The Tale of Tacitus Flynn

It’s six o’clock, and he won’t pick up the phone. Tacitus clings unconcerned to my side, leaning forward, interested as always in anything I’m doing on my phone.

I call Lizzie for the third time, and for the third time I get her voicemail. I don’t bother to leave a message. The light outside is vacillating between orange and the quickly approaching dusk, and it’s almost time for Tacitus to have dinner, and all I can think about is my fucking dog, alone in my room, wondering why I haven’t come back.

It would be fine if I could get a hold of somebody, but I can’t, and the nervousness is starting to eat at me.

I’m halfway to putting Tacitus in his highchair when my phone rings, and it startles me so badly that I drop it. Tacitus giggles as I bend down to snag it, but it’s not David, it’s not Lizzie, it’s an automated reverse 911 call telling me to get the hell out of my apartment, but my dog is still fucking there.

I have to get him. I just do. I don’t think about it, and maybe that’s stupid, but I don’t have a lot to live for nowadays and I need all the good I can get.

“Taci, buddy, we’re going on an adventure,” I say, readjusting him on my hip.

I call David and, unsurprisingly, get his voicemail.

“David, I’m getting really nervous,” I say, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder as I buckle Tacitus into his carseat, “I just got evac orders for my apartment and my dog is there, and you’re not here and neither is Lizzie, and I can’t leave my fucking dog, Dave, you know I can’t, so I’m taking Tacitus and I’m taking the Tesla and I’m getting my dog. If everything ends up fine, then I’m very sorry for getting dog hair all over your Tesla and I promise I’ll clean it out thoroughly when you come back. Please, please call me back.”

I pick up Tacitus, snag my jacket and the Tesla keys, and step into the garage. Cherry red, with butterfly doors and an unreasonably large screen for a car, the Tesla is David’s favorite toy. He’s taken me in it a couple of times, and it’s eerily quiet, but today of all days I took my fucking motorcycle and there’s no way I’m leaving a year-old baby by himself in a home in a fire zone.

I try not to think of the idiocy of entering into an active evac zone, but I can’t leave my dog. I just can’t.

The highway is clear on the way up to my apartment. For now. People are evacuating south, but I’ve been tracking these fires for a long time, and I have a sneaking suspicion that the one near Denver is going to get really bad really quick.

I get stopped by a sheriff two blocks from my apartment complex.

“And what on earth are you doing?” barks the sheriff as soon as I roll down the window.

I can’t help it. All the nervousness builds up and bursts out of me in tears.

“I’m sorry,” I manage to say, “I’m a nanny, and this is the kid I nanny, and I can’t get a hold of the parents or the grandparents and my dog is in my apartment and I can’t leave my dog. He’s all I have, officer, and I can’t leave the baby at the house because the parents aren’t there and I have no idea where they are and I can’t—I can’t leave my dog.”

He looks at me for a long moment, then sighs, digs in his pocket, and hands me a handkerchief, of all things. Bemused, I take it, and it helps me concentrate.

“Young lady, you took quite a risk.”
 “I know, I know, but—it’s my dog!”

“I know. I’ll escort you. Go get the dog. We don’t have a lot of time, but we have some. Then you’ll explain to me why you can’t get a hold of the parents.”

So he follows me, lights and sirens blazing, and I pull into the parking lot in front of my apartment complex. The air is smoky, and ash floats onto the windshield as I put the car in park. I leave it on, and turn to Tacitus, who’s watching me calmly. He sees me look at him, and smiles that pokey little smile, and I nearly burst into tears again.

“Okay, buddy, I’ll be back in a second.”

It only takes me a second to find the baby mode on the Tesla. David showed it to me a few weeks ago. I hit it, close the door, fumble my keys, and am followed closely by the sheriff as I run up to my apartment.

I can hear Maru whining as I unlock my front door. The sheriff follows me wordlessly in and barks,

“What do you need to grab?”

“Uh, the blue bag right there. My car keys”—I toss them to the sheriff and he catches it, raising a brow at me—“blue Nissan with the dog decal on the back. Grab the pink folder and the purple folder. That’s it.”

“That’s it?”

I shoot him a look.

“I’m not stupid. I’ve been prepared for months.”

There’s a faint echoing siren that’s followed by something that sounds like…jet engines.

I swear, stomping into my room and grabbing Maru’s go bag. It’s close. The sheriff has already left, and I hear my car beeping as he unlocks it. I grab, of all things, my katana, but I can’t help it—I’m nervous and scared and it calms me down to have it near. In my desk drawer is my sheathed bowie knife, and I grab that too, shoving it in my legging pocket.

Outside, the sheriff is frowning at the sky, standing near the trunk of the Tesla. I toss all my stuff in the trunk and open the front passenger door. Maru bounds in obediently, and I toss his bag in with him.

“Leave the baby alone,” I order, and shut the door.

“Where does the baby live?” asks the sheriff brusquely.

“Windsor.” I lift my hands to my face, but they’re shaking so badly I can barely adjust my glasses.

“Okay. That’s far enough away for now. Where, specifically in Windsor?”

I give him the address. He nods, still frowning at the sky, and a particularly large piece of ash falls on his hair.

“I know roughly where that is. Follow me. I’ll be going fast, lights and sirens, and we’re not taking the highway.”

I nod.

“Five to 392. I take my bike that way.”

He finally looks at me.

“Exactly. Let’s go. Pay attention. I don’t want to crash.”

David would kill me if I crashed his Tesla. I get in and tilt the mirror.

“How you doing, Taci?”

He, unlike his name, squeals at me. That’s a good sign. I peel off after the sheriff and try to take deep breaths, but the air is smoky and the sky is Armageddon red and all I can hear is sirens and I am scared.

I’m scared.