by Chris Ryan
‘Here you go. That’s four dollars seventy.’
The café owner was standing in front of him, holding out a bag and a four-pack of water bottles. Ben dug into his pocket for more change and peered at the unfamiliar notes. He worked out he hadn’t got enough and pulled some more out of his pocket.
As he did so, a roughly folded piece of paper fell onto the floor. The café owner picked it up and was about to hand it back to him when something caught her eye. ‘Oh, is this from here?’ She opened it out.
Ben recognized it as the photocopy the police officer had handed him, showing the charred leaflet.
‘No,’ he said, ‘I got it in Adelaide.’
‘Depression, skin diseases, strange allergies, migraines …’ She skim-read the page, muttering some of the words out loud, then handed it back to Ben. ‘My sister has had a migraine for three days and she’s sitting in casualty right now. Last week I had this terrible itching. I thought my skin was crawling with insects. I went to the doctor. He said he’d seen ten cases but he didn’t know what was causing it. So we’re making headlines in Adelaide now, are we?’
Ben had assumed that most of the text was crackpot scaremongering, but now he wasn’t so sure. He glanced at the photocopy in his hand. The headline he had noticed before leaped out:
STOP SECRET US EXPERIMENTS
In Adelaide the army had established base camps for firefighting crews all around the city. They meant that the firefighters could rest up, replenish supplies and refuel without having to go back to their station house.
Engine 33 was based at the golf course. Driving in was like entering a military installation. There was a clearly defined perimeter, where soldiers in firefighting gear patrolled with water tanks on trolleys. They had already had to put out several minor blazes, ignited by sparks blown in on smoke from the burning town.
Inside the firebreak, the whole area looked chaotic: a mass of parked fire trucks and personnel in fire-fighting gear apparently milling about in all directions. But in fact it was tightly organized.
A soldier noted Engine 33’s identification number and told Petra where to park. She drove past a group of soldiers: some were tinkering about with an engine, others were replacing used breathing gear, checking rescue harnesses and testing hoses. Another engine bumped down the fairway towards them, its crew refuelled and ready for action again. The other crew waved as they went past and Wanasri watched them in the wing mirror as they reached the exit. Just then a glow of orange flared in the blackened bushes at the perimeter. The soldiers on duty immediately spotted it and dowsed it with water.
Even here, the firefighters couldn’t relax totally; the fire was never truly beaten. No matter how much water they hosed onto it, everything dried out so quickly in the blistering afternoon heat.
Petra turned onto the fairway where Victoria and Troy had been playing that morning. The golfers would have been appalled to see it now – the parched grass worn bare by the tyres of heavy vehicles and streaked with soot. The woodland had burned down to a no-man’s-land of blackened stumps.
A soldier beckoned them into a space between two other trucks, as if he was guiding a plane into a terminal building slot. Petra heaved on the wheel, manoeuvred the engine into the space and stopped.
A soldier opened the door. ‘We’ll re-equip your vehicle while you get some rest. Fifteen minutes and you’re out again. Leave the keys in the ignition in case we need to move it.’
Wanasri followed Darren out, moving across the seat in slow motion. She had never felt so tired in her life. Her muscles were aching from moving about in the heavy turnout gear, and mentally, too, she felt exhausted. She was grateful to be off duty, but daunted by the thought that she had to be back on in fifteen minutes.
Andy prodded her. ‘Come on, lazybones. There’s a bottle of iced water with my name on it and you’re in my way.’
Darren put out his arms. He lifted her out as if she was a feather and set her down on the ground. ‘Come on, let’s perk you up.’ He knew how she felt. They’d all been rookies once.
Wanasri’s feet protested as soon as she started to walk. Her boots were stiff and new and she had been running about in them for so long that her feet were a mass of blisters. Her turnout gear still felt as stiff as a suit of armour. She longed to take it off so that she could move freely. Her head throbbed – probably from dehydration after spending so long in such fierce heat, breathing in hot gases. She wanted to take her helmet off but the peak shielded her eyes from the fierce afternoon sun.
