Wildfire

by Chris Ryan

  The meteorologist shook her head. ‘They didn’t know it was coming.’

  The mayor looked incredulous. ‘A wind can’t just spring up out of nowhere. We’ve got half a billion dollars worth of satellite equipment to track this kind of thing!’

  The meteorologist replied calmly, ‘I agree with you. Something like that doesn’t just sneak up unannounced. That’s why I looked at the records myself. I looked at the exact same information the Adelaide forecasters had and I ran a computer simulation. And I came to the same conclusion as they did – that it would be a hot, still day.’

  The mayor folded his arms. He looked very unhappy. ‘So it’s another spell of freak weather? We seem to be getting rather a lot of that.’

  ‘We normally try to think in more scientific terms than that,’ replied the chief meteorologist, ‘but there’s no explanation for this. We don’t know why the weather changed. But when it did, it meant nothing short of disaster for Adelaide.’

  Someone else was also taking a keen interest in weather satellite pictures of Adelaide. In a lab far more spacious than the monitoring station in Melbourne, two military scientists were looking closely at a screen, squinting to see it in the bright sunshine that streamed in through the window. They wore faded blue uniforms; the name tag on one said GRISHKEVICH, the other’s said HIJKOOP. Around them was a bank of computer monitors and electronic equipment, all emblazoned with the insignia of the US army. On racks of machinery around the walls, red and green LEDs flashed a constant pulse like heart-beat monitors, and glowing digital displays counted up and down. Whatever was going on in that room was very complex and needed expert monitoring.

  Outside the window was a stretch of reddish desert criss-crossed by tyre marks, but the skyline was dominated by a massive white dome. A military Jeep was driving around the outside of that dome. It was probably doing about 50 k.p.h. – the speed limit within the compound – but the dome was so huge that the vehicle looked like it was hardly moving at all.

  Beyond the dome was a high wire fence topped with barbed wire, which marked the perimeter of the compound; and beyond that was the Great Victoria Desert – a barren plain in the middle of the outback.

  ‘Koop,’ said Grishkevich, ‘could you close those blinds? I can’t see the screen properly.’

  Hijkoop got up and pulled the blinds shut.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Grishkevich.

  The tone in his voice made Hijkoop hurry back to look at what was on the screen. He was horrified by what he saw there.

  Adelaide was completely blotted out by black clouds of smoke. Something had gone very wrong.

  ‘I thought you were trying to up the rainfall, Grish,’ said Hijkoop.

  ‘Yeah.’ Grishkevich let out a long sigh and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. ‘No good. All we’re getting is the wind speed picking up instead.’

  Hijkoop couldn’t take his eyes off the picture on the screen. ‘Grish, we have to shut it down. The wind is going to make matters worse.’

  Grishkevich shook his head slowly. Eventually he spoke. ‘I already did shut it down. But I’ve got a nasty feeling it may be too late for that. Unless that wind dies down of its own accord, Adelaide’s going to turn into a fire storm.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ben kept the microlight heading north. Down below, the railway line snaked through the desert. It was a relief to get away from the terrible burning landscape of Adelaide. But what they were seeing now was eerie.

  The hills and foliage had given way to barren red desert. Ben had thought it was hot enough back in Adelaide, but now it was baking. They had already drunk half the water from Ben’s remaining bottle. Kelly’s bandages had nearly dried out and they had to use some of the water to soak them again. But at least the flying was easier. Because the terrain was so flat, there were fewer thermals and variations in the air currents. Ben hadn’t had to adjust his altitude as often.

  Which was just as well, as Kelly had him constantly pressing redial on the phone, trying to get her father’s number again. The response came through, same as before: ‘Lines are busy. Please try again later.’ Ben had lost count of the number of times he had heard that message. He got the same message whenever he called Bel’s number.

  Kelly tried a different tactic. ‘Get me directory enquiries.’

  Ben goggled at her. ‘What did your last slave die of? Get it yourself.’

