California Burning Novels & Stories

I watched in silence as my childhood memories burned. "The small town of Conifer is burning this morning. Fire crews are struggling to contain a wildfire that started late last night off of US-285. Mandatory evacuations via reverse 911 are in full effect for certain divisions of Conifer and the surrounding areas." The scene cut to firefighters in full yellow gear battling the flames.

A burner phone was clutched in his hand, the kind we used when things went sideways. “You better have a damn good reason for barging in at this critical moment,” I snapped, but the words caught in my throat when I saw his expression. “Boss,” he said, his voice tight, “two of our warehouses in California are on fire. Guards says a group of unidentified men threw explosives nto the gates” For a moment, the room spun. My legs found the nearest chair, and I sank into it, gripping the arms tightly. “What about the goods? Tell me they were able to save them” The question left me in a hollow whisper.

Gunfire erupted, but Ranya’s focus was singular: Calista. He sprinted toward the burning building, ignoring the heat that radiated from it and the voices yelling at him to wait for the firefighters. He barged through the door, smoke immediately assaulting his lungs. “Calista!” he shouted, his voice raw and desperate. Inside, the heat was suffocating, and the roaring flames seemed to mock him. His eyes stung, but he pushed forward, scanning every corner. His mind reeled with the horrifying possibilities. Was she conscious? Was she injured? The idea of her lifeless body somewhere in this inferno made his breath hitch.

Chapter 85: Borrowed Time The scent of burning wood and resin lingered in the cold air, sharp and acrid, as Luca and Ethan raced down the slope away from the Old Sawmill. Smoke curled behind them, twisting with the wind, marking the inferno they had left in their wake. For a brief moment, the fire had bought them precious minutes, but it had also broadcast their presence to any observer with eyes in the valley.

When he did, his voice was razor calm. “Where are you?” “Safe,” Bianca said, though the word felt like ash. “Snipers. DeMarco’s people, or whoever he paid.” There was silence on the line then the soft sound of Matteo lighting a cigarette. “Go home,” he said quietly. “I’ll handle it.” “Matteo, don’t ” But he’d already hung up. By dawn, fire licked the horizon. The DeMarco estate outside Washington burned like a funeral pyre. Windows burst from the heat, fountains boiled dry, marble cracked under the weight of vengeance.

he replied curtly. While he drove, I turned the TV back on, muted it and browsed news from Los Angeles. And there it was, on every headline of the West Coast: a wildfire, brush fire, whatever, had started on Wednesday morning on the hills north of an area called Glendale, and over the next thirty some hours, the wind had pushed the flames around and over half of the hill with the famous white observatory on top. It’d threatened heavily populated areas before it was partially contained, and even landmarks like Universal Studios and the Hollywood sign.

Zane’s POV Calista was pulling me backwards. The cage was engulfed in flames. I only then noticed the heat. She was right, we had to get out of there. The entire cage would be on fire soon! I went with her. We took a deep breath and leapt through the flames. Her robe caught on fire on the way through though. I tackled her to the ground and rolled on top of her, putting out the fire. Everything was happening so fast. I didn’t have time to think. She stood up. Her cheek was badly burned but she didn’t seem to notice.

My voice dropped to a growl that rattled the bulletproof glass. Cole's eyes darted to the mirror again, sweat beading at his temple. The acrid smell of burning sagebrush seeped through the vents. Outside, the Hollywood Hills burned crimson, flames licking the night sky like the gates of hell had cracked open. "Then what's the play, Alpha?" His voice frayed at the edges. "What're we even..." "I want to watch the whole damn world burn." I lit a cigarette, the flare of the match painting my face in hellish shadows. "And smoke this damn thing while it does."

7 The first thing I notice on stepping outside is the sky. It’s not the usual sickly gray smog that Los Angeleans take for granted on a day-to-day basis, but rather the apocalyptic orangish-gray haze of death that signifies a nearby brushfire; you can even taste the toxicity in the air. Sure enough, a glance at the news on my smartphone confirms that some embers from the bombing in the valley got caught on the wind and started a raging fire in the Simi Hills.

I light the fuel with my other hand. The flames catch fast and climb through the hardware, licking around the laptop’s edges, finding the drive, consuming the server. The plastic casing warps and bubbles. Internal components glow orange, slowly deforming in the flames. The laptop screen cracks from the intense heat, the glass falling inward. Above it all, the smoke climbing into the Alaskan sky carries sixty-three names, ten years of lies, and eight years of bruises into the dark where nobody will ever retrieve them. We watch it burn. Her hand in mine. The fire reflecting in her eyes.