He fought the battle past the climbing wall and the tree surfing course, trying to save as much of that as possible, but more intent on stopping it from getting into the bush leading to the paddocks. The tree surfing course was lost and the climbing wall was severely damaged—he saw as much as he ran a new line to beat back the fire to the east that was pushing past them and up the hill—but those things could be rebuilt. He couldn’t lose any of the buildings. Couldn’t let this near the houses. The people. The horses.
Finally … finally … they managed to get the blaze under control. The fact the wind had died down and it had rained last night had been a godsend, but the quick response from the team after Mac had called it in, and the reserves that had arrived, the extra tankers that allowed them to continue to fight, was what stopped the fire from getting any further into his property than the edges of the southern paddocks.
He heard the cheer go up as the last of the flames were doused, but he had no voice, no breath, no energy to join in. His mask was fogged up and he shoved it off, took a deep shuddering breath. Oh god. That was a mistake. The scent of burned wood and eucalypt, the acrid undertone of burned flesh—the bush animals that were so often the sad, overlooked casualties of bushfires—hit him and he had to fight not to gag, not to turn and run trembling to one of the stud utes and drive as fast as he could, far far away.
Instead, he stood there, shaking, eyes roving over the smouldering ruins of the bush, heard Reid say something to the men just up the track behind him, thanking everyone, organising clean up teams, Mac barking at those he picked to stay and watch with one of the trucks to make sure the fire didn’t blow up again in the breeze that so often came with the twilight. Hell, it wasn’t even night. It seemed like he’d been fighting for days.
‘Here.’ Reid arrived at his side with a slap on his shoulder and passed him a canteen.
Flynn gulped the water down thirstily, then doused his head with the rest of it, using the cloth Reid handed him to rub the soot stains from around his nose, his mouth, where the smell was the strongest. It helped just enough. ‘Thanks.’
Reid took the canteen back from him and handed him another one. Flynn took another drink and held onto it this time. ‘We have to catch this bastard.’
Reid took his fire helmet off his head and ran his hands through his thick, sweaty hair. ‘Why would someone do this?’
‘Prita. They’re coming after Prita.’
‘What?’
He wanted to go sit down—his legs were shaking and there was a dull throb starting in his head. But he didn’t want anyone else overhearing what they’d told the police, what this fire had one hundred percent confirmed, especially given he had no idea who was involved. He started to talk but the words sounded strange, like he wasn’t quite speaking English. Reid was looking at him a bit strangely. Perhaps it was time to head up to the ute, go home. He would, as soon as he could unlock his knees and make his legs move. Everything felt a bit weird. Flynn rubbed his forehead where the sick ache was starting to make itself truly known. He probably hadn’t drunk enough while fighting the fire. Had he drunk anything at all? He couldn’t remember. He swallowed another gulp of water and had to close his eyes as a wave of dizziness swept over him. Was the ground moving? He suddenly became aware his knee was aching like a bitch.
‘Are you okay?’
Flynn shrugged Reid’s hand away. ‘Fine.’ The word was truly slurred this time. ‘I’m fine,’ he said again, enunciating it with teeth snapping accuracy.
‘You don’t look fine. I think maybe you pushed too hard. Did you have a break?’
‘I don’t know. I think yes. Perhaps. Knee’s a bit sore.’
‘Maybe you should go sit down.’
‘I donwannasitdown.’ He wished Reid would stop pushing him, stop talking so loudly. His head was truly pounding now. Humidity and heat haze were making everything dance around him. He had to get out of here. Before the scent began to sink into his pores, his nose. He had to get home and get these clothes in the washing machine with the eucalyptus and lavender wash that got the smell out the best and then get into the shower to scrub it all away—the dirt, the smoke smears, the dust, the memories. Then he’d have to find Prita and see if they could sneak away. Except, they’d fought, hadn’t they? She’d said they were one and he’d … he’d …
‘Flynn.’ Reid’s voice came from far away although his face was right there in front of him. If he reached out, he could rub that smear of soot off his nephew’s nose. In fact, perhaps he should, just like he had when they were young, looking after his nephew so he wouldn’t get in trouble for coming inside the house dirty. He lifted his hand, a sound like a giggle escaping him.