  Kelly let out an irritated sigh. ‘Ben, can you please dial directory enquiries. Please. Pretty please with swirly sparkly—’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Ben, ‘if you tell me what you want it for.’

  ‘I wanna get my nails done,’ snapped Kelly. ‘What does it matter what I want it for? You’ll find out in a minute anyway.’

  Ben smiled. ‘Want to look nice for George?’ He keyed in the number, which he remembered seeing in the hotel information leaflet. ‘Directory enquiries coming right up for you, miss.’

  Kelly scowled at him. When the call was answered, she spoke into the speaker. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Can I get the US consulate in Melbourne? … Yes, please put me through – thank you.’

  Ben listened, fascinated. The US consulate now? This girl certainly liked to pull out the big guns.

  ‘Hello,’ said Kelly. ‘I’d like to report the kidnapping of a US citizen in Adelaide. He’s Major Brad Kurtis.’

  While she talked, Ben looked out of the window. A lone truck moved across the plain below, coated in so much red dust that it looked like it was camouflaged. The only reason Ben could see it was because of the puff of red dust following behind it. Even the road was barely visible. There was no asphalt, just the dusty red earth.

  The railway line was a single track too. Big square water butts stood on stilts next to the signal. The plane passed over a point where the line split into two for a while to create a passing place if one train met another coming in the opposite direction. There was no sign of any train.

  Kelly nudged Ben with her elbow. ‘Watch the compass.’

  ‘I thought we were following the railway line. Why do I need to watch the compass too?’

  ‘What if it’s not the right railway line? You don’t forget about your compass or ignore any of your other instruments. Ever. You’ve got to be really careful out here because there are no landmarks and you could lose your way. That’s why you’ve got instruments. Pay attention to them!’

  A female voice with an American accent said: ‘Excuse me?’ The woman at the US consulate had also received Ben’s telling-off.

  ‘Not you,’ said Kelly. ‘Yes, I’ve informed the police. And there’s a British woman who’s gone missing too. I don’t know if you can do anything about that.’

  ‘Ma’am, if the local police are dealing with it, there is nothing else we can do.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Kelly, taken aback. ‘OK, thanks. You have a nice day too. Bye.’

  Ben cut the call. Kelly looked out of the window for a moment, thinking. Ben looked at his instruments and suddenly saw they’d dropped to nine hundred feet. He pointed the nose upwards and pulled back on the throttle. Maybe he could correct it without Kelly noticing.

  But she seemed to have eyes in the back of her head. ‘What’s your altitude?’

  Ben winced. ‘Um – I’m just sorting that out. Chill.’

  Kelly was not to be appeased so easily. ‘That’s because you were flying looking at the ground. If you keep looking at the ground all the time, do you know what will happen? You’ll end up there. Crashed. Finito. When planes crash, it isn’t funny. You don’t walk away. Do I have to spoon-feed you the entire time?’

  ‘Look,’ said Ben, ‘I know you’re frustrated because you’d rather be flying yourself, but you’re not helping.’ He dialled Bel’s number – not because he thought the call would get through this time, but because he needed a break from Kelly’s ranting.

  But it was answered straight away.

  ‘Hello? Help! Help!’ The voice was high and anxious, almost screaming.

  ‘
Mum? Is that you?’ Ben was horrified. Bel was so calm and controlled. He’d never known her lose her cool, ever. ‘Mum, where are you? I’ll get you out, where are you?’

  ‘Billy, is that you?’

  The woman had an Australian accent. It wasn’t Bel. Somehow, even with speed-dial, he’d got a wrong number. An error in the computer switching at the exchange, he supposed. It must be overloaded.

  Now that the woman had got through to someone, she poured out her troubles. ‘I’m trapped in the flat. There are eight of us here. Rikki from next door. Old Mr Green from the ground floor – he’s having trouble breathing.’ The voice shook. She sounded near to tears. ‘We can’t get through to the fire department … We daren’t go downstairs.’

  Kelly looked at Ben, just as appalled as he was. In the background they could hear several voices all talking at once, suggesting more things to say. Kelly and Ben caught snatches of what they were saying. ‘Other buildings on fire … lower floors full of smoke … Near the racecourse …’

  The racecourse.

