Mars Needs Women

Chapter 8 - We Were This Close

Neither Walt nor I said anything, and my heart lodged tight in my throat as we crested the hill leading to our home. Black char covered the hills, once a beautiful lush prairie, and wispy smoke swirled from small smoldering clumps. But the grasslands would recover. They had to.

The house and shed stood untouched by the fire, at least the outsides, and I said a silent thanks to the Martian planners that used fireproof materials to build them. The newly planted soybeans would be okay, and the plowed fields even acted like a firebreak, slowing the fire's advance. But the tractor and stuff within the open shed — that might be another story.

Walt and I glanced at each other, tightening our lips as we stepped out of the truck. The pungent stench of fresh burn hung in the air. Silence engulfed us, and even the wind had calmed. No grass rustled, no songbirds sang, no chickens clucked...

"The chickens!"

Heart pounding, I raced around the house, Walt close behind. The crate stacks that made up the homemade coop were intact, constructed of noncombustible plas-steel, but they were blackened inside and the straw bedding smoldered. Gulping, I cautiously entered the run through an open gate and peaked inside the crates, fearing what I would find. But there was nothing but charred bedding and the stink of burned loose feathers — no scorched birds.

"Where are the chickens?" I asked, wrinkling my brow.

Walt shrugged, then shuffled through a thin layer of ash and opened the back door. He paused. "Umm, Mavis, you might want to see this."

Puzzled, I came to Walt's side as he pointed. Inside, at the threshold, Godzilla tilted his head and welcomed us home.

"Cluck, cluck."

The hens made themselves comfortable as if they owned the place, hanging around the kitchen, pecking at leftover bread on the counter, lounging in the living room, and relaxing on the bed. Chickens everywhere.

With a laugh, I collapsed into Walt's arms, hugging him tightly, and mumbled to our absent housemate, "Oh, Riya, you smart girl."

Walt returned the hug, but then wrinkled his nose at the smell. "We're going to have to clean house, though."

*****

My com-viewer beeped with a message. Previously, the smoke and ash had blocked the satellite signals. "It's Riya," I reported to Walt in the truck. "She's with Kiran. Said he lost some trees, but it's not too bad."

"Good," he replied. "Tell her to stay put. Oh, and say thanks for saving the chickens."

I did, added a few smiley faces and chicken images at the end.

To our relief, the town of Olympus had been mostly spared. Except for a few charred spots, the fire bypassed the town. Red lights flashed in steady rhythm from the emergency trucks tending the smoldering areas that remained. We parked near the town hall, among many other vehicles.

The gathering area at the town center held nearly as many people as the recent Mars Day festival, but there was nothing festive about it. Blank or weary expressions marked many faces. Even the children were subdued, huddling close within family units. I recognized many as fellow colonists who must have fled their homes and said silent prayers for them. Already, some drove off, returning home to assess the damage, and I feared what they might find.

But there was also a resilient undertone. Many moved about, spreading comfort or embracing neighbors. Tables under a makeshift awning beside the general store distributed drink and food. A white jacketed medic wandered through the crowd, checking for injuries. People here looked after each other.