38
The fire was ugly.
Carly sat in the back of the Firehawk studying the overnight images of the fire and trying to stuff down an egg sandwich and plasticized hash browns someone had rustled up in town. Thankfully, they’d also brought back wonderfully huge cups of exceptionally bad coffee. At least it was strong, which was all she cared about.
She tried another view on the console but didn’t have a real feel for the controls yet. Steve had showed her which menus she could use before going out to pack up the returned black-box drone.
He made it look so easy, a click here, a roll of the mouse there. But what she had was s**t.
By the time he climbed back aboard, she nearly cried out with relief.
“You make it look so damned easy.”
She started to climb out of the chair, but he leaned in
