LITTLE FUZZY’S EYES smarted, his throat was sore and his
mouth dry. His fur was singed. There was one place on his back
where he had been burned painfully, and would have been burned
worse if someone behind had not slapped out the fire. He was
filthy, caked with mud and blackened with soot. They all were. They
had just gotten out of mud and were standing on the bank of the
small stream, looking about them.
There was nothing green anywhere they looked, nothing but black,
dusted with gray ash and wreathed in gray smoke that rose from
things that still burned. Many trees still stood, but they were all
black with smoke and little tongues of flame blowing from them. The
sun had come out, but it was hard to see, dim and red, through the
smoke that rose everywhere.
They stood in a little clump beside the stream. No one spoke.
Lame One was really lame now; he had burned his foot and limped in
pain, leaning on a spear. Wise One had been hurt too, by a broken
branch that had bounced and hit him when a tree had fallen nearby.
There was dried blood in his fur along with the mud and soot. Most
of the others had been cut and scratched in the brush or bruised by
falls, but not badly. They had lost most of their things.
Little Fuzzy still had his shoulder bag and his knife and trowel
and his axe. Wise One had an axe, and he still had the whistle. Big
She had an axe, and so did Stonebreaker. Stabber had a spear, as
did Lame One and Other She. All the other weapons had been lost
swimming the river that flowed into the lake after the wind had
turned and brought the fire toward them.
“Now what do?” Stabber was asking. “Not go
back, big fire that way. Big fire that way too.” He pointed
up the stream. “And not go where fire was, ground hot, all
burn feet like Lame One.”
He had always wondered why Big Ones wore the hard, stiff things
on their feet. Now he knew; they could walk anywhere with them. A
Big One could walk over the ground here that was still smoking. He
wished now that they had carried away the skins of the goofers and
zarabunnies they had killed; but of course, if they had they would
have lost them in the water too.
“Big Ones’ Friend know about fire,”
Stonebreaker said. “We not know. Big Ones’ Friend tell
us what to do.”
He didn’t know what to do either. He would have to think
and remember everything Pappy Jack and Pappy Gerd and Pappy George
and the others had told him, and everything he had seen and learned
since this fire had begun.
Fire would not live where there was nothing to burn, or in
water, or ground. It would not burn wet things, but it would make
wet things dry, and then they would burn. That was not the fire
itself, but the heat of the fire. He didn’t understand about
that, because heat was not a thing but just the way things were.
Pappy Jack had told him that. He still didn’t quite
understand, but he knew fire made heat.
Fire couldn’t live without air. He wasn’t sure just
what air was, but it was everywhere, and when it moved it made
wind. Fire burned in the way the wind blew; this was so, but he had
seen fire burning, very little and very slow, against the wind. But
the big part of the fire went with the wind; that was what had made
the bad trouble last night, when the wind had changed.
And fire always burned up; he had seen that happen at the
beginning when the little dry things on the ground caught fire and
the fire went up into the trees and burned them. He could still see
it burning up the trees that were standing. There were two kinds of
woods fires, and he had seen both kinds. One kind burned on the
ground, among the bushes, and set fire to the trees above it. That
had been how this fire had started. Then there were fires that got
into the tops of trees and lit one treetop from another. Little
burning things fell down and set fire to what was on the ground,
and this burned after the big fire in the treetops. This was a bad
kind of fire; with a strong wind it moved very fast. Nobody could
escape by running ahead of it.
“Big Ones’ Friend not say anything,” Big She
objected.
“Big Ones’ Friend make think,” Wise One said.
“Not think, do wrong thing. Do wrong thing, all make
dead.”
Maybe it would be best just to stay here all day and wait for
the ground to get cool and the little burning things to go out. He
thought that the place where they had camped and where the fire had
started was to the east of them, but he wasn’t sure. There
was a lake to the south of them, he knew that, but he didn’t
know which one. There were too many lakes in this place. And there
were too many bloodyhell sunnabish fires all around!
“Nothing to eat, this place,” Carries-Bright-Things
complained. “Good-to-eat things all burn.”
As soon as she said that, everybody remembered that they were
hungry. They had eaten a goofer, but that had been a long time ago,
and they had not been able to finish it.
