Set Me Alight Read Online Free PDF Page B

level when a fire is going and crap like that. You need a fuel, oxygen, and heat or something, what else was there for me to learn? Take away one and the fire should stop, right? If there was anything I was missing, it didn't seem like Paul or anyone else was trying to teach me, so I guess any of my future fuck ups in ‘Fire Science’ were on them. 'Them' being Paul, as no one else there knew a damned thing about anything. It always feels great to find someone to pass the blame to.
    Since Paul and I came back from our little Crusoe hovel, we had been focused on doing ‘preventative’ fire work. I thought it would be complicated, but all we were doing was clearing some trails. They're called ‘fire breaks’ or ‘fire lines’ according to Paul. At that point in the season, the ‘team’ we had there was all of five people. Paul, myself, and three vagabonds who couldn't tell fire from water. Makes me think that all the so called training Paul put me through was just an exercise in sadomasochism if those were the other guys who we were be working with.
    Anyway, thankfully we got quite a bit of help from the mining companies to make those fire breaks. They used them as dirt roads to haul their waste to and from sites. Most of the work was simple, just clearing off the already created trails. If it was just our team of five, it would take us centuries to complete. Thank God the mining companies had a bunch of brain-dead bodies they could throw at the work.
    There wasn’t a whole lot else we could do as far as preventative work was concerned. We didn't have the manpower or resources to have kept a controlled burn under control. The mining companies had an incentive to help us with the fire breaks, but they got nothing out of helping us light some underbrush on fire. Paul would often take me on me trips to inspect the water tanks. There were these giant steel water tanks sporadically placed throughout the wilderness. Most of them had begun to rust and leak, but Paul still insisted on following the proper protocol of inspecting and reporting on every single one. I think 80% of them failed our inspections. Last year Paul said it was at 78%. So, we did the work to inspect them and report on them, but never took any action to try and fix the situation. Not much more you could expect from government work. The best Paul had been able to do in the past years was haul up some empty oil drums and leave them open to collect rain water. Even he admitted they would be next to useless in the event of an actual fire, but it made him feel like he was doing something.
    “What’s the plan for today, Paul?”
    “We’re going to continue doing the one thing you love most in the world, Form #0289, Seasonal Inspection of Fire Prevention Water Tanks.”
    “The only form I’ll ever love is my death certificate.”
    “These are the moments you should cherish, kid. We get to go on a hike through the beautiful Montana wilderness, write down a few words and check a couple of boxes, and then go home. Worst part of the day is having to see the landscape ruined by a decrepit steel tank for a few brief moments. Though, if you like, we can join the miners in ripping up brush, digging up some dirt, and laying down gravel from sunrise to sunset.”
    “You know, Paul, I'm not always complaining. Believe it or not, I've changed somewhat since we first met.”
    “And, believe it or not, an old man like me can still have a sense of humor, albeit a rather lame one.”
    “Goes well with your lame body.”
    “Alright, enough of that. There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about for a while now, and since we have no one but each other to keep us company for the next few hours I figured I might as well bring it up. I've been going through my brother's stuff lately. All those boxes he left me.”
    “Yeah, find anything out yet?”
    “Not really. There's thousands of documents he left behind. 99% of which I can't make head or tail of. A lot of