Reid pushed his hand away and turned to yell to someone up the track. Flynn swung groggily around, staggered as his knee protested. Reid caught him and called out, ‘Doc!’
Doc? Flynn peered through the haze and smoke. Nat and Prita were coming down the track towards them. Nat was decked out in her CFA yellow overalls and hard hat and was strapping a tank of retardant on her back. Prita didn’t have overalls on, but was wearing a hardhat, the heavy fall of dark glossy hair bouncing on her shoulder as she ran towards them. Why was she here? She shouldn’t be here. It was too dangerous. The bastard who was after her might be here. Besides, there was no way this smoky atmosphere could be good for her recovering lungs. She’d only been out of hospital for a few days. He noticed something bouncing on her back. It looked suspiciously like another fire-retardant tank backpack.
What the hell? She didn’t think she was going out to help with the aftermath, did she?
He couldn’t let her do that. Couldn’t let her put herself in danger like that. She could be killed.
Black hazed his vision at the thought and he blinked. Refocused. She was coming towards him, pulling the pack off her back. As if she were about to squirt the still smoking patches along the roadside under the smouldering trees.
Something creaked above her head, but she didn’t look up, just kept moving forward.
Crack. The rushing crumble of a limb coming clear of the burned thing that had once been a huge ghost gum, twigs and smaller branches coming off as it fell down, down, towards her. She glanced up and went to dive sideways, but the tank on her back was so cumbersome, she couldn’t move fast enough.
He cried out, stumbling forward, the pain in his knee knife jabs with every step, slowing him down. He wouldn’t get to her in time.
Not again. Not again. He wouldn’t lose her again.
His arms closed around her, picking her up, swinging her around, his knee giving way, making him stumble, fall, with her in his arms. He had to protect her. He arched over her, covering her body with his, waiting for the crushing weight of the branch to strike.
Nothing happened. From a distance, he heard someone calling his name. He looked up. Reid and Nat were standing there. Mac and Ben were there too. Max Smith and the Lions and the Finchers and Colin Ferguson and Peter Duggins. Even Chandra and his boyfriend—what the fuck were they doing here?—were running up behind them, as were Bob Thompson and his son. They stopped. Staring. At him. Something moved in his arms and he looked down to see Prita under him, her eyes wide and full of tears and a flash of fear. She should be afraid. Shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t safe. He looked up at the others who were still standing there as if frozen, staring. ‘Get her out of here. It’s not safe.’
‘Flynn. Flynn, I’m fine.’ Her hands were on his face. ‘The fire’s out. We’re all safe.’
‘No, no, she’s not.’ He managed to push off her this time, to stumble to his feet, knee protesting loudly, but he didn’t care. Didn’t care. Someone’s hands were on him, steadying him. He turned. Reid. ‘Reid. It’s coming down.’
‘What’s coming down?’
‘The branch. It’s going to crush her.’
Reid glanced up and then back down, his gaze steady, his hand firming on Flynn’s shoulder. ‘It’s not coming down, Flynn. It’s safe here in the c
learing.’
Clearing? Flynn looked above him. The purpling sky of twilight hazed a little spread directly above them. There was no ghost gum, its unstable limbs spread above them, threatening to come down. In fact, the closest ghost gum was the far side of the clearing they stood in and apart from some singeing around its base, looked remarkably intact. He gazed around him, lost, head thumping sickly. ‘How?’ He’d seen it. He was sure he’d seen it. About to come down on Prita’s head as she moved through the bush, cleaning up after the fire.
His gaze found her again. She’d risen from the ground, picking up her helmet and the pack she’d had on her back. It wasn’t a spray backpack. It was a normal backpack. He frowned. What the …? ‘Where’s your pack?’
She blinked rapidly. ‘This?’ She held up the black backpack. ‘I put my first aid stuff in here. It was easier to cart around than my doctor’s bag. Flynn, I think you need to come and sit down.’
