Page 80 of Cherry Tree Ranch

I stop dead in my tracks. Why is she just standing there? Why isn’t she yelling for help?

I yank her blanket away and try to smother the flames, but the tree is too tall. Cash yells to people at the bonfire as he runs to them. I spin round, mind racing, trying to come up with a solution quickly. I run after him, and people are already coming towards us with coolers filled with icy water – just what I was thinking. We run together, a couple of people on the sides of each cooler. The air is silent except for the sound of crackling leaves.

We heave the coolers up and toss the water as high on to the branches as possible. Some of the guys lift each other up to smother the flames with more blankets, but the fire only spreads. It expands exponentially – along with my frenzied panic.

I scream at Emery when I see her holding a blanket. “Give that to me!” I steal it from her and climb a picking ladder, this time without a second thought. I slap the flames with a blanket, causing embers to fall in my face. Each spark burns with pain, but I push them away. I swat at the flames again, and the blanket ignites. An ember falls into my hair and feels like a knife cutting at my scalp. I pull it from my head.

“I’m calling the fire department,” Emery yells up to me, but I hardly register her words.

“Stop! Stop!” I yell at the fire, crying.

Suddenly I’m being pulled down from the tree. I swing my hands and kick my legs. And as my feet hit the ground, a hand pulls the remains of the burning ember from my head.

“Let go of me! Stop it.” It’s Cash, but I don’t turn. All I can think is: I have to put out the fire. I see another group carrying a cooler towards me.

“Put the blanket in the water,” I yell to them. “Hitting the flames is only making it worse.”

Together we soak the blanket in the cold water.

“Throw it over the tree,” I scream over the noise and chaos.

Cash uses his large arms to throw the heavy, wet blanket over the tree, but it ends up in more of a lump than spread out. I jump up, grabbing at the ends to pull it across. My hand snags on a fiery branch and it breaks from my grasp, falling to the ground in a black and orange mass. More people come to the cooler to soak blankets. By now, every tree’s on fire.

We work tirelessly until sirens come hollering up the hill. Thank the stars the fire department has a wildland fire truck. A normal one wouldn’t make it up. Firemen and women yell to us to get away from the fire. They work as quickly as they can to pump water from the pond through their hoses.

“Cash! They aren’t going fast enough,” I cry. “Oh my gosh! What about Mom? The house?”

“I sent Emery down to check on her already.” He pulls me in, trying to keep me from looking. “They’re doing all they can.”

I wrap my arm round him, but I scream when my hand touches his sweatshirt. Stinging pain shoots up to my elbow from my hand. Adrenalin is racing through my veins, but the pain from my burns is blasting through it. I use the flashlight on my phone to look at my hand. My skin is blistered and blazing red. Cash gasps and runs to fetch one of the many beers laying on the ground that had been tossed out of the coolers. He pours the cold liquid over my blisters, one after another until he’s gotten through about ten of them.

“Is it helping?” he asks, worry painted across his face.

Tears drip from the corners of my eyes as the beer fizzes over my blistered hand. I don’t say it, but the tears are not from the pain – they’re from wishing this wasn’t real. I want to wake up. This can’t be happening, standing here, huddled in a circle, watching my trees burn. Only a short time ago we were playing games, drinking beer and singing songs.

My hand is not mine. The burns and blisters, the red and purple bulges belong to someone who’s lost their last hope, not to me. Emery appears at my side and gives me a hug, but I can’t look away from my hand.

“I’m so sorry, Dahlia,” she says. “I can’t believe this happened. We need to get you to the hospital!”

“I’ll be OK. I don’t want to leave. Is Mom OK?”

She had been at the house during the party, ready to drive anyone home or set up beds if we needed.

“She’s OK. I ran back out here to help after I called the fire department. She’ll probably get in trouble for the under-age drinking.”

“No,” I say. “We can’t let that happen. We take all the blame, OK? We’ll say she had no idea. That we lied to her.”

Emery starts crying. “Yeah, you’re right. Dahlia, I’m so sorry. This birthday party was a big mistake. Come on, let’s get you some help.”

Just then, a large flame rises from the orchard, and I lose hope that any trees will remain. It’s a funny thing, watching a fire destroy something you love. The destruction is impossible to tear your eyes from, and yet it is excruciating to watch.

I make sure everyone else is looked at first and safe to go home. No one is critically hurt, thankfully. As the glow of the embers begins to fade and almost everyone has been checked by the EMTs, it’s finally my turn.

Cash stays by my side as they treat the second-degree burns on my scalp and offer me an oxygen mask. The EMTs put antibiotic cream on my head and hand after I run them in cold water. They wrap my hand in bandages and give me an ice pack.

As they work on me, Mom talks to the firemen and police. Behind her, wisps of smoke rise from the black skeletons of trees. In the light of the emergency vehicles, shadows of leaves peek out from the charred limbs. There is still some silvery grey bark, and I think I may even see a cherry or two hanging from the branches, but every single tree was damaged.

Hank comes over and tells us more bad news. The fire didn’t just hit the trees. It spread across the field. I was so consumed by the trees I had no idea.