by Pam Harvey
‘Yes, you should read it after me. It’s supposed to be amazing. But maybe not now. Come on. You go first then you can help pull me through.’
Ling slipped through the opening easily and after some awkward wriggling and squeezing, Hannah joined her. They were in a tiny room surrounded by shelves stacked high with old magazines and newspapers.
‘And I’ll tell you something else,’ Hannah said, brushing down her shirt. ‘Amy was telling me about the number of books they lose each year. The council contracted Dad to install a new security and video monitoring system. She was saying it covers about 95 per cent of the main library.’ She frowned. ‘Sean said they might not have had time to get the tape. Maybe he’s right…’
‘I’m so worried about Gabby. It would be just like her—’ Ling froze.
‘What?’ Hannah said, just managing to avoid crashing into her.
‘Look! On the floor there.’ She rushed forwards and picked up a pair of sunglasses. ‘These are Gabby’s.’
‘Are you sure? What are they doing down here?’
‘She had them on this morning.’
Hannah stared at the expensive sunglasses. They were jet black except for two stripes running along each arm—hot pink: Gabby’s favourite colour. The lenses were like two shiny mirrors. ‘Why are they down here?’
‘I’ve got no idea. Why would Gabby come down here anyway?’ Ling slipped the glasses carefully into the pocket of her shorts. ‘And why would she leave her very best sunglasses lying on the floor of the library office for someone else to pick up? It’s a bit weird, but I’m sure there’s some perfectly logical explanation.’
‘Maybe she was brought down here against her will,’ Hannah said quietly.
‘What are you thinking, Hannah? Don’t be silly. We’re in the Teasdale library.’
‘Yeah, and a gold brooch has just been stolen. From the Teasdale library. Maybe Gabby wandered off and saw something or someone she shouldn’t have.’
Both girls turned at the sound of a tiny metallic click from the table behind them. In the darkened room a red light had suddenly started blinking on the phone.
‘Someone’s in the library,’ Hannah whispered, moving quietly to the desk. ‘And I don’t think it’s just Gabby.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Finding out who,’ Hannah said, gently lifting the receiver.
CHAPTER 8
Angus looked back. Behind him, a swirling wall of smoke made it impossible to see the truck or Alan Hopcroft. It was as if he had entered another world. He kept going, head low, pushing his way through the choking air towards Kenny Jones’ stables. I’ve got to find Dad, he kept thinking. I’ve got to find Dad.
Buildings loomed ahead of him. He groped his way towards them, realising as he touched the wooden wall that he had only gone about 50 metres from where he’d started. He couldn’t see where he was going and it was slowing him down. Fear rose in his throat. What if he was too late? What if he’d taken so long to get anywhere that his father had suffocated in the thick, dark smoke? He kept his hand on the stable wall as he pressed ahead, feeling his way to the end of the wall before turning right and setting off along the track that should lead him to where he thought his father would be.
Minutes passed. It felt like hours. Then the smoke in front of him changed. It was like an angry animal: black smoke billowed outwards and upwards. Black smoke and orange flames. Kenneth Jones’ stables were on fire!
Angus ran, crouched over, coughing madly. He reached the yard that the black mare had come up against. Keeping close to its fence line, he followed it around to where he’d seen the last horse left in the stables. Through the crackling noise of the fire, he heard a horse scream, a petrified, desperate noise. He veered towards the sound.
A horse—a chestnut that made Angus think instantly of King—careered around in its stall. It was lunging at the heavy wooden half-door, with enough force to make it rattle but not open. In horror, Angus saw that the bolt had been bent and wouldn’t slide open. There was no easy way to get the horse out.
Angus turned away, feeling like he was going to vomit. The horse was one thing but where was his father? It was so hard to see, and the heat was beginning to bear down on him. Angus felt dizzy and exhausted. He dropped to his hands and knees, breathing heavily, and tried to get a grip on himself. Come on, he thought, find Dad.
