“Keep a close eye on the target area and ten yards beyond. Sparks can jump over our ditches with this low humidity. Eyes moving constantly, watch the ground, the trees, your team. Any questions?” Sandy Richter looked over the crew.
A half dozen Fire Academy trainees stood in a half-circle around the picnic table. Two women, four men, all around twenty. Firefighting was a youngster’s game; he didn’t see Academy troops his age schlepping hoses and carrying seventy pounds of gear.
An early December sun slanted through the Florida scrub oak and pine trees. A hawk cruised overhead and Sandy saw it settle on a branch, fluffing its wings in a swath of brown, red, and cream.
Cheryl raised her hand. “The cool front is on its way. How much will that drop the humidity?”
“Good question,” Sandy
