Those Who Favor Fire Lauren Wolk (i wanna iguana read aloud TXT) 📖

“At least I think that spot’s okay. It’s hundreds of yards from the closest tunnel. And even though the fire branches out a bit, I’ve never seen any sign of trouble anywhere near there, maybe because of the stream, although I don’t know how a shallow little creek could discourage a fire that runs so deep. But it seems to.”

“I’m surprised no one’s been killed by one of these things.”

“Well, like I said, most all of them are within spitting distance of a shaft or a tunnel, and we all know where those are, give or take. Easy enough to steer clear of them if you know where they’re bound to be. Remind me to give you a map later on.”

“Uh-huh.” Joe nodded, his skin clammy.

“Plus,” Ian said, clearly accustomed to describing the fire and its habits, “the fire usually gives some warning on its way to the surface. Sort of like a whale coming up for air. The ground gets hot, of course, and softer, and sometimes buckles a bit right before the fire arrives. We get a few big hot spots around the tunnels because of the way the coal was mined. Traditional room-and-pillar style.” He looked at Joe for any sign of comprehension. Found none. “That’s when they leave pillars of coal to support the surface. The theory is that long, thin coal veins that didn’t get mined are carrying the fire out from the tunnels and lighting these pillars. Or sometimes a skinny vein will travel underground for a while and then head for the surface, where it makes a smaller hot spot.” He rotated his hands, one around the other. “Which in turn burns for as long as the coal vein lasts, peters out pretty quickly, the burned-out vein collapses in on itself, and the hot spot disappears as fast as it came. Leaves a bit of a crater, is all. But a lot of coal veins never hit a pillar or run near the surface so the fire doesn’t often break through.” Ian looked at the hot spot with grudging respect.

“You must get scads of geologists poking around out here. What do they think about all this?”

“I can’t really say. They don’t talk to us, you see. They don’t seem to care what we think about the fire, what we’ve observed, what we want to do about it.” He pulled a blade of quack grass from its sheath. It slid out smoothly, with only a single squeal of protest, as if designed for easy destruction. “There’s a man named Mendelson you’ll see around if you’re here long enough. Don’t know where he is right now. Probably off somewhere trying to sell his latest scheme for putting out the fire. He’s an engineer, I guess. The government sent him in years ago, right after the fire got started, to dig a trench and cut the thing off before it spread. That didn’t work. They filled the trench back in. So then they tried to drown it with water, stifle it with fly ash, which is little particles of ash that fly up when you burn something solid.”

“Hence the name.”

“Right. It won’t burn, fly ash, so you blow in enough of it and it smothers a flame. Only it didn’t work with this fire. Nothing has worked too well. Those boys go away for a while, and no one sees them around. Then, after a few months, back they come to try something new. Mendelson’s always with them. Seems to take a personal interest in our little fire.” He put the grass between his teeth. “Pretty soon they’re going to have to make up their minds what to do next.”

“About the fire.”

“About the fire.” Ian nodded. “About us. If the fire gets bad enough, heads into town, we’ll all have to go somewhere else, I suppose. People who live out here where the fire already is, and along the edge of town, too, anywhere near enough to the tunnels … well, we look sharp. Take nothing for granted. Watch our step.”

“Literally,” Joe said, nodding.

“Any way we can,” Ian replied as he backed away from the fire, Joe following, and turned toward home.

They said little on the way back. The sun was hot, the grass full of bugs that flung themselves out of the way as the men walked by.

“I met a girl named Rachel this morning,” Joe said, following Ian across a plank that bridged the stream behind his house. “Know her?”

“Everybody knows everybody in Belle Haven, at least their faces. Rachel I know straight to the bone. I was her teacher in high school. Smart as a whip, that girl. Charmed me right down to my socks. Not a mean bone in her body. Probably the best student I ever had.”

“How come she didn’t go to college?” Joe asked as they crossed Ian’s yard.

“ ’Course she went to college. She’ll be a senior in the fall. What made you think otherwise?”

But Joe had no idea why he’d got it wrong. “Maybe the way she seems so rooted here. She’s got a house of her own, lives alone, didn’t say a word about ever having lived anywhere else. I don’t know, I guess … I don’t know what I thought. I met her at Angela’s Kitchen. I thought she was a waitress, but …” He looked at Ian from under the visor of his hand. “She’s not a waitress, is she?”

“No, she’s not a waitress,” said Ian, smiling. He stopped by his back door. “Got any plans for tonight?”

“Actually, I don’t. Why? Is there a ball game on or something?”

“I have no idea. I only ever do one thing on Thursday nights. You’re welcome to join me. It would be a good way to get to know some people from around here.”

“What would?”

“Thursday night at the Last Resort. It’s a bar down by the tracks. Not much to look at, but the beer’s cold.”

“What’s so special about Thursday nights?” Joe asked, grinning because Ian was.

“They have live music on Thursdays, is all,”