My aunt never approved of my interest in field biology. She always said, “Kelly, the most dangerous thing someone can do is go to the woods, and don’t get me started on camping!”
Of course, I grew up and learned to make my own decisions. I barely batted an eye when my friends Sal and Mike suggested we take a couple days’ trip out to the woods for some camping under the stars to see them as they really are without all the light pollution.
We drove out on Tuesday and hiked through the woods for what seemed like hours, because Sal insisted we needed to be far away from a road or a camp building to get the full effect. Sal got us set up pretty quickly, and soon we were sitting around small, yellow light in the dark. The others had brought blankets and huddled inside them, hands barely extended to hold marshmallows over the fire.
The fire ate through the first two logs we’d brought out, so we grabbed some of the extra kindling we’d found and added it to the center of the fire. It jumped from branch to branch, curling the leaves and twisting the small sticks into impossible shapes as they crumbled from the inside.
I had never been so close to a fire, I’d realized. I found myself entranced, watching it dance and twirl around in the small pit. I wanted to remember every flash and bend it made in the air, searing a white-hot afterglow into my retinas.
I don’t remember if I screamed when it began reaching out. I don’t think I did, or else someone would have noticed.
A lash of yellow flame leapt from the middle of the pit, scorching Mike’s marshmallow. He began to let out a “what the f—,” but the embers caught the words in his throat.
We tried to help him, but it was too late. The fire didn’t need to grow, only to stretch and reach itself in front of us. We were trapped. Dry leaves make for excellent kindling, and though we cleared the area around the fire pit, we hadn’t bothered to clear our whole campsite. I watched as our tents bubbled and collapsed on themselves.
The inferno cornered Sal and I in a circle. The fire seemed too tall for what it had been in the pit, now flaring up in blue streaks. I could feel the ends of my hair beginning to smolder, the acrid tang of it entwining with the smoke at our feet. The pillars of flame grew taller until looking up all we could see was a mote of empty sky.
I didn’t notice Sal had left my back and was clawing at the ground furiously. I only remember dirt spattering onto me as I watched that point of darkness, waiting for the fire to consume it.
The next thing I remember was sitting in Sal’s car, driving to the nearest phone. I don’t know what we said when we called the park rangers—or Mike’s family. I only know that I will not go camping again, for a long, long time.
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