1
“Going in.”
“On your tail, bro,” Amos followed close behind Drew’s helicopter. “We’re like stooping pigeons nailing those breadcrumbs.”
“That’s ‘stooping hawks,’ you dweeb. And those are fifteen hundred degree breadcrumbs.” Drew carved an arc and dumped his load of water from the MD 520N’s belly tank. Two hundred gallons sheeted down the front of the already burning house.
“But we’re super brave pigeons.” With most of the burning cedar doused for the moment—what doofus shingled with cedar and didn’t keep the forest cut back from his house—Amos decided to dump his own fifteen hundred pounds of water across the burning trees that had ignited the front of the house in the first place.
“I’m a brave hawk anyway,” Drew Shaw offered up one of his laughs on their private helo-to-helo freque