‘I … you were …’ He blinked rapidly, his eyes hazy, his skin prickling all over. What was happening? What the hell was happening? He was dizzy and his head was thumping so painfully now as was his knee. There was a roaring in his ears, a gurgling tumble in his stomach and a bitter taste in the back of his throat.
Prita moved cautiously towards him, her voice low, hands raised. ‘Flynn. It’s okay. Nobody is hurt. The fire has been put out. Nobody was hurt.’
‘The branch …’
‘It’s okay. Nothing has fallen.’
‘But I saw it.’
She glanced at Reid and shook her head when he went to open his mouth, then looked back at him, her gaze capturing his, demanding he look at her and only her. ‘It didn’t touch me,’ she said, voice low, soothing, in the same way that he spoke to a spooked horse. Why was she talking to him like that?
‘I saw it,’ he said.
She gestured at herself. ‘I’m fine. It didn’t touch me.’
He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain in his head and the brightness of the light. Why was it suddenly so bloody bright? It was twilight, wasn’t it? Then he felt her hands on his face, cool and sure and calming and he opened his eyes and looked at her.
‘You’re okay.’
‘I’m okay.’
‘What’s going on, Doc?’ Ben asked.
She didn’t answer, her gaze still on Flynn, and said in that slow, quiet tone, ‘Mac, do you want to get everyone to move off and do what they’re here to do? Reid and Nat, I’m going to need your help.’
‘Okay, Doc.’
Mac turned and shouted out some orders. The noise made Flynn flinch, but not enough so he didn’t notice the way he and the others glanced at him as they moved off. As if they were shocked. Worried. Why were they looking at him like that? He’d been trying to save them. Hadn’t he?
‘What’s wrong with him?’ he heard someone ask as they moved away.
‘Prita? Barb sent me to see if it’s safe to bring the kids back from the paddock? What do you want me to tell her?’
It was Chandra and his boyfriend. They looked worried, gazes skating from him to her.
Prita took his hand, squeezed. ‘Thanks for coming to help Barb and my papa.’
‘Of course.’
‘And yes, you can tell Barb it’s safe.’ She let go of him. Good.
‘Can we help you with him?’ Chandra stepped forward, reaching out to touch Prita. Flynn wanted to slap his hand away but couldn’t seem to lift his arm.
‘I’ve got this, Chandra. I need you to go back to Barb and tell her to send the kids with Diarmuid to Nat’s house and then meet her at her house. Can you do that?’
His gaze moved from her to Flynn but he didn’t move. Why wasn’t he doing what Prita asked?
‘Come on, Chan,’ his boyfriend said as he grabbed Chandra’s hand. ‘We need to go help Barb and the others. Let Prita look after her man.’
He wanted to say, ‘damn right’, but his lips were numb and everything was shaking. Why was the ground shaking? No, it wasn’t the ground. It was him. Shaking violently, his legs jelly, his breath coming in fast, gasping pants. What had happened? Why did his head feel like it was going to split open?
Prita’s cool hands moved across his face, across his forehead as she gazed into his eyes. ‘It’s going to be okay, Flynn. I’m going to make sure everything’s okay.’
There was something in her voice. Something that made his chest ache in a different way, a lump of something difficult, painful almost, and yet wanted, rising in his throat. He nodded, unable to make himself say the words he wanted to say.
She smiled and brushed his sweaty hair back from his head—thank god she was touching him. It helped him to feel like he was still there—as she turned to Reid. ‘Can you help him to the ute? And, Nat, can you get some bottled water and a cloth?’
Reid began to manoeuvre him over to the ute. Flynn didn’t have the strength to stop him. Reid opened the cab door and turned him so he could sit on the passenger seat. ‘It’s going to be okay, Flynn.’
Why was Reid talking to him like that? What had happened? The tree! He looked wildly. There was no tree, no falling limb, no danger to anyone. Why had he thought there was? He was so sure. He’d seen it. And Prita …
She was wetting the cloth, a worried frown between her brows. He wanted to reach out and brush it away with his fingertips, but his arms were too heavy and he was still shaking too hard. Had she noticed?
