The news breaks almost immediately. Piston Peak National Park was on fire.
There was an unspoken agreement amongst the inhabitants of Propwash Junction once the news spread and nearly everyone in town had piled into Honkers for a vigil, all the screens tuned to the news stations currently broadcasting any information about the fire.
Mayday wasn't one of them. No, that night he joined the Skipper and the rest of Dusty's friends— his family— in Dottie's shop.
He first heard the news on his radio, late into the afternoon. The first reports that came through were vague at best but Mayday still felt his tanks churn. A wildfire bad enough to make the news was the first indication that something was terribly wrong.
And the feeling only got worse as more information started coming in. Reports of a wildfire out of control and a late evacuation order. Of stranded guests. Of the Secretary of the Interior being among them. Of mutual aide pouring into the park from several neighboring parks and states. Of a fire for the record books.
And he has sent Dusty there.
And then the report Mayday was, unfortunately, waiting for. Preliminary reports of two crashes. Both firefighting aircraft. One helo, one fixed-wing.
It was then that Mayday shuts his radio off and heads over to Dottie and Chug's.
No one looks up from the television when he rolls in. Dottie's fidgeting with a tool of some kind and Chug looks one more "preliminary report" away from outright sobbing. Sparky is also fidgeting in that way he does when he feels he should be doing something but awaiting the order from the Skipper to do so.
Mayday rolls into the empty spot next to Skipper, the one that's obviously meant to accommodate a larger wingspan than Mayday. Skipper seems like he barely registers Mayday's presence at first. Until the television shows an overhead view of the worst looking fire Mayday's seen since he was a rookie.
"How bad is this?" Skipper croaks out and looks down at Mayday at last. "Really?"
Mayday, for his part, just shakes his head. "Bad," is all he can say. Because he doesn't have all the information, and even after all these years he can hear the voices of those that trained him telling him not to be too hasty in his judgement. It's an old memory, but one that's been getting a lot more recent traffic in his mind since his dressing down from the TMST officer.
"What are the chances..." Dottie trails off, still fidgeting with the tool in her tines. She doesn't need to finish. It's the same thought on everyone's mind.
"I don't know," Mayday lies. He does know. It's a very high chance that Dusty's gearbox had failed. That the reports of a downed fixed-wing in the park is him.
He curses himself for not giving Blade a heads up about the gearbox beforehand. He was debating it, before making the call to Blade about sending Dusty to him. But in the end he decided that it's Dusty's story to tell. But maybe it wasn't. Maybe Mayday was worried Blade would decline, saying that Dusty couldn't get a certification with a malfunctioning gearbox. Maybe Mayday was a selfish old engine and agreed to send Dusty out there because he wanted someone around who understood.
But the others seem to accept his non-answer, surprisingly. Their attention stays glued to the television, even through the short commercial breaks. Any new information is collected, catalogued, and pieced together with the others in an attempt to get a true picture of exactly what is happening in Piston Peaks.
It isn't until nearly morning that Chug suggests trying to radio Dusty.
Mayday is against it. The chances of him picking up, even if he hadn't been the one to crash, is low. The team was probably still out there, helping to fight the fire in any way they can, even as a day-only team. And if he was back at the base, he would need his sleep.
He voices that to the rest of them but they try anyway.
No one picks up. They try again, periodically, over the next day and a half.
The whole town comes by, trickling through individually or in small groups. People offering to talk, some bringing food. Brodie's wife made and brought over a whole arrangement of cookies and sweets, and it's the first time since the news broke that Mayday has seen Chug come close to smiling.
Ever since the runway was shut down, the whole town seemed to have had a dark, somber cloud hanging over it. But now? Even with the skies clear and blue as ever, it feels like that cloud had finally opened up and dumped its deluge of rain over them.
The radio stays stubbornly silent throughout all of this.
It isn't until around nightfall of the second day that Mayday reaches a breaking point.
He radios Piston Peak Air Attack Base himself.
Blade Ranger's number isn't one he ever forgot. Even with his memory starting to weaken in his old age, he still remembers the string of numbers that brings him to the line of Piston Peak's Air Attack Chief. And his old student.
He hesitates to click the line open, and even once he does, he hesitates again. Is he ready to hear the answer to his question?
He remembers the way Skipper seems to be glued to the news, the way Dusty's family seem to be like living ghosts, waiting for the tire to finally drop and let them all finally grieve. He remembers how he was the one to send the boy out there in the first place.
"Blade?" His voice sounds strange in the quiet little fire station.
