Chapter 1: Smoky Air

Smoke choked the air as I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the school bus window. The dry hills of Northern California looked like they’d been scorched by the breath of a dragon. Flames flickered in the distance, the sky an eerie orange, like it was mourning something the world hadn’t lost yet.

“Rowan,” Ms. Linley, our teacher, called from the front of the bus, her voice tight. “Call your dad again. Let’s make sure he’s still meeting us at the evacuation center.”

“I already did,” I muttered, but I pulled out my phone anyway. No bars.

“Still nothing,” I told her. “It’s like the fire’s frying the signal or something.”

She nodded but kept glancing back at me. I knew she was worried, especially because I was one of the only kids on this field trip whose parents hadn’t responded after the evacuation orders came through. It was supposed to be a simple hike, a day out of the classroom. Instead, we were stuck on this bus, crawling down the mountain while flames snapped at the ridges behind us.

Next to me, Ethan stared silently at the same view. He hadn’t spoken in an hour. I could tell he was scared—his fingers were white where they gripped the seat—but he wouldn’t admit it. Not in front of the others.

“I bet God’s still got this,” I said, mostly to myself.

Ethan gave me a look. “You always say that,” he said. “But it’s kind of hard to believe when everything’s burning down.”

I didn’t say anything back. Not because I didn’t believe it—I did. But because I remembered what it felt like to not believe. Just two years ago, I would’ve said the same thing.

I whispered a prayer instead. Lord, help us get down this mountain. And help Ethan see You’re still here—even in all this.

The bus jolted suddenly as we turned a bend, and I saw it—cars lined up for miles. A red-faced police officer was directing traffic away from the main road. The fire had jumped it.

Ms. Linley gasped and got on her phone, probably trying the emergency number again.

I stared out at the thick plume of smoke darkening the sky. Somewhere beyond that cloud was my dad. Somewhere beyond the flames was our house, our dog, my Bible on my nightstand. Maybe they were already gone.

But I remembered something Pastor Jay had said at youth group last month: “God doesn’t promise us safety. He promises us His presence.”

I didn’t feel safe at all.

But I wasn’t alone.

“Rowan,” Ethan said slowly, voice quieter this time. “What if the fire gets us before we get out?”

I turned and met his eyes. “Then we pray,” I said, not because I was trying to be brave—but because I was scared too.

And because I knew prayer wasn’t a last resort. It was our lifeline.

To be continued…

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