A number of taxi drivers in Ishinomaki, Miyagi, Japan reported picking up phantom passengers years after the earthquake and tsunami devastated that community. That was my inspiration for this story that I transplanted here in California and swapped the tsunami for one of our devastating wildfires. The towns mentioned don’t actually exist – I didn’t want to use the names of actual towns that were destroyed by real fires. This burn area is fictional, but in too many ways, far too real. So far this fall we’ve been blessed to not have a season scorched by wildfires. I’ll take the respite, even if – like most Californians these days – I keep a bug-out bag handy.

Surprisingly, the first time I picked up a ghost in my cab I wasn’t afraid at all.

It was the first in what would become a pattern. A person would flag me down and climb in. The first was a middle-aged man. His clothes were mismatched and disheveled – like he threw them on at the last minute. I waited for the door to close before I asked where he wanted to go.

“Elk Meadow,” he said tersely.

“There’s not much left there since the fire,” I said. My own house was destroyed in the fire that decimated the town two years ago. “You sure?”

I looked at him in the rearview mirror. He stared out the window and just said, “Yeah.”

So, I turned the meter on and drove.

My heart beat faster when we reached the first burn scars along the side of the road – my therapist says that’s PTSD. She’s probably right. “Did you lose your house in the…” I looked in the rearview mirror and the backseat was empty.

I pulled over in what was once a driveway but now was just a pullout where someone might rebuild. I turned around and stared where the man had sat just a moment ago. Like I said, I wasn’t afraid. I looked out the window. Low grasses had started coming back, but the dense oak and madrones that lined the highway were gone or burnt skeletally black sticks.

That was my first, but far from my last.

When the wildfire came, I was working down in the valley – driving, of course. I probably would be one of those ghosts myself as the high winds drove the fire like a freight train through our neighborhood. I still have nightmares where I wonder if the ones who never knew it was coming had it better than the ones stuck in their cars in the traffic-jammed, twisty mountain road out of Elk Meadow. I lost neighbors that were caught by the fire both ways. I closed my eyes tightly and turned the meter off.

The woman with the teddy bear broke my heart. Thirty-something. Long nightgown just as the sun was setting, holding the bear by its arm. “Where to?”

She closed the door and slowly turned her gaze towards me. Desperate eyes met mine and I could see the anguish and terror plainly. “I…I…” she stammered, her eyes pleading for something. “I don’t know…” she finally said and even as the words echoed between us I could see her fading into the gathering darkness.

I’ve talked to some of the other drivers, of course. We’re a small outfit out of Tulebrook with drivers from the surrounding communities – most outside the burn area, but in these small mountain towns no one doesn’t know someone directly affected. A couple of the guys didn’t say anything, but the way they didn’t say anything told me they’d had these kind of passengers. Nobody but me, though, seemed to have multiple passengers.

After a nervous looking older man lasted all the way to the street he had lived on before he disappeared from my backseat, I started to take it personally. I pulled into the cul-de-sac lined with blackened brick fireplaces still standing devoid of their homes and I wondered whether this was my penance for escaping – the ghosts find me, my cab.

My therapist would say that’s my survivor’s guilt talking. She’s never had an old man confused when the address we pulled up to no longer had a house on it. She’s never seen this man’s face filled with pure confusion and fear. He caught sight of the lights on inside the RV parked in the driveway and his pained expression turned to something almost resembling a smile. “What’s my son doing here?” I watched him get out of the car without opening the door before fading into the night. No, my therapist wouldn’t know I remembered that that old man had run the little market in town – also burned.

I picked up Jessica and her husband, Bo, just outside of Tulebrook. My first thought was what were they doing taking a cab? My second thought was why weren’t they home with their kids? My next thought caused a lump in my throat because I remembered they lived down the street from me. And I could still see their minivan parked in the driveway where their house used to be, the vehicle more melted than burned.

But when they got in my cab they were, surprisingly, happy.

“Hey, Laura! We were hoping it was you!” Jessica said.

Bo agreed, “Yeah, Jessica thought it was, but I said ‘what are the odds?’”

I smiled sadly at them and said, “pretty good, actually.” I sighed and then asked, “Heading home?”

“We are,” Jessica said. I caught her eye in the mirror and, while she was still smiling there was a flicker of knowing there. She was holding Bo’s hand.

“You’re out late, aren’t you?” Bo asked as we the highway curved into the nearly barren burn area.

“Yeah,” I said, “Just trying to make a little extra money.”

He looked at the meter which was off. “Aww, Laura, you’re not running the meter on this drive? We can’t let you give us a free ride.”

“It’s okay,” I said, willing my voice not to crack. “It’s the least I can do.”

We turned down the street where we all used to live. Most of the debris had been long since removed. Some folks like the Sawyers that lived between Laura and Bo’s and my place were already rebuilding. I pulled into Laura and Bo’s driveway. The minivan had been hauled away months ago. The lot was cleared. “Here we are!” Jessica said. 

“Here we are,” I repeated. I kept the emotion out of my voice but couldn’t stop the tears coming down my cheeks.

Bo started to get out. “Thanks Laura!”

“You bet, Bo,” I squeezed my eyes tight.

Jessica lingered a moment, her gaze meeting my tear-filled eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Are you okay, Laura?”

I gave a chuckle at the irony of the question. “I don’t know, Jess. I don’t know.”

She gave me a wan smile and said, “Just keep living, okay?”

I swallowed the sob that threatened to erupt. I just nodded. As she opened the door I managed to say, “Kiss your kids for me.”

Jessica smiled back and said, “I will. I will.” I watched Bo come around the cab, take his wife’s hand and they started towards the empty foundation, their shapes fading into emptiness as I watched through tears.