  Kelly looked at Ben. ‘They’re in Adelaide. By that racecourse.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Ben into the phone. ‘I’m not Billy. I’m Ben and I’m looking for my mum. But tell me where you are and I’ll try to send help.’

  ‘What? You’re breaking up …’

  The rest of her words dissolved in a flurry of static.

  The woman’s voice had gone.

  ‘Try and get her back,’ said Kelly. ‘Tell her we’ll help if we can.’

  Ben was pressing redial, but they got the same message as before. ‘Lines are busy. Please try again later.’ He tried 000 to see if he could get help to them, but even that was unavailable.

  ‘It must have been a fluke,’ said Ben. ‘The chances of getting her again are minimal.’

  Kelly was quiet for a moment. ‘I’m glad my dad isn’t in Adelaide. I’d rather he got kidnapped than be trapped like that poor woman. Your mother too.’

  Two police helicopters took off from Melbourne and skimmed out into the dusty red desert. They located the railway line that led out of Adelaide and began to follow it. The burning sky lay behind; ahead was the vast desert that formed the interior of the great continent of Australia, the Red Centre.

  The Ghan was a big red train with a history, a tourist attraction like the Orient Express in Europe. It followed a 2,979-kilometre route that stretched right across the country from Adelaide in the south to Darwin in the north, a route originally established when Afghan camel trains trekked the parched outback.

  After twenty minutes the lead helicopter spotted the train, sending up a plume of deep red dust like a vapour trail. They matched its speed and radioed the train controller to ask him to stop. As the train braked, they positioned themselves at the front and the back, hovering like hawks so that they had maximum visibility in case anyone left the train.

  The train came to a standstill, throwing up clouds of dust like an old-fashioned steam engine and the helicopters came in to land.

  Passengers leaned out of the windows, squinting into the sun. They were mystified to see the police boarding their train.

  One group of officers searched the carriages. A small squad stayed outside in case the kidnappers jumped off the train. If they did, they would be caught quickly as there was nowhere to hide here in the vast emptiness of the outback.

  The officers searched the interior of the train twice, including all the nooks and crannies that only the train staff knew about. But no one answering the description of Bel or the major was on board.

  The officers returned to their helicopters and radioed back to control. They had to get back to the burning skies of Adelaide.

  Sixty kilometres to the south, unaware that the train had already been searched and their parents were not aboard after all, Ben and Kelly were risking the last of their fuel flying to intercept it.

  The fire in Adelaide was spreading. Wanasri and the crew of Engine 33 watched the paramedics load a woman on a stretcher into the back of an ambulance and close the doors. The air was full of damp smoke and it was impossible to see more than a few hundred metres down the road. Wanasri’s ears were ringing with the constant clamour of sirens, shouting, and the hiss of high-pressure water blasting from hoses. Every surface she touched was hot and wet. The streets were slick with water and steaming like a jungle.

  Petra pulled open the cab of the truck and climbed into the driving seat. ‘We’re needed down the road. There are some people trapped inside a house.’

  Wanasri, Andy and Darren didn’t even bother to get back in the engine. They jogged down the road after Petra.

  Wanasri stepped aside as the ambulance slalomed past, its siren wailing. Its fog lights were on so that it could navigate through the black clouds of smoke. It had a long journey ahead. The general hospital in the middle of town, which housed the major burns unit, was being evacuated, so new patients were being taken to an army barracks up the coast, which had set up an emergency medical centre. A small fire truck followed the ambulance, just in case. The crew drove with the windows up to keep out stray sparks. Muffled inside their heavy fireproof jackets, they looked like decontamination workers. The ambulance carried flammable materials like oxygen, which in this heat was like a cargo of nitroglycerine.