“We have to find not-burn-yet place, then find good-to-eat
things.” The trouble was, he didn’t know where there
were any not-burn-yet places, and if they found one maybe the fire
would come and then there would be more trouble. He looked up the
stream. “I think we go that way. Maybe find not-burn place,
maybe find place where fire all dead, ground cool.”
And then they would have to get back to the lakes and find a
place to camp and start building a raft. He thought of all the work
they had done that they would have to do over, the rope they would
have to make, the things to work with, the logs. That was a
sick-making thing to think of. And the trouble he and Wise One and
Stabber would have with some of the others . . .
They started up the stream, with the whole country burned black,
gray with smoke and ashes on either side, and the black trees
standing, still burning. They waded where the water was not too
deep. Where it was, they walked on the bank, careful to avoid
burning things. The stream bent; now they were going straight
west.
Then they heard an aircar sound. They all stopped and listened.
Pappy Jack had always told him that if he were lost, he should
build a fire and make a big smoke, so that somebody would see. He
had to laugh at that. This time he had made a big smoke. Some Big
One, even far away, had seen it and come to see what made it. Then
he was disappointed. He knew what the sound was. It was not an
aircar nearby but a big air-thing, a ship, far off. He knew about
them. One came every three days to Wonderful Place, bringing
things. It was always fun when a ship came; none of the Fuzzies
would stay in school but would all run out to watch.
He wondered why a ship was in this place, and then he thought
that it would be coming to Yellowsand, bringing more machines and
more of Pappy Vic’s friends to help him dig, and things to
eat, and likka for koktel-drinko, and everything the Big Ones
needed. The Big Ones on the ship would see the smoke and tell Pappy
Vic, and then Pappy Vic and his friends would come.
The only trouble was, this fire was too big. It was burning
everywhere. Why, it would take a person days to walk all around
where it had burned. How would the Big Ones know where to look, and
from the air, how could they see for all this smoke? Pappy Jack had
said, make smoke. Well, he had made too much smoke. If it had not
been so dreadful, that would have been a laugh-at thing.
He mustn’t let the others think about this, though. So, as
they waded up the little stream, he talked to them about Wonderful
Place, of the estee-fee they ate, and the milk and fruit juice, and
the school where the Big Ones taught new things nobody had ever
thought about, and the bows and arrows, and the hard stuff that
they heated to make soft and pounded into any shape they wanted and
then made hard again, and the marks that meant sounds, so that when
one looked at them one could say the words somebody else had said
when making them. He told them how many Fuzzies there were at
Wonderful Place, and all the fun they had. He told them about how
all Fuzzies would have nice Big Ones of their own, to take care of
them and be good to them. It made a good-feeling just to talk about
these things.
Then, through the smoke ahead, he saw green, and then all the
others saw it and shouted and ran forward, even Lame One hobbling
on his spear. The fire had stopped at a little stream that flowed
into this one from the south, and beyond was green grass and
bushes. But there were old black trees here, burned and dead, with
moss on them. The others, all but Wise One, could not understand
this.
“Long-ago big burn-everything fire,” Wise One said.
“Maybe lightning make. Burn everything here, same like
that.” He pointed to the smoking burn-place behind.
“Then grass grow, bushes grow, but this fire not find
anything to burn.”
They crossed into the long-ago-burned place. The ground was
still black, although the other fire had been many new-leaf times
ago. Here he cut the tallest and straightest of the bushes, making
a staff for Lame One so that Carries-Bright-Things could take his
spear, and he made a club for Fruitfinder. Then they made
line-abreast and went forward, and almost at once they killed a
zarabunny, and then a goofer . . .
Using his trowel, he dug a trench, and they built a fire in it
and sat down and watched the meat cooking on sticks over it. He and
Big She took the zarabunny skin and put it around Lame One’s
hurt foot and cut strips from the goofer skin to fasten it on. Lame
One got up and limped about to try it and said that it did not hurt
him so much to walk. After they ate he filled his pipe and lit it,
and those who liked to smoke passed it around.
He was very careful to bury all the fire before they left.
Everybody thought it was funny that they were making a fire with
fire all around them.
There was smoke ahead, but the wind was at their backs. Soon the
burned-dead trees became less, and then there were white dead
trees, with all their branches. He thought that these trees had
made dead because the bark had been burned at the bottoms, just as
trees were killed by goofers chewing the bark. The brush was more
and bigger here. And finally they came to big round-blue-leaf trees
that had not been burned at all. The fire had never been here.