He started crawling along the ground at the edge of the stables. If Dad had come to get the horse, he reasoned, he would have tried to open that stable door. Chances are he’ll be nearby: somewhere close to the horse. Maybe he was even…
Angus stood up and felt his way back to the stall containing the frightened horse. The chestnut was plunging and rearing, half-crazed by the smell of the smoke. Angus tried talking to it but his voice didn’t carry. As the horse circled the stall, getting ready for another assault on the door, Angus peered over its edge. In the corner of the stall, lying in the thick sawdust covering, was his father.
‘Dad!’
Angus ducked away as the horse pushed at the door again. The stable door was high, coming up to Angus’ neck, but there was a gap underneath it. A gap just big enough to crawl under—if the horse would let him. Angus waited until the horse ran to the back of the stall again. Then he dropped to his stomach and skimmed across the ground, feeling the hard floor grazing his forearms. The horse came roaring back and Angus pulled his legs up and rolled away from it quickly. The stall shook as the horse smashed into the door.
‘Dad!’ shouted Angus again, crawling over to his father and putting his head down close to his. Mr MacDonald lay on his back, his arms by his side. An ugly, bleeding wound covered half his face. ‘Oh, no! Dad!’ Angus shook his father by the shoulders, gently at first and then more briskly so that his dad’s head rocked backwards and forwards. Mr MacDonald groaned.
The noise was music to Angus’ ears. He put his face against his father’s and hugged him. An arm crept around his back and gave him a weak hug back.
‘We have to get you out of here,’ said Angus. ‘The stables are on fire!’
Mr MacDonald spoke but the words were lost in the crazy noise of burning wood.
‘What did you say?’ Angus leaned over so that his ear was above his father’s mouth.
‘Be careful, Angus. I came in to settle the horse. He knocked me over. He’s so scared that he’s charged the stable door. I couldn’t get it open.’
Angus looked up. Above them, the trapped horse lunged and reared in fright. It was crazy with terror. Angus knew that they were both in danger if they stayed in the stall for much longer.
‘Come on, Dad. You have to get up. We have to get out of here!’
It seemed to take forever, but his father finally rolled shakily to his knees. He didn’t seem to be able to stand so Angus half-pulled him across to the door. The horse had stopped thrashing about for a moment and stood in the corner of the stall, lathered in sweat, nostrils wide, staring at them.
‘You have to go under the door, Dad.’ Angus lay on his stomach and pointed outside.
Mr MacDonald copied him, and with enormous effort, tried to crawl under the door. His shoulders jammed. He tried again and the door moved with him. Mr Mac was too big to fit. He crawled back.
‘You go, Angus. Get out of here!’
‘No, Dad. I’m not leaving you.’
‘You have to.’ Mr MacDonald sat up and shakily wiped blood from his eyes.
Angus shook his head. ‘I’ll get you out, Dad.’ He gave his father a quick pat and then crawled under the door.
Outside the smoke swirled as heavily as it did inside. Three stalls down, flames licked the roof of the stables. There wasn’t even time to think. Angus grabbed the nearest thing he saw—a stable rake. He pushed the handle into the door next to its hinges and used it as a lever. A second later, there was a thud as the horse inside the stall started crashing into the door again. Angus could only hope that his father was out of the way.
He pushed again o
n the rake, using his entire body weight. The horse charged; the door moved; wood splintered. Another heave on the rake and suddenly the hinges tore free and the door swung open. The chestnut horse shot out, almost collecting Angus on the way. He tried to reach for its headstall as it went, but the horse was too quick and it galloped away into the smoke and disappeared.
Angus ran into the stall. His father was lying down again. When he saw Angus, he struggled to get up. Without a word, Angus pulled his father’s arm across his shoulders and heaved. Finally, Mr MacDonald made it to his feet. Together they staggered out of the stables.
‘Where did the horse go?’ Mr Mac said, staring into the smoke.
Angus pointed. There was nothing to see. ‘We have to go, Dad.’
Mr Mac sagged suddenly, and Angus had to help him up. He started walking, forcing his father to move his feet. The man’s head was down, and blood dripped as they went, but Angus dared not stop again. He followed the line of the stables, found the yard, and kept the fence line on his right. The smoke seemed worse. Breathing was hard, but Angus fought the panic he felt inside. There was no choice: he had to get his father out.
It seemed to take forever. Just when Angus thought he wasn’t going to make it, there was a shout from somewhere ahead of them. Angus didn’t have the strength to reply. Then someone came and took his father from him. Angus stopped moving, feeling his body droop. Someone else put a strong arm around his back and steered him towards the truck. A mug was placed in his hand and he drank. Water had never tasted so good.
‘Are you alright, Angus?’ It was Alan Hopcroft.
‘Just feel a bit funny…’ Angus sat down suddenly against the wheel of the truck. An ambulance officer came over and examined him, placing an oxygen mask on his face. Within a minute, Angus felt better. He lifted the mask off. ‘Is Dad okay?’
Alan frowned. ‘He’s got a really bad cut on his head. It’s bleeding a lot and I wouldn’t be surprised if he was concussed.’
‘The horse knocked him over. I don’t think it meant to but it was really frightened.’ Angus twisted around. ‘Where is Dad?’
Alan nodded at the road. ‘Lucky that the ambulance was already here collecting someone with smoke inhalation.’
In his exhausted haze, Angus hadn’t noticed the emergency vehicle. He caught sight of his father on a stretcher being loaded into the ambulance, his face still bloody. As he looked, he saw his father half sit up and raise his hand towards him. The doors of the ambulance closed and the vehicle drove away.
‘You saved your dad’s life,’ said Alan Hopcroft, patting Angus on the shoulder.
Angus shrugged. He didn’t feel heroic. ‘But we didn’t save the horse, though.’
‘Oh, but you did.’ Alan stepped back from the truck and motioned Angus to follow. Angus got to his feet and walked around to the back of the truck. Tethered inside, quivering and still dripping with sweat, was the chestnut colt. ‘He came galloping out of the smoke, right into our hands. It took three of us but we got him. That’s when you and your father appeared.’
Angus couldn’t help feeling relieved. ‘Can we take him back to our place? Harry and George are there—they’ll look after him.’
‘We might as well.’ Alan shook his head. ‘Harry and George can look after you too. Come on.’
As Alan Hopcroft drove the truck to Brookwood Stables, they passed several fire trucks, sirens wailing, travelling to the racecourse. Angus hoped they would get there in time. It was out of the question for Kenny Jones’ stables, though: they were probably already burnt to the ground.
They turned into the driveway at Brookwood, and Angus had never been so glad to be home. King raised his head and neighed as the truck pulled up. The other rescued horses were grazing peacefully in their paddocks. Harry and George came out and gathered around them as Alan Hopcroft told Angus’ story.
‘Well, boy, you are really something,’ said old George. He beamed at Angus and Angus blushed.
‘We’d better get this horse off the truck,’ he said.
Harry ruffled Angus’ hair. ‘Always thinking of the horses, aren’t you? You’re a good lad.’
The men lowered the ramp and backed the sweating animal out.
‘We’ll put him in the paddock for now,’ said Harry. ‘He’s probably had enough of stables for the moment. After he’s rested a bit, we’ll get the vet out to check him.’ He ran his eye over the horse. ‘Apart from the marks on his chest, he doesn’t look too bad.’
‘They’re from the stable door,’ Angus said, running his hand over the scratches on the horse’s chest.
‘Let’s turn him out.’ Harry led the horse to a paddock and let him free. The colt walked around nervously, pawing the ground and snorting to the other horses. Harry put a small amount of water in a bucket and let the horse drink. ‘We’ll give him more in a quarter of an hour.’
‘I’ll go now,’ said Alan Hopcroft. ‘I want to check on my horses.’ He turned around. ‘Looks like I’ll have to take the truck. I left my car at the racecourse.’
‘Dad won’t mind.’ Angus looked at Alan. ‘I should be at the hospital with him.’
‘Later, son. You have a rest first. Harry will drive you down later.’
Harry nodded. ‘Come and have something to eat first.’
After Alan drove away, Harry and Angus went into the house. George had made thick, doorstop Vegemite sandwiches and Angus thought they tasted like heaven. He ate hungrily and emptied his plate well ahead of the others.