Darren marched her through a row of parked engines to a big khaki tent. Water bottles were stacked in crates along a trestle table. Petra cracked one open and downed the whole lot in one go. Darren thrust one into Wanasri’s hands. She twisted the lid off with her teeth, spat the cap out and drank gratefully. The water was warm, but she didn’t care. She just needed to sluice away the taste of cinders. The first bottle finished, she scrunched it between her hands and started on a second. Beside her, Petra, Darren and Andy were also gulping away.
It was only when Wanasri was on her third bottle that she was able to take it more slowly and look around. The tent looked incongruous in the middle of all these fire engines, like something from a genteel summer fete. The whole place stank of smoke. Firefighters walked around, massive as grizzly bears in their protective clothes. Everywhere she looked, reflective yellow stripes glinted in the sun. Wisps of steam rose off the engines and everything was coated in oily smoke. She tried not to think how much of that oily residue was from vaporized human remains.
Petra crumpled another finished water bottle and dropped it into an overflowing bin. ‘Come on, guys,’ she said. ‘We’d better make way for others.’
Wanasri, Darren and Andy followed her to the next tent. It looked like a jumble sale, with boxes of equipment laid out on tables. Petra went in, took her radio off her jacket, prised the cover off the battery compartment and swapped her old batteries for fresh ones. Meanwhile a soldier with a clipboard came up to her with her instructions. Petra listened carefully, then returned to the others.
Darren gave Wanasri a pat on the arm. ‘Come on, time to get back to work.’
Wanasri couldn’t believe their fifteen-minute break had passed so quickly. She followed Darren and Andy back to the truck.
The soldiers were just finishing up. Two of them clipped the pike poles back on the side of the engine. Another rolled up a hose attached to a big water tank.
Petra got in the cab and started the engine as Darren, Andy and Wanasri climbed in the other side.
A soldier stood in front of the truck, beckoning Petra on. She put her hand out of the window and acknowledged him, then eased out towards the perimeter.
As they drove towards the exit, tongues of orange flame continued to flicker among the blackened stumps of trees. The fire was still stalking the camp, trying to get a hold. Once again, soldiers pursued it and smothered it, keeping the firefighters’ haven safe.
Petra took Engine 33 back onto the road, out into the fiery city again. Away from the bustle of the camp, they could hear the sounds of the sirens again. The sky glowered black with smoke, the sun blazing through it like a furnace.
Petra changed up to third gear and accelerated towards the town centre, her jaw grimly set. ‘We’ve got new instructions. We’re going for a big strategic push. The army are helping too. The teams on the outside are going to drive the fire inwards; the teams on the inside – that includes us – are going to drive it outwards. Hopefully we’ll meet in the middle. This is no longer about saving individual structures. It’s about putting this fire out once and for all.’
Chapter Seventeen
Ben picked up the jerry can, ducked under the wing of the microlight and unscrewed the big cap on the tank behind the cockpit. Kelly twisted round in her seat to watch him as he refilled the fuel tank. Her hands were encased in white mittens, and as Ben poured the fuel mixture in, she made little twitches, mimicking his movements. Ben got the distinct i
mpression she would rather be doing the job herself.
‘When you mixed it,’ she said, ‘did you use a filter?’ The microlight ran on a mixture of two-stroke oil and lead-free petrol.
‘Yes,’ said Ben. ‘Just like you said.’
‘Good. You don’t want dirt in the fuel tank or we might stall.’
Once the tank was full Ben stowed the jerry can on its hooks beside the petrol tank.
Kelly had some more orders for him. ‘Check the engine is securely bolted to the wing.’
Ben looked at her as though she was crazy. ‘Why? I haven’t touched it.’
‘You always have to check the engine mounts before you take off.’
Ben reached up to the wing, put his hands on either side of the engine and gave it a good shake. ‘Is that secure enough?’
‘Yes, now check the propeller. If it’s got any chips or nicks, it might snap off.’
