He shook his head. ‘She’s not still out at Dribble, is she? Damn fool of a name for a place . . .’
‘No, she was following me in to the Blue Belle.’ Scarlett wheeled out again and managed to grab Mark’s arm. ‘How’s Jed?’
Mark blinked. ‘She wasn’t at the café when I left. Maybe she decided to help here and parked along the street.’
Scarlett wheeled down the ramp again and looked for the red sports car up and down the street, empty now, evacuees arrived, helpers busy, townspeople cleaning leaves from the gutters, filling them with water, checking for falling embers. Or falling birds, thought Scarlett with an ache. No sign of Jed. Maybe she had called in at Drinkwater on the way, and Mark had missed her arrival . . .
A rusty Volkswagen rattled towards her, then stopped. Hannah wound down the driver’s window. Alex sat next to her.
The smoke cleared, the sky sang blue, lyrebirds perched on her wheelchair, and the cars along the street sat up and danced. ‘Alex!’ she called. ‘What are you doing . . .?’
‘We just saw a place on fire,’ interrupted Hannah. ‘Out on the edge of town. At a place called River View . . . lots of cabins and one of them is alight. There doesn’t seem to be anyone trying to put it out either. We need to find a phone to report it.’
‘But there’s no fire near Gibber’s Creek —’ began Scarlett.
Suddenly the McAlpine brothers were by her side.
‘Only one cabin?’ snapped Andy. Old age and confusion had melted from him. This was the Gibber’s Creek fire captain of forty years, the soldier who had won medals two world wars ago.
‘One that we could see,’ said Alex.
Andy yelled back into the crowd. ‘Mah! Ring the folks at River View. Tell Moira to get the kids out the front. Then call the fire shed.’
‘Kids?’ asked Hannah. ‘Scarlett, is that the place where you grew up?’
Scarlett nodded.
Mah stuck her head out of the hall office. ‘Phone line’s dead.’
‘Exchange must be out. Wet sacks or blankets,’ ordered Andy.
‘Darling, get my bag,’ said Joseph to Blue. ‘Get a space curtained off in case anyone’s injured and we can’t get them to the hospital. No idea how far the fire’s moved. No,’ he added, answering her unasked question, ‘we won’t try to fight it. Just get the kids and staff out. Should have known the old place would go up like tinder. Send a messenger down to the fire shed. We need to get some units to Gibber’s Creek, fast. Patrol the rest of town too.’ He glanced up as a burning leaf floated onto the footpath. ‘All it needs is a spark.’
Blue nodded. ‘I’ll organise a street patrol.’
Women and kids and old men, thought Scarlett. How could a town be without fire trucks at a time like this?
Dr McAlpine took his bag from Blue and kissed her hurriedly.
‘We’ll follow you,’ said Alex. ‘Hannah and I have first-aid training,’ he added. ‘We’re all med students. We heard about the evacuation and thought we might be able to lend a hand.’
Dr McAlpine nodded. He slid into the driver’s seat of his ute, Andy next to him as Blue and the other women shoved sodden blankets into the back. The ute’s tyres screeched as they headed up the street.
‘I’m coming too. Out,’ Scarlett ordered Alex. ‘It’ll be easier if I sit in front. You’ll need to sit with my chair in the back. It folds up.’
‘But . . .’
Did he think a crippled girl would be less use than him? He didn’t know Scarlett Kelly-O’Hara then. ‘I know River View better than anyone. They might need help finding their way around in this gloom. And this chair can go as fast as a man can jog. Come on!’
Alex hesitated only a second. Scarlett felt herself heaved onto the front seat of the Volkswagen. Alex worked out how to fold the chair before she could instruct him. He pushed the driver’s seat forwards, shoved the wheelchair in, then followed it. Hannah slid behind the wheel as Scarlett did up her seatbelt. The car rattled after the ute.
She glanced out the window. The smoke was thicker, darker. Shadows vanished. No, shadows had eaten the world.
‘Put the headlights on,’ said Alex quietly.