Nobody wanted to go fast. It was nice among the big trees, and
the smoke in the air was less, though they could still smell it and
it made the sun dim. They found a little stream, clear and sweet,
untainted by ashes. They drank and washed all the mud and soot out
of their fur. Everybody felt much better.
He began hearing aircar sounds again, very far away, but many of
them, and also machinery sounds. Pappy Vic and his friends must
have come and brought machines to help them put out the fire. He
remembered all the things he had seen at Yellowsand, how they were
digging off the whole top of the mountain. They would have no
trouble putting out a fire even as big as this one. He wanted to go
in the direction of the sounds, but he knew that the fire was
between.
The ground sloped up, but his compass told him that they were
still going south; it seemed to him that the land should slope down
in that direction. Then they came to the top of a hill. When they
went forward they could see a lake ahead and below, a very wide
lake. They stopped at the edge of a cliff, higher than the highest
house in Wonderful Place, as high as the middle terrace of Pappy
Ben’s house in Big House Place, and right at the bottom with
no beach at all was the lake.
“Not go down there,” Lame One said. “Not even
if foot not hurt. Too far, nothing to hold to, not
climb.”
“Go down, get in water,” Stabber said.
“Water deep down there. Always deep, place like
that,” Wise One added.
Other She looked apprehensively at the great round clouds of
smoke rising to the north.
“Maybe fire come this way. Maybe this not good
place.”
He was beginning to think so himself. The fire had stopped at
the long-ago-burned place, but he didn’t know what it was
doing at the other side. Still, he didn’t want to leave this
place. It was high, and the trees were not too many. If somebody
came over the lake in an aircar, they could see and come for them.
He said so.
“Why not come now?” Other She asked. “Not see
Big One flying things anywhere.”
“Not know we here. All work hard put out fire. Is
always-so thing with Big Ones; hear about fire in woods, go with
machines to put out.”
He opened his pouch to see how much tobacco he had left. He had
been careful not to waste it, but it had been two hands, ten, days
ago since he fell in the river. There was only a little, but he
filled the pipe and lit it, passing it around. Stabber, who
hadn’t liked it before, thought he would try it again. He
coughed on the first puff, but after that he said he liked it.
When there was nothing left in the pipe but ashes, he put it
away, and then looked to the north. There was much more smoke, and
it was closer. The sound of the fire could be heard now, and once
he thought he could see it over the tops of the trees. The others
were becoming frightened.
“Where go?” Fruitfinder was almost wailing.
“Is far down, water close, water deep.” He pointed to
the east. “And more fire there. We not go anywhere fire not
be.”
He was afraid Fruitfinder was right, but that was not a good way
to talk. Soon everyone would be frightened, and frightened people
did foolish things. Being frightened was a good way to make dead.
He looked to the east where the cliff ended in a promontory that
jutted out into the lake. It was hard to tell; far-off things
always looked little, but he thought it was less high there. For
one thing, smoke was blowing past it out over the lake.
“Not so far down that way,” he said. “Maybe
can get down to water; fire not come down.”
Nobody else knew what to do, so nobody argued. To the north, he
could now see much fire above the trees. Krisa-mitee, he thought,
now makes sunnabish treetop fire; this is bad! They all hurried
along the top of the cliff, near the edge. Once they came to a
place where a piece of the cliff had slid down into the lake; it
looked like the place where Pappy Vic’s friends had been
digging at Yellowsand, where they had found no shining stones and
stopped, and where he had gone down into the deep place. They all
ran around it and kept on. By this time the fire was close; it was
a treetop fire, and burning things were falling and making fires
under it on the ground.
He thought, Maybe this is where Little Fuzzy make dead!
He didn’t want to die. He wanted to go back to Pappy
Jack.
Then he stopped short. He was sure of it. This was where Little
Fuzzy and Wise One and Stabber and Lame One and Fruitfinder and
Stonebreaker and Big She and Other She and Carries-Bright-Things
would all make dead.
In front of them was a deep-down split in the ground, down as
far as the cliff itself, and at the bottom of it a stream rushed
out into the lake, fast and foam-white. He looked to the left; it
went as far as he could see. Behind, the fire roared toward them.
It seemed to be making its own wind; he didn’t know fire
could do that. Bits of flaming stuff were being swirled high into
the air; some were falling halfway to them from the fire and
starting little fires for themselves.