Ben ran his hands along first one blade, then turned the propeller and did the same with the other. ‘Smooth as a baby’s bottom.’
Kelly looked affronted. ‘A what?’
‘As a toddler’s ass, I guess you’d say in America,’ said Ben, hiding a smile.
Next she made him check the wires that held the wings and the connections to the ailerons, the rudder and the brakes. All of this was standard procedure before take-off.
Finally Kelly was satisfied. ‘Let’s eat and then we can get going.’
Ben scrubbed his hands with wet wipes, then picked up the bag of sandwiches from the floor and offered it to Kelly.
She stayed where she was, sitting back in the seat, the map on her lap. ‘You’ll have to feed me.’
Ben laughed, thinking she was joking. ‘You’re not serious, right?’
Two bandaged hands waved in front of his face. ‘If
I do it myself I’m gonna make a big mess.’
Ben fished out one of the sandwiches and looked at her dubiously.
Kelly sighed. ‘Ben, I’m starving. Just hold the darn thing up and let me take a bite.’
She really wasn’t joking. Ben tore the wrapper off and looked around warily. If anyone saw him doing this, he’d die of embarrassment. A big tow-truck was parked at the garage but the driver was occupied filling up with petrol. There was a building site a short distance away but no one there would be able to see them. He held the sandwich out. ‘Go on then.’
Kelly took a bite, sat back and chewed thoughtfully. ‘This town is weird.’
‘Apart from being underground, you mean?’
‘Did you see all those ill people in the hospital? This is one unhealthy place.’
‘Yeah,’ said Ben, his mouth full. He realized Kelly was waiting for another bite and thrust her sandwich towards her mouth.
Kelly bit, chewed and swallowed. ‘It must do odd things to people, living underground like that. I mean, look at that building site. When they want a house they don’t put up blocks and mortar, they go burrowing.’
Now that she pointed it out, Ben noticed how weird the building site was. A machine like a stubby rocket was boring a tunnel into the ground, disgorging rocks and red sand up a conveyor belt. But he would rather leave the sightseeing until they’d got the embarrassing business of feeding Kelly out of the way. He held up the sandwich. ‘Eat.’
She opened her mouth.
Instead of taking a bite, she jumped, nearly knocking the sandwich out of Ben’s hand. ‘What the hell—?’
A dark figure was standing just outside, staring in at them: an Aboriginal child of about seven. He had dark brown skin and thick wavy hair.
Two more children appeared beside him – another Aboriginal, with a red plaited cord around his neck, and a younger blonde girl.
Ben wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. If one of his mates in Macclesfield had found him feeding sandwiches to a girl, his life wouldn’t have been worth living.
But Kelly had no thought for his blushes. She recovered from her fright and took another big bite of the sandwich. ‘Run along and play,’ she said to the children, her mouth full.
Three pairs of eyes watched them in astonishment.
Kelly took the last piece of sandwich and Ben decided to try to explain. ‘She’s hurt herself,’ he said, hoping that would make him look a bit less soppy.
That wasn’t what the children were interested in. The Aboriginal with the red cord reached out a hand and stroked the microlight’s wing. The other one also put his hand on the plane. ‘Did you come here in this?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Kelly. ‘Now beat it.’
She still had her mouth full but Ben couldn’t mistake the irritation stirring in her voice. He guessed she didn’t relish chatting to seven-year-olds.
The blonde girl reached a grubby finger towards Kelly’s bandages. ‘Have your hands been cut off?’
‘Go away,’ said Kelly. ‘We’re going to start the engine in a minute. The propeller will cut your hands off if you stand too close.’
The girl looked as though she might do as she was told, but the two older children didn’t want to leave the microlight. The first child turned to the other one and asked him, ‘Is this like the real big bird that disappears?’
‘No, that was bigger. This one looks like a kind of bike.’
Kelly glared at them. Ben scrunched up the sandwich wrappers and smirked.
‘What’s the bird that disappears?’ asked the little girl.
