Ash Mountain
Page 17
She would never get up.
‘Mum?’
Vonny, it was Vonny, she was holding a water bottle to her mouth.
‘Mum?’ It was Dante, going through her backpack, putting another blanket over her. ‘We’re okay, that’s not us, that was the back door you opened, those two chickened out, they didn’t get out of the car, it’s not us, we’re here, we ran right through, right through, me and Von are here.’ Dante was crying. ‘Don’t stand up,’ he said. ‘Don’t look, no need to look. Stay still, we’re going to carry you up to the water.’
She could walk, she said, but this wasn’t true. Her children carried her to The Tree, and all the way down to the water, where Dante’s dog, Garibaldi, was having a drink. The reservoir was no more than a puddle now, but enough for them to lie in. They did this, side by side, looking up at the dark-grey sky, silent until a helicopter flew over, then another, another, some with water to dump, some with news.
Oh God, what would the news be?
Sirens began to wail, lights took over the smoke.
The city was here.
In the corner of her eye, Fran saw Dame Miriam McDonald. The aged ostrich was approaching the other side of the reservoir, taking nonchalant crunchy steps towards the water, and bending for a sip.
The three of them were half submerged in muddy grime, sobbing, looking up at the firework sky, silent, but Fran was already making plans.
The three of them were okay.
Her hand was burnt but it was bandaged and it didn’t feel sore.
Dante was perfect, physically, Vonny too.
So they should get up. They should have some more water, walk back to town, head for the fire trucks. They should get gear on, they should help.
Fran was about to sit up when Vonny, still sobbing, squeezed her hand and said – ‘What are we supposed to do now?’
Her girl had asked her the exact same thing she’d asked her father – in this very place, dressed in black, all those years ago.
She was so glad she had an answer.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I finished the first draft of this book in November 2019, and sent it off to my brilliant agent (Phil Patterson, thank you!). I’d been working on it for nearly two years, and it hadn’t been easy living with me. My husband, Serge, my grown-up children – Anna and Joe – and my sister, Ria, all suffered. Thank you so much for listening to me go on about it, for reading it, and for not judging me for having my earphones in all the time.
Thanks Maz, for reading this, and for being Maz.
Thanks to Mum and Dad, who made a beautiful home for us in the country.
And to my town, bushfire territory.
The manuscript came back for me to edit when the 2019–2020 fires were under way. A photo that shook me appeared on my Facebook page (thanks Sharon Kelly!). My brave, tireless and amazing publisher, Karen Sullivan (thank you!) tracked down the photographer – Robert Dixon, from Port Macquarie. He’d taken the photo of his daughter Ava, and was happy for us to use it for the cover. Thanks so much for this amazing photo, Robert. Ava is a star.
Thanks to Brendan, who I found on the Mallacoota hashtag on New Year’s Eve. He was the only person getting information out of the town, and his tweets were both poetic and horrific. He described the firestorm as it came in, and also his behaviour, step by step. His story is the most gripping and haunting I’ve ever heard.
And thank you to Felicity McCreadie, who’s been keeping me informed while driving huge trucks of supplies from Melbourne to her town of Corryong, rallying support and donations. You’re amazing, Fliss. (Go The Moles on the Poles)!
I could never have imagined stories as heroic and traumatic as the real ones I’m hearing now – the fireys, the farmers, the animals, the heroism, the kindness, the grief, the anger, the determination … the animals. Lives interrupted, changed forever, the disaster only just beginning.
Thank you to everyone who helped me get this out of my system.
COVER IMAGE PHOTOGRAPHER’S NOTE
My name is Rob Dixon. I’m a father of four kids living in Port Macquarie, a town on the Mid North Coast of Australia. The 8th November 2019 was a pretty intense day for us. Bushfires had been raging around the town for almost two weeks. Firefighters were doing their best to contain them, but they just kept burning. It was hot, dry and windy. People and homes were under threat. Animals were dying. It was scary.
As I drove to pick up my kids from school that afternoon, it was clear the situation had now become a lot more dangerous than I’d thought. The fire was closer, the smoke was choking and the sky was an eerie red colour – looked like I was on an alien planet.
We arrived home and my sons immediately ran out into the backyard to look at the sky and try to catch some of the ash that was floating down. Back inside, I stood at the end of the hallway, looking toward the open front door. An intense orange glow filled the doorway.
As I watched, almost mesmerised, my daughter walked out of her room, up the hall, and stood in the doorway.
The image in front of me was amazing. I just had to capture it.
I quickly grabbed my phone from my pocket and went down on one knee.
‘Looks so weird, Dad,’ my daughter said.
‘Sure does, sweetheart,’ I replied.
Click. I took the shot.
She silently stood there for a moment, then, quick as a flash, took off into the yard.
Thankfully the fires didn’t affect our particular part of town, but other surrounding areas were hit badly. The Australian bushfires are an awful thing and the 2019 season was a particularly devastating one. Hundreds of homes and wildlife destroyed. Thousands of hectares wiped out. Many lives lost.
The photo of my daughter is a stark reminder of that day.
I’ll never forget it.
—Rob Dixon
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Helen FitzGerald is the bestselling author of ten adult and young adult thrillers, including The Donor (2011), The Cry (2013), which was longlisted for the Theakstons Old Peculier Crime Novel of the Year and is now a major drama for BBC1, and Worst Case Scenario (2019).
Helen worked as a criminal justice social worker for over fifteen years. She grew up in Victoria, Australia. She now lives in Glasgow with her husband. Follow Helen on Twitter @FitzHelen.
COPYRIGHT
Orenda Books
16 Carson Road
West Dulwich
London SE21 8HU
www.orendabooks.co.uk
First published in the United Kingdom by Orenda Books, 2020
Copyright © Helen FitzGerald, 2020
Helen FitzGerald has asserted her moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publishers.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978–1–913193–28–7
eISBN 978–1–913193–29–4
Table of Contents
PRAISE
TITLE PAGE
CONTENTS
PART ONE: THE MONUMENT CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PART TWO: THE OVAL CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER E
IGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
PART THREE: THE VESTRY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
PART FOUR: THE WATER TANK CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
PART FIVE: THE TREE CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
COVER IMAGE PHOTOGRAPHER’S NOTE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT