakes she had made this summer.

Every single disappointed facetime with Carina, having to deliver the dreaded news of letting her down. Being forced to abandon and constantly change plans on Carina had worn its way through Maya's protective layer and blistered the skin, rubbing the festering pain raw and tormenting her. She saw it in Carina's eyebrow, the deflated tone of her voice. She hated it.