The Line We Crossed

The heat was unbearable.

Even at 7:42 a.m., the asphalt around the airbase shimmered with rising waves of distortion, and the sky was already stained with smoke. Wildfires had crept to the edge of City H's forest line, burning unchecked for four days now. Entire neighborhoods were being evacuated to the south. Roadblocks. Military zones. Water bans.

And it wasn't even the East Coast being hit. The wildfires were in every province and territory, with over 90% of them classified as 'out of control'. The military, firefighters, and volunteers were fighting a losing battle, and the heat, combined with a lack of rain, wasn't helping.

Zubair stood at attention in the endless queue outside Hangar 7, his black fatigues absorbing every ounce of sun like they'd been stitched from fire itself. A bead of sweat ran down the back of his neck, tucked neatly beneath the collar.

But he didn't move.

No one did.