‘They’ve been on since Yass,’ said Hannah shortly. ‘Light can’t penetrate the ash. But at least we’re a bit more visible if anyone is coming the other way.’
Scarlett suddenly realised that Jed would have had to pass River View to get to the café. Perhaps she’d noticed the fire, had stopped to help . . .
‘Can’t you drive any faster?’
‘Not in this,’ said Hannah softly. ‘Honey, don’t panic. The staff will have got the kids out by now. How mobile are they? And how many?’
‘Only eighteen these days, but most will be away for the weekend. The twins will probably be there, and George and Lu. And Gavin, Matron’s son . . . Lu’s blind, but she’ll know how to get to the assembly point out front. Alice and Elspeth can manage their own chairs, but Gavin needs to be harnessed into his chair and pushed. There they are!’
She peered through the dimness at the cluster of wheelchairs. It was too dim to make out how many there were. The River View minibus stood by the kerb, next to Dr McAlpine’s ute. The brothers were pulling on their orange overalls, helmets and gloves.
Scarlett gave a small sob as Hannah parked behind them. It was all right — apart from her home for most of her life being on fire. The blaze was almost impossible to see in the darkness, a dim red haze towards the river. Thank goodness it hadn’t spread to the rest of River View yet.
She unwound the window. ‘Everyone here?’ she called.
Matron turned a face of anguish towards her. Scarlett could hear the effort it took to keep her voice calm so the kids didn’t panic. ‘No! I can’t find Lu or George or Vera.’
Scarlett froze. Vera Sampson-Lee was after her time at River View, but she knew her from town, of course.
‘I called and called! I can’t leave the kids. I . . . I think that only one of the cottages and the dining hall are actually burning, but it’ll spread at any moment and Henry’s off with the fire brigade and Julia can’t get here because the highway’s cut . . .’
‘Did anyone bring the horse in?’ demanded Scarlett.
Matron shook her head. ‘It all happened so quickly. I sounded the alarm as soon as I saw the flames. Lu tried to warn me there was another fire nearby, but I didn’t listen . . .’
‘Lu will have gone after Mountain Lion then,’ said Scarlett flatly. She peered through the car window at Dr McAlpine. ‘The horse is in a paddock across the river, towards Drinkwater.’
‘I know where it is,’ said Dr McAlpine shortly. He exchanged a look with his brother. ‘The wind’s coming from that direction. There’s probably fire across the river too.’
‘Ms Sampson-Lee may have gone with Lu,’ said Scarlett. ‘She’s been her main therapist.’
‘What about the boy?’ asked Dr McAlpine.
‘George is a good kid,’ said Scarlett. ‘He mucks up just to show he can, but he’d come as soon as he heard the alarm bell. If he could.’ She clenched her fists, trying to think where George might be on a Saturday afternoon. ‘I bet he’s in the dining hall! He’ll be climbing around the rafters now there’s no one to stop him.’
‘The dining hall is burning,’ repeated Matron in an anguished whisper. ‘I knew he might be there. I called and called outside it, but George didn’t answer. I thought he must have heard the bell and come. I had to get Gavin up here.’
‘Smoke inhalation,’ said Dr McAlpine shortly. ‘He was probably already unconscious. Get the kids onto the bus and down to the hall,’ he ordered Matron, then turned to his brother. ‘Come on, Andy.’ They grabbed rake hoes and wet blankets from the back of the ute.
‘We’ll stay here in case they make it up themselves,’ said Alex. He hesitated, then added, ‘And if you need help when you find them.’
‘I’m staying here too,’ said Scarlett.
‘Don’t take any risks.’ Dr McAlpi
ne headed after his brother, already running down the path to the dining hall.
You’re a fine one to talk, thought Scarlett. But she said nothing. Of course she would take risks. They all would. They all already had, just being here.
She opened the car door. ‘Wheelchair,’ she ordered Alex as Hannah got out of the driver’s seat.
Alex looked at her, assessed, obeyed.
Chapter 42
JED
Thank goodness for boots, good solid boots that didn’t burn as you crossed burning tussocks. Thank goodness for the thick overalls she’d borrowed from Sam’s wardrobe when her belly grew too big for her maternity jeans. And thank heaven for the gift of the ancient Driza-Bone that she held above her like a half-rotted umbrella, shielding her from burning leaves and branches.