LITTLE FUZZY’S EYES smarted, his throat was sore and his
mouth dry. His fur was singed. There was one place on his back
where he had been burned painfully, and would have been burned
worse if someone behind had not slapped out the fire. He was
filthy, caked with mud and blackened with soot. They all were. They
had just gotten out of mud and were standing on the bank of the
small stream, looking about them.
There was nothing green anywhere they looked, nothing but black,
dusted with gray ash and wreathed in gray smoke that rose from
things that still burned. Many trees still stood, but they were all
black with smoke and little tongues of flame blowing from them. The
sun had come out, but it was hard to see, dim and red, through the
smoke that rose everywhere.
They stood in a little clump beside the stream. No one spoke.
Lame One was really lame now; he had burned his foot and limped in
pain, leaning on a spear. Wise One had been hurt too, by a broken
branch that had bounced and hit him when a tree had fallen nearby.
There was dried blood in his fur along with the mud and soot. Most
of the others had been cut and scratched in the brush or bruised by
falls, but not badly. They had lost most of their things.
Little Fuzzy still had his shoulder bag and his knife and trowel
and his axe. Wise One had an axe, and he still had the whistle. Big
She had an axe, and so did Stonebreaker. Stabber had a spear, as
did Lame One and Other She. All the other weapons had been lost
swimming the river that flowed into the lake after the wind had
turned and brought the fire toward them.
“Now what do?” Stabber was asking. “Not go
back, big fire that way. Big fire that way too.” He pointed
up the stream. “And not go where fire was, ground hot, all
burn feet like Lame One.”
He had always wondered why Big Ones wore the hard, stiff things
on their feet. Now he knew; they could walk anywhere with them. A
Big One could walk over the ground here that was still smoking. He
wished now that they had carried away the skins of the goofers and
zarabunnies they had killed; but of course, if they had they would
have lost them in the water too.
“Big Ones’ Friend know about fire,”
Stonebreaker said. “We not know. Big Ones’ Friend tell
us what to do.”
He didn’t know what to do either. He would have to think
and remember everything Pappy Jack and Pappy Gerd and Pappy George
and the others had told him, and everything he had seen and learned
since this fire had begun.
Fire would not live where there was nothing to burn, or in
water, or ground. It would not burn wet things, but it would make
wet things dry, and then they would burn. That was not the fire
itself, but the heat of the fire. He didn’t understand about
that, because heat was not a thing but just the way things were.
Pappy Jack had told him that. He still didn’t quite
understand, but he knew fire made heat.
Fire couldn’t live without air. He wasn’t sure just
what air was, but it was everywhere, and when it moved it made
wind. Fire burned in the way the wind blew; this was so, but he had
seen fire burning, very little and very slow, against the wind. But
the big part of the fire went with the wind; that was what had made
the bad trouble last night, when the wind had changed.
And fire always burned up; he had seen that happen at the
beginning when the little dry things on the ground caught fire and
the fire went up into the trees and burned them. He could still see
it burning up the trees that were standing. There were two kinds of
woods fires, and he had seen both kinds. One kind burned on the
ground, among the bushes, and set fire to the trees above it. That
had been how this fire had started. Then there were fires that got
into the tops of trees and lit one treetop from another. Little
burning things fell down and set fire to what was on the ground,
and this burned after the big fire in the treetops. This was a bad
kind of fire; with a strong wind it moved very fast. Nobody could
escape by running ahead of it.
“Big Ones’ Friend not say anything,” Big She
objected.
“Big Ones’ Friend make think,” Wise One said.
“Not think, do wrong thing. Do wrong thing, all make
dead.”
Maybe it would be best just to stay here all day and wait for
the ground to get cool and the little burning things to go out. He
thought that the place where they had camped and where the fire had
started was to the east of them, but he wasn’t sure. There
was a lake to the south of them, he knew that, but he didn’t
know which one. There were too many lakes in this place. And there
were too many bloodyhell sunnabish fires all around!
“Nothing to eat, this place,” Carries-Bright-Things
complained. “Good-to-eat things all burn.”
As soon as she said that, everybody remembered that they were
hungry. They had eaten a goofer, but that had been a long time ago,
and they had not been able to finish it.
