“Have you ever seen one close?” Sandy asked him.
“Yes, I did. Down in Southern California a couple of years ago. It was the most horrible experience of my life.” He seemed to go tense at the recollection.
Jerry shivered and gazed intently at the approaching shoreline; the foliage stretched away unbroken to the horizon like a roof over the forest. “I’d hate to be somewhere in the middle of that if a fire did break out.”
“I don’t think we have anything to worry about, as long as we’re careful,” Russ assured him. “And you don’t have to worry about the natives; their livelihoods—and lives—depend on good fire-prevention habits.”
“That’s all well and good, sir,” Quiz said somberly, “but what about lightning?” He studied the cloudless sky arching all about them like a pale-blue china bowl. “When this hot spell breaks, you can bet it will break with a ripsnorting thunder-and-lightning storm.”
“You’re a cheerful sort,” Jerry grumbled.
Russ Steele’s brow furrowed in concentration. “It’s a good point, Quiz. All we can do is hope that if lightning does ignite any small fires, a good rain will follow soon enough to douse them.”
“Don’t they have fire spotters in these woods?” Sandy asked.
“Certainly. The U.S. Forest Service has rangers stationed in fire towers throughout all critical areas on twenty-four-hour duty. But there’s an awful lot of territory to cover. Many times a blaze will be out of control before it’s detected.”
The conversation broke off as the shoreline loomed up rapidly now. Lars steered the launch toward a rickety wooden dock before a small frame bungalow set back about 100 feet from the water’s edge.