Black Helicopters by Blythe Woolston

Author:Blythe Woolston [Woolston, Blythe]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-7636-6355-1
Publisher: Candlewick Press
Published: 2013-04-17T07:00:00+00:00

Firefighters battled flames and smoke — as well as explosions — at a remote cabin on Willow Gulch Road. An area resident reported plumes of black smoke at 11:30 a.m. Arriving fire crews found a frame cabin fully engulfed. Shortly afterward, several explosions rocked the home.

Two firefighters near the structure were knocked to the ground by the blasts. They were treated for cuts and bruises but were not seriously injured.

Two water tender trucks shuttled water from nearby Little Willow Creek. Suppressive action kept the fire from spreading to other outbuildings or the surrounding forest. Deputies trained at the national fire academy remained on the scene Friday, continuing the investigation into the cause.

There was a picture. It didn’t show the hillside or trucks or Them in yellow slickers. It was like looking into the stove.

“You know computers?” asks Captain Nichols, looking at me.

“Yeah, we both know,” I say.

“But he ain’t much use. Can’t bang on the keyboard with that.” The Captain points at the blunt wad of bandage Bo is holding near his chest. I should change the gauze. It’s been a while since he had pills, and it must have hurt while he was driving.

“Sit you down here,” Captain Nichols says, and he pulls out the chair with wheels so I can sit down at the computer. The keys are dirty with the filth of the Captain’s fingers. When I touch it, the keyboard feels different than the laptop. It’s bigger, and I don’t know how to move the cursor. I don’t know how to click.

“Here,” says Captain Nichols. And he puts my hand on a lump beside the keyboard. “Use the mouse.” His hand swallows mine up. He pushes down and clicks, double-clicks. He moves the cursor. He moves my hand. His fingers are blunt. His thumb is wide and thick as a hammer handle.

“Like that,” says Captain Nichols. “You got it?”

I make the cursor arrow move across the page and turn into a pointing finger hand sitting right in the middle of the picture of the flames at the Willow Gulch cabin fire. The picture fills the screen and the video starts to play:

“Thanks for watching this evening. Leading our news, explosions complicated fighting a fire at a residence on Willow Gulch Road. Anna Frank files this report.”

“They knew the cabin was a complete loss immediately. . . .”

There are pictures of smoke from a distance, the way we saw it. Pictures of our home, still full of fire. Pictures of the back door resting sideways against a tree. Some guy in a white shirt is talking. “It was a complete loss. When the first unit arrived on the scene, the house was fully involved with fire and it partially collapsed while we were walking up there.”

The girl is talking again, she says:

“According to Chief Borglund, there were several loud explosions shortly after they arrived. The blasts blew this debris around the cabin.” The pictures of the back door against the tree are there while the girl says, “The explosions may have been caused by propane tanks inside the structure.

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