Between Earth and Sky | ✓

Part 3: A Rig on Fire

A fit of coughing brings me back to the present. "No, no, no, no," I mumble, getting my quad moving again. This can't be happening. There's no way that explosion came from the rig. It has to be something else. Because if it was . . .

Cheese and crackers! I shake my head, trying to get the increasingly bad thoughts out of my brain. There has to be a simple explanation, and everything is going to turn out fine.

There's only a few hundred feet to go, but the closer I get to the chain link fence surrounding the compound, the more scared I get. My hands tremble on the grips as I ride through the open gate, the smoke continuing to burn my throat and sting my eyes. I stop in front of one of the administrative trailers and cut the engine, struck by how deserted everything is. It's only in the otherwise eerie silence I hear the unmistakable sound of a rig on fire.

The steady whoosh of the oil bursting uncontrollably through a damaged pipe that's been set aflame is something everyone around here knows, but never wants to hear. It's the sign something has gone terribly wrong and more often than not, is about to get even worse.

I'm quivering like a gosh-darned leaf now, and while my mind says I have to keep going, my legs are rooted to the ground. It's only a few steps around the trailer and another hundred feet back to the rig, but this is as far as I've even been allowed. As if on cue, Monk Lewis bursts out of the building, yelling into a satellite phone as he runs past me. He's Poppy's uncle, and I don't even know if that's his given name or if it's just something people have always called him. It would be pretty ironic if his mother named him Monk since he's already on his fourth wife, but right now, though that's neither here nor there. I also can't tell who's on the other end of the conversation, but he's cursing more than anything else. Still, I'm happy to see a familiar face because it also means my brothers must also be somewhere nearby, so I follow the pudgy little man in the hardhat.

"Bryce! Clay! Sam!" I shout, but as soon as I step out from behind the trailer, the heat hits me. It's like opening the oven door when you're baking cookies, but multiplied by a thousand. The chimney of black smoke that's probably visible now for miles stretches above me like a huge funnel, but the orange and red flames at its base make it even more terrifying. There are two men using a hose attached to a tanker truck dousing the surrounding area with water, and the mist combines with the oil to fall from the sky like rain. My hair's already full of burnt pieces of goodness knows what, but the closer I get, the heavier the spray of sticky substance is on my skin.

"Lane! Roland! Cody!" I continue my frantic calls, still not seeing my brothers among the preciously few faces. My shoes slip on the slick surface, and I land on my butt in the mud. Wiping my eyes with the back of my hands, I twist my neck around, but apart from the three men I've already seen, the field is empty.

"Clay! Roland! Bryce!" I scream at the top of my lungs, starting to fear the worst. A bitter taste coats my tongue, but I push myself up and run to the other side. "Sam! Cody! Lane!" I shout above the fire as it slowly melts and mangles the rig in front of me.

In the distance, I see flashing red lights approach before two hands wrap around my upper arms, pulling me away from the flames. I'm still screaming, but all I can hear is the deafening whoosh. Blinking to clear my eyes of the gunk, I catch a glimpse of something I know can't be real.

In the fire, a shape emerges. It's only a dark silhouette, but against the bright yellow, I swear it has arms and legs. When it begins to float upwards, I become less certain. Then suddenly hands thrust to the side and as the wide arms flap up and down, the shadow flies into the cloud of smoke. I realize I'm screaming in terror until another similar shape follows the first. I've now lost the ability to control my breathing, and I gasp for breath while watching a third, fourth, fifth, and finally sixth dark form impossibly fly through the flames.

My mind is spinning and my body is light, making me feel like I'm between earth and sky. Knowing there's only one way to stop my fall, I black out before impact.

When I open my eyes again, I'm lying in the back of an open ambulance with a clear view of the burning rig. Mom and Johnny are standing on the ground past my feet; she's on her cell, and he's arguing with Monk about the blowout. It must have taken them at least ten minutes to get here, so I've been out for a while. I try to sit up, but the tube attached to the oxygen mask covering my nose and mouth pulls me back.

"Whoa, there. Not so fast, kid." The EMT who's been right behind me this entire time puts his hand on my shoulder.

Sliding into view, I recognize him as my fifth grade teacher's oldest son, Owen Bousquet. I blush, remembering what a huge crush I used to have on the guy. I haven't seen much of him since he graduated high school, but I guess he's one of the few not working in the oil biz who stuck around. Lucky for me right now, too since Otter Falls only has its own ambulance and medical center thanks to this rig. There's some code or safety regulations making it necessary. Mom knows about it better than me since she lobbied for it.

Noticing me move, she ends her call and tries to climb in beside me, but Owen stops her. "Just a sec, Mayor. Let me see what we're dealing with first."

She frowns and nods in agreement, but all I want to do is give her a big hug. I open my mouth and try to tell her it's okay, but apart from a weird sound you'd expect if you stepped on a frog mid-croak, nothing comes out.

"I was afraid of that." Owen takes off my oxygen mask before finding one of those metal popsicle stick things in a drawer. "Open wide."

My mouth tastes like I've licked a lump of coal, and it feels just as dry. When I automatically try to say "aah" the way doctors always expect you to, a sharp pain stabs my throat. I reach to my neck, but Owen's already pushing my tongue out of the way to get a better look inside my windpipe. When he finally sits back, I can tell by the serious look on his face that it's not good news.

"You should count your lucky stars, Mira," he begins, motioning to my mom – now standing alone at the open doors – so she can come over. "I don't know what you were doing so close to that fire, but apart from a singed larynx, I'd say you came out on top today."

"Should we get her to Regional Medical?" Mom is already in planning mode as she arrives at my side.

"Resting will do her much better than a four-hour car ride, and I'd rather not call an airlift in case it's needed for the others," Owen answers above my head. "I can give you some antiseptic spray that'll help with the throat pain, and if her voice isn't back in a few days—"

Hold up. What others? I raise my hand to get his attention, cutting him off mid-sentence before remembering I can't talk. Turning toward mom, I mouth the question, "Others?"