commercial sewing machine to repair parachutes and protective gear—and a giant open area.
The air inside was cold and damp. The floor was concrete, and the ceiling soared a full four stories above them. A faux cliff had been constructed along one wall for rock climbing and rescue exercises. Twenty ropes descended from beams high above, useful for climbing and parachute training.
“They hope to build a hangar next summer,” Logan commented as Reyne looked around. “Funding is short, even for a private forestry company.” She glanced up at him quickly, and he looked as if he wanted to bite his tongue for reminding her. “I’m on loan from the BLM to help build their hotshot and smokejumper crew this summer.If the forestry company’s holdings aren’t on fire, we’ll contract out with the BLM and the Forest Service.
“Come over here,” he rushed on, eager to share everything with her. They walked over to the series of ropes and climbed up a ladder to a small platform surrounded by a large net. Grabbing a tiny remote control, Logan motioned for her to don what appeared to be a parachute setup without the chute. She took off her coat and did as he bid. He did the same in a similar setup beside her.
“Ready?” Logan asked her. He started to check all the connections on her gear himself, but she batted his hands away.
“I’m fine. Let’s go.”
He raised his eyebrows in concern but nodded. “Okay. Here we go.”
Logan pressed two buttons, and an electric winch sprang into action, hoisting them high above. Reyne fought not to gasp as they sailed upward, her stomach flipping as they did so. When they finally came to a halt, she said, “Well, I’ve smokejumped enough down, but never up.”
“I know,” he said, grinning at her. “Isn’t it great? This way we can simulate tree accidents and figure out if our equipment will work. You said you’ve been a smokejumper?”
“Spent a summer on a jumper crew.”
“Good. Then you’re aware of what danger a jumper is in when he gets hung up in the trees.”
“Or when
she
gets hung up.”
“Yeah. Sure,” he said with a grin. “The trouble is that you’re sitting up here, waiting for your buddies to find you, praying that it’s before the wind changes and makes you a big smokin’ hot dog on a stick, and there isn’t much you can do. If your chute is caught on abranch”—he motioned above him at the fictional parachute—“that will give way when you clip your letdown gear to it, you’re in big trouble.
“Up to now, as you know, jumpers had to pray that the chute would stay put or that there was a nearby sturdy branch. But with my support pouch, hopefully that will be a thing of the past.”
“So what do you want from me?” Reyne asked. “You need help figuring out what to put in the pouch?”
Logan ignored her sarcasm. “I need help on a lot of fronts. We need to figure out how to build this device and then make the contents as small as possible. Obviously, the less they have to carry the better.”
Reyne smiled, thinking of her jumper days. Smokejumpers traditionally donned heavy, thick apparel and wire-masked helmets as protection from the trees. The last thing they needed was another piece of equipment to carry. But Logan was right. If she was hung up in the trees, she’d want a better way out than the Swiss army knife they all carried. Reyne had been hung up before, but she had been situated in a way that she was able to cut the cords and climb down the sturdy trunk, not rely on a chute caught in flimsy branches and a letdown rope dangling beneath it.
Her friend had been lowering herself from a perch sixty feet up when the wind had changed and her chute had become unsnagged. It had taken Reyne’s team hours to carry her broken, twisted body to a clearing for a helicopter pickup. And it had taken months for her to recuperate. She had never returned to fight fire.
“Okay,” Reyne said slowly. “This really is not my field of
The air inside was cold and damp. The floor was concrete, and the ceiling soared a full four stories above them. A faux cliff had been constructed along one wall for rock climbing and rescue exercises. Twenty ropes descended from beams high above, useful for climbing and parachute training.
“They hope to build a hangar next summer,” Logan commented as Reyne looked around. “Funding is short, even for a private forestry company.” She glanced up at him quickly, and he looked as if he wanted to bite his tongue for reminding her. “I’m on loan from the BLM to help build their hotshot and smokejumper crew this summer.If the forestry company’s holdings aren’t on fire, we’ll contract out with the BLM and the Forest Service.
“Come over here,” he rushed on, eager to share everything with her. They walked over to the series of ropes and climbed up a ladder to a small platform surrounded by a large net. Grabbing a tiny remote control, Logan motioned for her to don what appeared to be a parachute setup without the chute. She took off her coat and did as he bid. He did the same in a similar setup beside her.
“Ready?” Logan asked her. He started to check all the connections on her gear himself, but she batted his hands away.
“I’m fine. Let’s go.”
He raised his eyebrows in concern but nodded. “Okay. Here we go.”
Logan pressed two buttons, and an electric winch sprang into action, hoisting them high above. Reyne fought not to gasp as they sailed upward, her stomach flipping as they did so. When they finally came to a halt, she said, “Well, I’ve smokejumped enough down, but never up.”
“I know,” he said, grinning at her. “Isn’t it great? This way we can simulate tree accidents and figure out if our equipment will work. You said you’ve been a smokejumper?”
“Spent a summer on a jumper crew.”
“Good. Then you’re aware of what danger a jumper is in when he gets hung up in the trees.”
“Or when
she
gets hung up.”
“Yeah. Sure,” he said with a grin. “The trouble is that you’re sitting up here, waiting for your buddies to find you, praying that it’s before the wind changes and makes you a big smokin’ hot dog on a stick, and there isn’t much you can do. If your chute is caught on abranch”—he motioned above him at the fictional parachute—“that will give way when you clip your letdown gear to it, you’re in big trouble.
“Up to now, as you know, jumpers had to pray that the chute would stay put or that there was a nearby sturdy branch. But with my support pouch, hopefully that will be a thing of the past.”
“So what do you want from me?” Reyne asked. “You need help figuring out what to put in the pouch?”
Logan ignored her sarcasm. “I need help on a lot of fronts. We need to figure out how to build this device and then make the contents as small as possible. Obviously, the less they have to carry the better.”
Reyne smiled, thinking of her jumper days. Smokejumpers traditionally donned heavy, thick apparel and wire-masked helmets as protection from the trees. The last thing they needed was another piece of equipment to carry. But Logan was right. If she was hung up in the trees, she’d want a better way out than the Swiss army knife they all carried. Reyne had been hung up before, but she had been situated in a way that she was able to cut the cords and climb down the sturdy trunk, not rely on a chute caught in flimsy branches and a letdown rope dangling beneath it.
Her friend had been lowering herself from a perch sixty feet up when the wind had changed and her chute had become unsnagged. It had taken Reyne’s team hours to carry her broken, twisted body to a clearing for a helicopter pickup. And it had taken months for her to recuperate. She had never returned to fight fire.
“Okay,” Reyne said slowly. “This really is not my field of
Similar Books