“We have to find not-burn-yet place, then find good-to-eat
things.” The trouble was, he didn’t know where there
were any not-burn-yet places, and if they found one maybe the fire
would come and then there would be more trouble. He looked up the
stream. “I think we go that way. Maybe find not-burn place,
maybe find place where fire all dead, ground cool.”
And then they would have to get back to the lakes and find a
place to camp and start building a raft. He thought of all the work
they had done that they would have to do over, the rope they would
have to make, the things to work with, the logs. That was a
sick-making thing to think of. And the trouble he and Wise One and
Stabber would have with some of the others . . .
They started up the stream, with the whole country burned black,
gray with smoke and ashes on either side, and the black trees
standing, still burning. They waded where the water was not too
deep. Where it was, they walked on the bank, careful to avoid
burning things. The stream bent; now they were going straight
west.
Then they heard an aircar sound. They all stopped and listened.
Pappy Jack had always told him that if he were lost, he should
build a fire and make a big smoke, so that somebody would see. He
had to laugh at that. This time he had made a big smoke. Some Big
One, even far away, had seen it and come to see what made it. Then
he was disappointed. He knew what the sound was. It was not an
aircar nearby but a big air-thing, a ship, far off. He knew about
them. One came every three days to Wonderful Place, bringing
things. It was always fun when a ship came; none of the Fuzzies
would stay in school but would all run out to watch.
He wondered why a ship was in this place, and then he thought
that it would be coming to Yellowsand, bringing more machines and
more of Pappy Vic’s friends to help him dig, and things to
eat, and likka for koktel-drinko, and everything the Big Ones
needed. The Big Ones on the ship would see the smoke and tell Pappy
Vic, and then Pappy Vic and his friends would come.
The only trouble was, this fire was too big. It was burning
everywhere. Why, it would take a person days to walk all around
where it had burned. How would the Big Ones know where to look, and
from the air, how could they see for all this smoke? Pappy Jack had
said, make smoke. Well, he had made too much smoke. If it had not
been so dreadful, that would have been a laugh-at thing.
He mustn’t let the others think about this, though. So, as
they waded up the little stream, he talked to them about Wonderful
Place, of the estee-fee they ate, and the milk and fruit juice, and
the school where the Big Ones taught new things nobody had ever
thought about, and the bows and arrows, and the hard stuff that
they heated to make soft and pounded into any shape they wanted and
then made hard again, and the marks that meant sounds, so that when
one looked at them one could say the words somebody else had said
when making them. He told them how many Fuzzies there were at
Wonderful Place, and all the fun they had. He told them about how
all Fuzzies would have nice Big Ones of their own, to take care of
them and be good to them. It made a good-feeling just to talk about
these things.
Then, through the smoke ahead, he saw green, and then all the
others saw it and shouted and ran forward, even Lame One hobbling
on his spear. The fire had stopped at a little stream that flowed
into this one from the south, and beyond was green grass and
bushes. But there were old black trees here, burned and dead, with
moss on them. The others, all but Wise One, could not understand
this.
“Long-ago big burn-everything fire,” Wise One said.
“Maybe lightning make. Burn everything here, same like
that.” He pointed to the smoking burn-place behind.
“Then grass grow, bushes grow, but this fire not find
anything to burn.”
They crossed into the long-ago-burned place. The ground was
still black, although the other fire had been many new-leaf times
ago. Here he cut the tallest and straightest of the bushes, making
a staff for Lame One so that Carries-Bright-Things could take his
spear, and he made a club for Fruitfinder. Then they made
line-abreast and went forward, and almost at once they killed a
zarabunny, and then a goofer . . .
Using his trowel, he dug a trench, and they built a fire in it
and sat down and watched the meat cooking on sticks over it. He and
Big She took the zarabunny skin and put it around Lame One’s
hurt foot and cut strips from the goofer skin to fasten it on. Lame
One got up and limped about to try it and said that it did not hurt
him so much to walk. After they ate he filled his pipe and lit it,
and those who liked to smoke passed it around.
He was very careful to bury all the fire before they left.
Everybody thought it was funny that they were making a fire with
fire all around them.
There was smoke ahead, but the wind was at their backs. Soon the
burned-dead trees became less, and then there were white dead
trees, with all their branches. He thought that these trees had
made dead because the bark had been burned at the bottoms, just as
trees were killed by goofers chewing the bark. The brush was more
and bigger here. And finally they came to big round-blue-leaf trees
that had not been burned at all. The fire had never been here.