There isn't an immediate answer. He hears someone roll into the station behind him, quiet and contemplative like Dusty was that day over a month ago. So much so that Mayday half expects to turn around and see that light orange livery and the smile that borders between meek and cocky in the way seemingly only Dusty can do. To hear the kid joke, "What, were you worried about little ol' me?"
Instead he sees the dark blue Navy livery of the Skipper. It's the first time Mayday's seen him outside Dottie's shop since the first reports of what they're calling the Great Piston Peak Fire.
Neither says anything to each other. Mayday turns back to the radio and Skipper rolls up next to him, slowly, allowing Mayday time to change his mind about letting Skipper in on this call. As if Mayday would ever deny Skipper that right. It's his boy.
"Blade, come in." Mayday tries again. It's gotta be around sunset there. Blade, as smart as he may be, is not a night flyer by any right. He should be grounded at any moment.
Mayday tries again. And again, on regular intervals.
And then, almost when he's thinking about giving up and trying again in the morning, there's a click. Connection.
"Mayday?" Blade's voice comes out of Mayday's old setup and Mayday has to close his eyes at the sound. Blade sounds tired. More so than usual.
"Blade?"
A soft, exhausted chuckle crackles over the radio. "It's good to hear from you, old man."
Mayday can't help but laugh a little, too. Only a little hysterically. "I hear y'all have been gettin' some excitement out there," he jokes, because that's what comes easiest in times like these.
Blade laughs, a little louder and a little more real. "What? This little thing?" The banter comes easy.
Skipper doesn't say anything. They share a look. Out of everyone in town, the Skipper would understand banter like this the best. Joking while the world seems to burn around them is the trademark of a seasoned firefighter. And of a seasoned soldier, oftentimes.
Blade sighs, and the exhaustion seems to creep back into his voice. "Yeah, I can only imagine the media having a frenzy with this one, honestly. The worst fire in Piston Peak's history and of course it has to happen under my watch."
"Blade..." Mayday starts but Blade cuts him off.
"Crophopper's alright, if that's what you're calling about." Next to him, the Skipper settles low into his landing gear with relief. "Had a slight detour into the trees but Maru's got him, says he'll be better than new."
It's a bit of whiplash. Hearing that Dusty's okay, then hearing that he was the one to crash, then hearing Maru's old saying like it's an inside joke.
"He crashed?" Skipper's the one to ask.
There's a pause over the radio, then, "Who's that?"
"Ah," Mayday starts, "that's Skipper. He's Dusty's trainer." And because Blade wasn't always the best at reading between the lines when he was under Mayday's watch, just in case he adds, "Family."
Skipper seems startled by this, but doesn't correct him. Good.
"Family," Blade says, like he's rolling the word around in his mouth. Right. He probably wasn't expecting to give a report to a family member, just Mayday. "Right." The Chief is on the line now, not Blade, Mayday's old friend. He can hear the difference. "Well, I'll tell you what Maru told me, but I'm no mechanic. Reduction gearbox failure, uncontained. Broke a few things in his engine as it went, before he impacted the trees. Miraculously managed to avoid any real damage, though. A pontoon got ripped off but that was supposedly an easy fix. Other than that mostly just dents, a few scrapes, and a night out in the woods before we could get him out."
He gives them a moment to take in the information. Gearbox failure, just as he had suspected. And pontoons? That was new, but it makes sense.
Gearbox failure, though.
"He'll never fly again," Skipper says, eyes closed and again settling low in his landing gear, in grief this time. Acceptance. Mayday can't parse the look on his face, and he doesn't think he wants to.
A heavy sigh. "I thought the same. Maru says he'll take a look at it, see what he can do. Didn't give me a prognosis for that one, though."
"Thank you, Blade." Mayday... doesn't know what else to say. Dusty will never fly again unless they somehow get a miracle. Mayday feels he's owed one right about now. Maybe he's not, though. Maybe this is all his fault. Maybe this is the universe telling him it's time. Time to retire. Maybe the gas station fire was the universe telling him to retire, and this is just what happens when you don't listen.
Mayday can't think about that right now. He switches gears over to his friend. "How are you doing?"
"Tired," he says.
Mayday licks his lips and ponders over his next words. "Heard there was another crash. A helo."
There's two helicopters at Piston Peak. Blade, and his second. Windlifter, he thinks. Given Blade's history, if it was Windlifter that crashed, Mayday doesn't think he'd be so calm. On the other tire, if it was Blade, he feels like he wouldn't be having this conversation at all.
"Oh." Blade sounds actually surprised. "Yeah, that was earlier. Earlier in the day. Right around where things started spiraling out of control. Things just kept going wrong. Me and the Champ got into a bit of a tight spot. Burned through most of my hydraulics, according to Maru."