Of course she’d noticed. That’s why she was talking so softly around him, treating him like he was a wounded animal. Ah hell. He’d lost his shit. In front of everyone. How the hell was he going to look them in the eyes again? How the hell was he going to face his son, after being proven to be a weak, cowardly idiot who let his fears get the best of him and worried everyone because of it? He wanted to run, to go somewhere nobody could see him. He’d almost done that once before, after he’d lost Anna, when things felt so bad he thought there was no future. This was almost as bad.
Except …
Prita looked up at him, her gaze holding him, steady and calm. Kind. Worried. No judgement. It gave him pause, made the tightness in his chest loosen a little as she held a bottle out to him.
‘Here, Flynn. Take a sip. No, only a sip. Slowly. Slowly.’
She held the bottle with him, guiding him, making sure he didn’t gulp. She took the bottle away and he wanted to protest, but she held the cloth up, and talking to him softly, began to wipe his face.
‘There, that’s better. I can see some of your freckles now. Let’s get some more of this mess off and see what’s what, shall we?’
He stared at her as she held his face in one hand, her fingers cool and steady on his chin, and wiped gently with the other around his eyes and brow and nose. It was heavenly, the wet cloth, her cool touch against his heated, sweaty skin. She was so composed, even though the smoke that still hung in the air must be hurting her throat and lungs.
‘Shouldn’t be here,’ he managed to mutter.
‘Neither should you,’ she said back to him.
‘Fine.’
Her gaze met his, still no judgement, just concern. ‘I don’t think you are.’ She looked back over her shoulder at the charred trees and ground, the smoke rising from areas where charred wood still smouldered. If a wind was to whip up suddenly, it could start all over again. The CFA volunteers really needed to get onto the still smoking areas more quickly. He took a breath to say as much and got a mouth and nose full of ash and smoke and coal and charred meat. He gagged.
‘Flynn?’ Reid’s grip on his shoulder tightened as he surged forward and vomited on the ground between his feet. There wasn’t much to bring up—lunch had been possibly days ago and he’d only had water since—but he kept dry retching, heaving and heaving, the acrid burn of bile mixing with the acidic char of what the fire had left behind, his head pounding harder with every heave.
Finally, the heaving stopped and he gasped and shuddered and slowly became aware of his surrounds as the sick pounding in his head backed o
ff. Nat stood beside him, her hand soothing as it ran up and down his back.
Reid was on his other side, holding him steady, his voice tight with worry as he asked, ‘Doc? What’s going on?’
‘He’s dehydrated and suffering from heat stroke. He didn’t take a break through the firefighting, did he?’
He felt Reid’s shrug. ‘I was in a different sector for most of it.’
‘No,’ Nat said. ‘I was organising the rotating roster and sending out water to those fighting the fires. Those I sent out to him came back and said he wouldn’t give up the hose even long enough to take a drink.’
‘Idiot,’ Prita said under her breath.
He choked on a laugh, but then whimpered as the sound made his head thump sickeningly. She crouched down, catching his chin, lifting his head enough to see his face. ‘Don’t,’ he said, trying to brush her away, afraid he was going to vomit on her. Maybe he already had. She’d been standing close when he’d chucked his guts.
Her hand moved to his forehead, fingers still so cool and sure. Felt so good. He didn’t have the heart—or energy—to brush them away, to make her move, take care of herself. Not him. Never him. He didn’t deserve it.
‘You deserve all the care I can give you, despite being a bloody idiot,’ she said, cupping his face, staring into his eyes.
He grimaced—had he spoken out loud like she had a habit of doing or was she reading his mind?
‘You shouldn’t have been here at all with your knee still healing let alone the other reasons. But the most idiotic thing you did was refuse to take a break. Not stopping to take some fluids. You should know better.’
Nat and Reid said something, but their voices were wavering in and out, like they were speaking under water—only Prita’s words came to him with any true clarity.
Blazing Fear Page 28