Nobody wanted to go fast. It was nice among the big trees, and
the smoke in the air was less, though they could still smell it and
it made the sun dim. They found a little stream, clear and sweet,
untainted by ashes. They drank and washed all the mud and soot out
of their fur. Everybody felt much better.
He began hearing aircar sounds again, very far away, but many of
them, and also machinery sounds. Pappy Vic and his friends must
have come and brought machines to help them put out the fire. He
remembered all the things he had seen at Yellowsand, how they were
digging off the whole top of the mountain. They would have no
trouble putting out a fire even as big as this one. He wanted to go
in the direction of the sounds, but he knew that the fire was
between.
The ground sloped up, but his compass told him that they were
still going south; it seemed to him that the land should slope down
in that direction. Then they came to the top of a hill. When they
went forward they could see a lake ahead and below, a very wide
lake. They stopped at the edge of a cliff, higher than the highest
house in Wonderful Place, as high as the middle terrace of Pappy
Ben’s house in Big House Place, and right at the bottom with
no beach at all was the lake.
“Not go down there,” Lame One said. “Not even
if foot not hurt. Too far, nothing to hold to, not
climb.”
“Go down, get in water,” Stabber said.
“Water deep down there. Always deep, place like
that,” Wise One added.
Other She looked apprehensively at the great round clouds of
smoke rising to the north.
“Maybe fire come this way. Maybe this not good
place.”
He was beginning to think so himself. The fire had stopped at
the long-ago-burned place, but he didn’t know what it was
doing at the other side. Still, he didn’t want to leave this
place. It was high, and the trees were not too many. If somebody
came over the lake in an aircar, they could see and come for them.
He said so.
“Why not come now?” Other She asked. “Not see
Big One flying things anywhere.”
“Not know we here. All work hard put out fire. Is
always-so thing with Big Ones; hear about fire in woods, go with
machines to put out.”
He opened his pouch to see how much tobacco he had left. He had
been careful not to waste it, but it had been two hands, ten, days
ago since he fell in the river. There was only a little, but he
filled the pipe and lit it, passing it around. Stabber, who
hadn’t liked it before, thought he would try it again. He
coughed on the first puff, but after that he said he liked it.
When there was nothing left in the pipe but ashes, he put it
away, and then looked to the north. There was much more smoke, and
it was closer. The sound of the fire could be heard now, and once
he thought he could see it over the tops of the trees. The others
were becoming frightened.
“Where go?” Fruitfinder was almost wailing.
“Is far down, water close, water deep.” He pointed to
the east. “And more fire there. We not go anywhere fire not
be.”
He was afraid Fruitfinder was right, but that was not a good way
to talk. Soon everyone would be frightened, and frightened people
did foolish things. Being frightened was a good way to make dead.
He looked to the east where the cliff ended in a promontory that
jutted out into the lake. It was hard to tell; far-off things
always looked little, but he thought it was less high there. For
one thing, smoke was blowing past it out over the lake.
“Not so far down that way,” he said. “Maybe
can get down to water; fire not come down.”
Nobody else knew what to do, so nobody argued. To the north, he
could now see much fire above the trees. Krisa-mitee, he thought,
now makes sunnabish treetop fire; this is bad! They all hurried
along the top of the cliff, near the edge. Once they came to a
place where a piece of the cliff had slid down into the lake; it
looked like the place where Pappy Vic’s friends had been
digging at Yellowsand, where they had found no shining stones and
stopped, and where he had gone down into the deep place. They all
ran around it and kept on. By this time the fire was close; it was
a treetop fire, and burning things were falling and making fires
under it on the ground.
He thought, Maybe this is where Little Fuzzy make dead!
He didn’t want to die. He wanted to go back to Pappy
Jack.
Then he stopped short. He was sure of it. This was where Little
Fuzzy and Wise One and Stabber and Lame One and Fruitfinder and
Stonebreaker and Big She and Other She and Carries-Bright-Things
would all make dead.
In front of them was a deep-down split in the ground, down as
far as the cliff itself, and at the bottom of it a stream rushed
out into the lake, fast and foam-white. He looked to the left; it
went as far as he could see. Behind, the fire roared toward them.
It seemed to be making its own wind; he didn’t know fire
could do that. Bits of flaming stuff were being swirled high into
the air; some were falling halfway to them from the fire and
starting little fires for themselves.