The season was supposed to be over ... the pain was supposed to have stopped, and people should have been able to return to their homes without fear for the rainy season. The rainy season hadn't come and the pain just grew.
As it was, he hadn't expected another this late in the year, and certainly not one this big. Nevertheless, it had happened. How no one knew, and that to him made the pain so much worse.
Pain ... that was all he felt now. It hurt to move, it hurt to lie still. He had retreated a few days ago to his house, had stopped calling his family and stopped picking up the phone. He didn't want to hurt them like he was hurting, didn't want to bother them with his issues. Issues which were quickly getting out of hand.
Yesterday he couldn't even get out of bed, it hurt so bad, so he stayed curled under the covers in an image of perfect agony. Burn blisters formed over his old scars, open and bleeding. His voice was hoarse and he coughed through his cries of pain.
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She was worried. Usually, California picked up his phone. He didn't like to be left out or leave others waiting. She had called him too many times to count in the four days since he stopped answering his phone or calling.
She had called around to make sure it wasn't just her that was getting the cold shoulder, and everyone she asked had given the same answer. Noone knew what was going on, and everyone was worried.
She called again, and again the line rolled over to voicemail
'Hi. Sorry, I can't get to the phone right now! I'll call back in an hour, and if I don't please call again! Hola. ¡Lo siento no puedo llegar al teléfono en este momento! ¡Llamaré en una hora, y si no vuelvo a llamar por favor!'
She sighed in despair, where was he? Didn't he know how much worry he was causing?
Picking up her phone she dialed a different number, she was getting desperate.
"Alabama? Why are you calling?" answered the phone, at least he had the decency to pick up.
"I'm worried Dad. Cali hasn't been picking up his phone. Nobody's heard hide nor hair of him in four days." Alabama responded, nearly in tears.
"Ok, Imma come getcha. We can head over to his place together, mmk?" he responded, nerves and stress immediately present in his tone.
"Alright, bye Dad. See you then." Alabama sighs a watery smile present. She moves to sit out on the front porch and waits for America to come and get her.
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48 dead. 48 dead and counting. Nothing is for sure yet, the fire is still burning. It's only been a week. 135,000 acres destroyed, and only 35% of the fire is contained. So much destruction and no one even knows when it will be over. Whole towns burned to ash. Entire communities with absolutely nothing. And the fire is still burning.
He is in pain, an unending, agonizing pain. There is nothing he can do, he can't help anyone, he can't get out of bed. All he can do is lie on his bed and scream. Scream to the world all his pain and despair and hopelessness that he feels in the moment.
The Valley is filled with smoke. The city had the air quality of Beijing. His cough got worse, the smoke grew, the air quality fell, and the fire raged on.
By the time America and Alabama arrive at his home, he is half delirious in pain. He lost the energy to scream a while ago, and now just lies whimpering on bloody sheets.