Each breath seared her throat. Another contraction seized her. She let herself scream, over and over, doubling up under the Driza-Bone, then as soon as it passed, stumbling on.
She was almost past the billabong now. As she had hoped, its water kept the full force of the fire back. The tops of the gums were flaming. Any second now the casuarinas would explode like firecrackers. But she could see the river, a strange wide grey snake dappled with red reflected from the sky.
For a moment she wondered if both sky and water could burn. And then her ankles were in the water, the blessed cool water . . .
Another branch crashed down on the Driza-Bone. She shrugged it off, saw the branch float away, burning. She could not stay by the edges of the river — the burning trees on either side were too dangerous. But nor could she swim in boots and overalls, carrying a Driza-Bone, and in labour.
She could do nothing about the labour. She waded further out, used her feet to wrench off one boot, then the other, threw off the blessed Driza-Bone, felt bereft as she watched it sink, then undid the overalls, let them fall and stepped clumsily out of them.
Another contraction . . .
How far apart were they? How far could she swim before another? Could you swim while having a contraction? What if the baby came while she was still mid-river?
Irrelevant, she thought, striding out as far as she could, then flinging herself down. She began to swim. A layer of hot water hid the colder depths of the river like . . . like . . .
She could think of no comparison. Should not think. Just swim. Swim.
If she could not swim during a contraction, she’d hold her breath till it was over and then strike out again. And could you delay your baby being born by not pushing?
She was not going to push till she had swum around the corner, to the firebreak at Dribble.
And then . . .
And then she’d do whatever she had to do. Anything. Because this time, no matter what, she would keep her baby safe.
Chapter 43
ANDY
The world had faded in and out for the past year. Maybe it had been longer. Now, in the smoke-filled daytime twilight, all seemed suddenly clear.
Fire. Rescue, get the boy out.
He might not be able to remember what day it was, but he knew these paths, could lead Joseph at a run past the building that was Moira’s house and River View’s office. A flash of Matilda ordering, manipulating, getting hopeless families to cut and dress the wood to build their own houses, giving them life and a future . . .
Old houses. Dry wooden houses. A roof blazed as they passed it. He instinctively took another path. Any second the whole place could explode . . .
The dining hall stood before them. At first he thought the whole place was on fire, then realised that a small portion at the side was still untouched, the new corrugated-iron addition built when they installed the big fridges and freezers. Good solid wood door to it too, he remembered. If by any chance the lad had been able to make it into that section, they might just find him. And he might even still be alive . . .
‘I can get in through the window,’ he said to Joseph, once again the older brother. The window was waist high — a kid could have scrambled through it, but an agile lad who couldn’t use his legs couldn’t climb up a blank wall without something he could reach to grab on to.
‘You give me a leg up . . .’ began Joseph.
‘No! The people back there may need a doctor.’
And his mind was going, not his body.
And this was his little brother, and no one hurt his little brother.
And he was the fire captain, always had been, no matter who they gave the title to. He was Andy McAlpine, captain of the Gibber’s Creek Bushfire Brigade, and this was his decision.
He thrust the rake hoe at the window. The glass broke, and Joseph pushed in as much of it as he could as Andy grabbed a wet blanket. He draped it over his helmet, aimed his body, let the blanket cover his face and dived.
Felt heat, a giant airless breath. Hit the floor. Felt the impact. Felt the shattered glass under his overalls. Thought: I didn’t say goodbye. Not to Joey, not to Mah. My darling Mah.
He unwrapped the blanket from his face and saw part of a blackened wall, the flames already savaging it. Flames had eaten part of the ceiling too. He reckoned he had . . . no, he couldn’t work out how long it would be before he too collapsed from lack of air, but it wouldn’t be long.
No chance the boy could have survived in this.
And then he saw it. A small table overturned next to a freezer, making a kind of cubby house, covered in what looked like wet aprons. A shelter from the flames and heat. It might even trap a little air. How could a lad who had no legs do this?