It's purposefully clipped and short. Blade is embarrassed and/or frustrated. Probably both. Mayday closes his eyes. In exasperation or exhaustion, he doesn't know. Probably both. "You crashed?"
"Yeah. Didn't think I was hurt that bad until I tried to take off. Fell maybe a hundred feet. Didn't even have enough time to process what was happening and attempt an autorotation and save it before I hit the ground. When I woke up it was dark, the whole damn park was on fire, and Champ was setting out alone over the fire to perform a rescue."
Chrysler.
There was a pause. "I saw him go down." He sounds exhausted. Like, truly exhausted. Mayday's heart breaks, because he knows. "I went to assist, because I was the only one who could. He saved those people, he did a good job, but he still crashed. There was nothing I could do."
There was nothing I could do.
The six words that sent Blade Ranger into the path he's on today. Mayday remembers Blade telling him the story. Oh, he had heard about Nick's death from the rumors that followed Blade all the way out to the Midwest. But he heard the story, Blade's story, three years after the fact exactly, when he found his "star" student absolutely plastered at one of the bars in the town near the training center. He could piece a few things together, but to hear it from Blade...
There was nothing I could do.
Skipper doesn't understand, not in full. And it's not his place to.
But Mayday understands. And he understands what Blade needs, right now, in this moment. "Boy, you better not be getting stuck in a pool of what-if's," Mayday says, not unkindly but stern in the way Blade always needed. He has to channel his inner instructor voice, one he hasn't used in years. Decades, maybe. "'Cause if you are, then you need to park yourself right outside of that mechanic's hangar until Maru kicks some sense into your aft."
Blade huffs, a smile creeping back into his voice. Good. "Can't. Champ's biggest fan already claimed that spot." Mayday smiles, the nickname now clicking for him.
"Oh?"
"Dipper, one of my crew. Big fan of his. Little too much of a fan of his. Let me tell you, if this is what fans are like now, I'm glad I got out when I did."
Mayday laughs. "Son, I hate to break it to you, but you were a C-list actor at best and even I knew that."
Blade laughs too, one of his sad ones, full of memories and grief whenever Mayday brings up CHoPS, however indirectly. "We were the number 3 daytime television spot, I'll have you know." At that, Skipper had raised a brow. Mayday just shakes his head with a smile. Again, not his story to tell. Blade honestly probably forgot the old warplane was still there or else he wouldn't be this open.
Blade sighs again and Mayday can hear that familiar exhaustion creeping in. The haven't-slept-in-three-days-and-probably-won't-for-at-least-another-three kind. "I should go."
"Alright, Blade. Get some rest, don't want to hear about you havin' another crash," Mayday jokes, but it falls mostly flat.
"I'll try my best. Blade out."
And the line clicks shut.
The news is received with mixed results.
Chug is relieved that Dusty's alive and seems to be clinging to that fact with wholehearted gusto. Dottie falls silent when they break the news of how he crashed, but Mayday sees the way Skipper eyes her with worry and lets him have that talk with her, later, when they're in private. She doesn't need to be taking on any guilt over what happened.
The rest of the town receives it like Chug. They're just happy he's alive. Though, they don't tell them he might be a ground ghost, only Chug, Dottie, and Sparky got that news. Half the town is already planning to send him a get-well care box of some kind.
Skipper's notably quiet about how he feels. That old warplane is hard to read on a good day and right now, no one short of the Maker knows what Skipper's thinking.
Mayday sits at home, his upgrades put on hold for now, next to his radio, nursing his guilt and waiting.
Several days later they finally get the rest of the news and it sends the town into jubilation.
Dusty's awake. And not only is he awake, but he's coming home. Under his own power, with a brand new certification in his wake.
Mayday closes his eyes and settles low into his suspension, feeling every one of his years. Dusty's in near constant contact with his family, telling stories of his time training and of the Great Piston Peak Fire and brainstorming plans on how to get home and how to maybe bring his new friends so they can see the Corn Festival.
Mayday's there for most of the calls. He tells a couple stories of his own in response, of his time out in California all those years ago fighting mostly structural fires with the occasional brush fire. Dusty asks about Blade, how they know each other, and Mayday tells him if he can somehow convince Blade to come all the way out to Propwash for the festival, maybe he can dust off a few stories of Blade's early firefighting career. Dusty takes that challenge with the same wholehearted gusto he takes every challenge that gets put in front of him and signs off for the night.
Maybe Mayday did get a miracle this time. But one thing's for sure: he owes Maru a drink the next time he sees the tug.