  As Wanasri jogged along beside Darren and Andy, she kept thinking about the woman in that ambulance. They had rescued her from the fire but she had burns over most of her body. Her bare arms and legs were blistered and charred. Burns normally caused excruciating pain, but she seemed to feel no pain at all. At the time it seemed merciful, but Wanasri and the medics knew it was an ominous sign. When burns victims were quiet like that, it meant their nerve endings had been destroyed. They might lose limbs or die.

  The injuries they were seeing today were getting worse as the fire grew further out of control.

  Maybe with this next call, thought Wanasri, they would find somebody alive and well, or less severely injured. Maybe that pall of smoke they were heading towards would not contain the ashes of another unlucky victim.

  As they got closer, her heart sank. It was a single-storey home. The roof had already collapsed and only part of a wall and a chimney remained. Another crew had put out most of the fire, but small hot spots still smouldered.

  Andy and Darren reached the truck and unclipped pike poles – long fibreglass poles with hooks on the end for lifting hot materials. With a heavy heart Wanasri reached for hers. She felt a tap on her shoulder.

  A woman was standing behind her. Tears made clean tracks down her soot-smudged face. ‘I’m the landlady,’ she said. I live two doors down. The tenant who lives here is blind. You’ve got to find him.’

  Wanasri nodded. ‘Ma’am,’ she replied, ‘it’s not safe for you to be here. There are a lot of unstable structures. You just stay there, and we’ll look for your tenant, right?’

  The woman looked so bewildered; maybe she just wanted to be told what to do.

  Andy and Darren had their pike poles hooked into the corners of the roof. They started to push, lifting the roof away from the door so that they could get inside. Smoke gushed out – it was like taking the lid off a boiling saucepan; then hot embers, starved of oxygen when the roof fell on them, began to stir into flame again. Petra followed the others with a hose line and shot water at the flames until they disappeared.

  Wanasri stepped carefully across the blackened debris to join the others. It was slippery, like crossing rocks at low tide. She steadied herself with her pike pole. The smoke and steam were clearing and the debris began to take shape. She identified the frame of a sofa, all the upholstery gone.

  Now that she had met the landlady, she wanted more than ever to find the blind man safe and well. Hoping against hope, she began to think of reasons why he might be all right. The people who died in house fires were often simply disorientated by the smoke and couldn’t find their way out, even if they’d lived in the same place for twenty years. But perhaps someone who was use
d to finding his way around with senses other than sight would have a better chance.

  She reached Andy and helped him lift up a beam. Andy looked under it, then stopped.

  Wanasri knew that expression; even the most seasoned firefighters couldn’t help but react when they found a body. She caught a glimpse of teeth glinting white in the smoking black wreckage and looked away quickly. ‘Is that him?’

  Andy shook his head. ‘It’s not human. It must be the guide dog.’

  He didn’t have to say any more. Animals usually managed to get out more easily than humans did; they were faster and smaller. If the dog hadn’t got out, the owner definitely hadn’t. The body was definitely here somewhere.

  Wanasri felt a lump rising in her throat. She had a dog. She’d had him for just a few months and already they were devoted to each other. She couldn’t bear to think of such a horrible death befalling such a trusting companion. How could this day get any worse?

  The landlady had seen them and was walking shakily over the wreckage towards them. ‘Go and head her off,’ said Andy. ‘She doesn’t need to see this.’

  Bel was walking through a blackened, smoky, steaming hell. She was in a paved precinct. She didn’t know where she was going, she just wanted to find a safe place to stop. There were shops on either side but they were burned out. Their blackened signs dripped with water. The paving slabs were cracked where heavy fire trucks had driven along them. Sun umbrellas lay on the ground like felled trees, the fabric burned away; café tables and chairs were flattened. It looked like the fire brigade had swept in, blasted the whole lot and swept away all the people with it too. Was she completely alone?

  She passed a shop and realized that the strange shape standing in the window was vaguely human. As Bel went closer, the heat suddenly shattered the plate-glass window. It cobwebbed with cracks and then exploded out into the street, showering her with glass. Smoke billowed out, blinding and choking her.

  In the midst of the smoke stood the human figure. It had its arms up towards her. And it was melting …