He had to be alive! A lad who could do this . . .
He crawled towards the table, forcing his bruised body across the floor, closer to the flames, flames that edged closer to him too. His lungs were burning now. No, they just felt like they were burning because he could still move . . .
He pulled the wet aprons aside and looked down.
A boy stared up at him, eyes open. It took a moment to realise that the eyes saw nothing. The boy was dead.
No, he was breathing. Unconscious then. He felt triumph flicker through his desperate focus. He wrapped the kid swiftly — no, clumsily, but it was the best that he could do — in one of the blankets.
‘Got him!’ he called to Joseph, knowing the fire’s roar probably drowned out his voice. He had wasted breath, breathed in too much smoke and heat by yelling. He turned back to where the window should have been, saw only red and black. His legs were wading through concrete, mud, he was back in the trenches and the mortar fire was all around. Red shell fire speared into the war-shredded night. The noise! He couldn’t escape the noise, like cracker night times a thousand . . .
The boy muttered in his arms. The present world returned. River View. The dining hall. All the good years at Drinkwater with Mah. Funny, he’d thought he’d die in the trenches sixty years ago, yet here he was. Thought he’d have been better dead, when he got back. Ran off, left Flinty — she’d been so good to them all. So much life and love he never expected to be given. His first car, the green one he had loved, Mah and the kids . . .
Had to move his legs. Breath didn’t matter, nor the darkness pushing behind his eyes. Only the boy mattered, getting him to the open window . . .
Have to throw him out. Legs first. Better a broken leg than a broken skull. By gum, the kid was heavy.
‘Ready?’ he yelled to Joseph, but he knew he would be. When had his brother not been ready to take a catch? How many cricket matches, footy fields . . .?
‘Here!’ He couldn’t throw, had no strength to throw, managed to tumble the boy over the windowsill and the teeth of broken glass, hoping the blanket protected him, out through the window, his brother’s face a dim smudge in the smoky dark, just as part of the wall to one side collapsed inwards. He smelled burned meat and realised it was him. He was back in the trenches and . . .
No. Here.
Mah had made him squished-fly biscuits that first afternoon, when he’d asked her and Blue to his place for morning tea. He’d been as scared as a colt w
ith a dingo, her so pretty and delicate, and him all leathery skin and calloused hands. How had a bloke like him lucked out with Mah? And Flinty, Kirsty, he’d lucked out with his sisters too, and Joey for a brother, who’d watch out for Mah now. Of course he’d watch out for her. Joey would know what to do . . .
Because the ceiling was coming down now and there was no time, just too much light, a pain deep in his heart — no, his heart was too full of love for pain.
I love you, he said to all of them, suddenly deeply glad he was dying as he’d lived. Andy McAlpine, Gibber’s Creek brigade captain, husband of Mah, his darling Mah.
Joey would look after her, and Flinty would too. They always looked after —
Chapter 44
JOSEPH
Joseph grabbed George’s feet and dragged them out through the window, hoping the broken glass didn’t penetrate the blanket or, if it did, that it didn’t tear anything vital. His breath was burning, his heart screaming, not sure if the agony was a heart attack or loss. He managed to catch the boy’s head before it hit the ground and more broken glass, flung him over his shoulder with the last of his ebbing strength, staggered to the path and laid him down.
He took the final sodden blanket and staggered back to the dining hall again. The wall and window were red and yellow flames, but just possibly he could get Andy . . .
The wall collapsed, the ceiling with it. He stepped back instinctively from the outward rush of flame and sparks. He peered at the pile of burning rubble. There was nothing that even seemed to be a body. All was flame.
Grief later. He was a doctor and, besides, his brother had just died to save a boy and he wasn’t going to let that go to waste.
He staggered back, sat by the boy, felt his pulse, strong but erratic, his breathing shallow and uneven. He had to get the boy away from the heat, the smoke. Had to get himself away, but when he tried to stand, the world swam. Not swimming for there was no water — this was fire. The doctor part of him whispered, ‘You are losing consciousness. Sit.’
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