‘That horse will need more water.’ Harry rose to go out but Angus stopped him.
‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘I’ve finished.’
Angus walked back out in the heat. At first he didn’t notice anything wrong. He was gazing at the sky, trying to work out whether the fire was coming this way. The smoke, though, was still on the horizon. At least for now, it looked like Brookwood Stables was safe. He turned to the chestnut colt—but the paddock was empty.
Angus looked around. The gate had been pushed open, the chain broken. It seemed that the horse was still nervous and had probably charged his way through. Angus swore under his breath. They should have known that the colt needed watching. Now it could be anywhere. And with no truck to go and look for it, there was no way of getting it back. Angus’ father had risked his life only to have the horse go missing.
King nickered.
Angus turned quickly and glimpsed a blur of bolting movement down the road. The chestnut colt! If he moved quickly, there was still a chance of catching him.
Angus ran to his horse. Who needs a truck? he thought, as he swung himself onto King’s back. I’ve got horse power.
CHAPTER 9
‘Dad, can you put the outside light on?’ E.D. called. It wasn’t even three o’clock yet it could have been dusk. The smoke had completely blocked out the sun. Helicopters overhead were carting water to the fire front and dumping their loads. The sound of sirens filled the air along with a dull, frightening roar—the fire itself.
E.D. scrambled up the ladder and started hauling small clumps of leaves from the gutter. There was a strong smell of burning in the air, and although there was no visible smoke in the immediate area around E.D.’s house, he had to continually wipe the tears from his eyes. He was hot in his jeans and woollen jumper but their father had insisted on them putting on protective clothing, even down to caps on their heads to keep the radiant heat at bay.
Below him, Mario was showering the side of the house with water while Mr De Lugio worked furiously with a metal rake, dragging dry sticks and leaves into a pile.
‘What about the wood pile?’ E.D. shouted.
‘I’ll do it as soon as I’ve watered the whole house,’ Mario called up to him.
For 15 minutes, E.D. worked frantically along the gutter lines. In some places, the twigs and leaves were quite deep even though they had cleaned the gutters thoroughly at the start of summer. He recalled his father mentioning that the gutters had needed another clean out, but then A
ntonio had had his accident and the gutters had been forgotten.
At other times he would have had fun doing this job, aiming the leaves at one or both of his brothers or at the upturned wheelbarrow leaning against the side of the house. But not today. E.D. tossed another pile down onto the lawn below.
As he worked, E.D. thought about what he’d heard about bushfires and fires in general at school, wondering if there was anything else they’d forgotten. Every year the school had visits from the local fire brigade so he’d heard the message countless times. The kids were shown pictures of bushfires and given a list of things to do in case of fire. What was that catchy line? Stop, drop, cover and roll? But that was only if you were in a room full of smoke. Hopefully it wouldn’t get to that.
With his gloved hand E.D. wiped the sweat from his brow. The heat from the roof was almost too much and he felt a surge of relief when he finally got around to the spot above the kitchen where he’d started.
E.D. rested his hands on top of the ladder. ‘Should I do the garage gutters as well?’ he called. No one replied. Mario and his father had gone back inside. E.D. looked out over the back garden and froze. In the distance, about a kilometre away, a wall of orange flame was shooting up into the sky.
‘The pine forest,’ E.D. whispered, and he noticed something else. He peered into the dusky scrubland beyond the rear fence. Had he seen someone out there? Perhaps it was an animal, fleeing the fires. He looked again, but his eyes quickly filled with tears. He could see nothing but a browny-grey haze.
Carefully E.D. made his way down the ladder as another helicopter swooped past overhead. He carried the ladder to the shed and then joined his brother and father in the kitchen.
‘Dad, the pine forest…’ His father held up a hand, motioning him to be silent. E.D. listened.
‘…residents need to be clear in their decision to remain at home to protect their property. If you don’t have an action plan, then you are encouraged to await instruction from your local fire authority. We repeat that residents of Ashdale, Coruthers, and those living on the western edge of Teasdale should be acting now on their fire plans.’