Shimmerfrost

The forest fire was coming toward them and was only a few hundred yards away. It was slow but methodical like some monstrous eating machine. The average flame was only three to four feet in height, but there was an occasional flare up that might reach as high as ten feet for a few seconds then fall back to the ever-persistent wall of death that crept toward the wounded soldiers unable to move from its path. J.J. had not been this close to the fire as of yet. He heard men screaming in the distance and shots being fired, but he assumed it was men locked in skirmishes somewhere in the woods. Now that he drew nearer, he began to realize these were not yells from men in combat; these were screams from men in agony. They were being burned alive, and the shooting was not from rifles aimed in anger, but from exploding cartridges in their ammunition pouches. J.J. had to find the captain. He left the horse and began trying to follow the broken branches and tracks it had left from its earlier flight. It seemed to J.J. if he could follow these signs backward, they should direct him to the captain. There was really nothing else to do. He did not dare take the time to lead the horse out of the woods or even to go get Evan to help him search. He may not find the trail again. He had to go it alone. It was not long before J.J. could feel the heat from the fire, then he saw the first flicker of flame through the trees to his left. These woods were full of wounded soldiers, and soon he saw the full horror of the situation. As he came up out of a ditch, a man began a horrific scream to J.J.’s left. Jerking his head to see who it was he saw the captain lying against a tree trying in vain to fight off the flames as they consumed his feet and legs. He must be paralyzed thought J.J., as he struggled to try and get to the downed officer. “I’M COMING!” yelled J.J. clawing through the underbrush. Without warning the officer drew his pistol and stuck the muzzle in his mouth. J.J. could not believe his eyes as he watched the frantic man pull the trigger blowing the bark off the tree he leaned against in a spray of brains and blood. J.J. froze as he watched the dead body melt in cremation. “Help,” came a weak plea, “Hey, help me out of here.” J.J. forgot about the officer and turned to see another reaching toward him with earnest in his eyes. He made his way to the injured man and helped him to his feet. He put his arm around the man as the man in turn put his arm around J.J.’s shoulder; the two started back in the direction of the turnpike. They had hardly started when another called for help. J.J. helped the first man lean against a tree then he went to assist the other. Then another called. All the while J.J. can hear the screaming of men beyond help. He now had three wounded men unable to move on their own accord, then another, and another. Soon J.J. had ten men with various wounds and injuries, and all eleven of them were facing a terrible death which crept toward them like some mindless monster. “Fellas, we’re either going to live or die right here, right now,” barked J.J. in frustration. He pulled out his knife and began cutting branches off the shrubs that grew around them. He handed each man a branch and told them to beat off the flames as best as they could. When he had cleared a semi- circle between them and the march of the oncoming inferno, he walked toward the blazing brush getting as close as possible. He was looking for an opening; then he saw one, a place where the flames were low and not too wide. He ran at it and jumped to the rear of the fire. The ground was covered with smoldering leaves, but his boots protected his feet. J.J. looked around until he found an old tree branch alight laying on the ground. He took his hat in his left hand and using it like one of Kathryn’s hot pads, he picked up the branch and jumped back across the fire. With little time to spare, he began to set little fires all around his wounded soldiers. The flames would rise to a foot or so in height, then J.J. and the others would beat them with the brush until they were under control. Soon there was about ten feet of scorched ground between the men and the oncoming menace. The flames slowly crept around encircling the men as if looking for a weakness to exploit, but to no avail. The men fought back fiercely with their branches, beating at the blaze. The heat was intense. Every breath was hot; smoke burned J.J.’s throat and eyes. His clothing was as hot as if he had stood too long near a kitchen stove. His shirt and trousers burned his flesh at every point of contact. J.J. could turn no direction to find relief, but the poor wounded on the ground could not turn at all. Several of the men had begun to yell in pain and fear. J.J. was beginning to think he had made a bad decision. His fear was telling him to run and desert the wounded, but his moral fiber demanded that he stay. For the first time in the heat of this battle, his thoughts returned to Kathryn and the kids. He was sure now that he would never see them again. “God, save me,” he whispered