‘You’re too young to know about that,’ her companion with the red cord told her.
‘They might have seen it,’ said red necklace. He turned to Kelly. ‘Have you?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ snapped Kelly.
‘Describe it to her,’ said the other Aborigine.
Red necklace leaned into the cockpit. ‘I’ll have to whisper.’
Kelly glanced at Ben, hoping for rescue, but she was cornered in her seat. Like it or not, she was going to be told. The child leaned close and whispered in her ear. When he had finished, he straightened up and looked at her solemnly, waiting for her response.
Kelly shook her head. ‘No, I haven’t seen any UFOs. Now buzz off. I mean it. We’re going to start the engine and it’s extremely dangerous for you to be this close to the plane.’
A woman appeared at the door of the petrol station and beckoned to them. The children turned round and ran across with a flat-footed gait that kicked up clouds of red dust. They weren’t wearing any shoes.
Kelly didn’t waste any time. ‘Start the darn engine, before they come back.’
Ben turned the key. The engine spluttered, then settled to a low purr, with the propeller turning slowly. An enormous grin spread over his face. He was going to take off.
‘Don’t get too excited,’ said Kelly. ‘We’re not going anywhere yet. We have to run the engine for five minutes to get it up to operating temperature.’ She sat back and shook her head. ‘This place is the Midwest Down Under.’
‘What did that kid tell you?’ said Ben.
‘Some nonsense. His uncle went walkabout in the bush at night and saw lights in the sky.’
‘Is that the big bird that disappears?’ asked Ben.
‘Don’t be stupid.’ Kelly brushed crumbs off the map with her forearms. She put on a high, squeaky voice.
‘A big bird came down, and when it landed, it disappeared.’ She reverted to her normal voice. ‘That’s how six-year-olds talk about UFOs.’
‘No they don’t,’ said Ben. ‘They talk about spacemen. Big birds that vanish sounds like a dreamtime story.’
Kelly checked the temperature gauge. ‘You can skip the culture lesson. We’re ready to go.’
They did a few final checks. Under Kelly’s direction, Ben set the trim – rebalancing the craft to adjust for the weight of the fuel they had added. He secured the doors and fastened the seat belts, reaching around Kelly’s waist to do up hers.
‘Thirteen and never been kissed?’ said Kelly.
He felt himself blush as he fumbled with the seat be
lt catch. Finally it locked. ‘There!’ he said in relief.
‘OK.’ Kelly’s tone was brisk now. ‘Start by pointing the nose down.’
Ben looked at the controls in front of him. His mind had gone blank again. He couldn’t remember how to point the nose down.
‘With the stick!’ exclaimed Kelly. ‘For heaven’s sake. I should have got one of those kids as my co-pilot.’
If Ben had felt more relaxed, he might have reminded her that one of them thought the microlight looked like a bike. As it was, he was too preoccupied struggling to remember what instrument did what. He moved the stick forward as far as it would go.
‘While you’re sitting there like a dork, I’m thinking about our take-off. We’ve got a clear run along this road here. Windspeed and direction are fine – let’s have the throttle fully open and off we go.’
Ben pulled the throttle up. The propeller became a blur, the engine let out a roar and the rev counter climbed sharply. But they didn’t move.
Kelly batted her hand towards the stick. ‘Take the handbrake off!’
Ben winced and slipped the piece of Velcro off the handle.
Released from its fetters, the microlight shot forwards.
Ben had forgotten how rickety it felt. The cables through the cockpit twanged like guitar strings, the wheels rattled, and the steering seemed to have a mind of its own.
‘We’re veering left,’ snapped Kelly. ‘Keep straight with your pedals and the stick. Use the horizon.’
Ben nudged the pedals and stick until they were heading dead straight down the road. He had a sudden vision of meeting a juggernaut or a coachload of tourists head on.
The stick kept twitching in his hand, as though the nose was trying to come up. ‘It feels like it wants to fly,’ he said. He felt quite proud that he’d noticed that.
‘You’re not going fast enough yet – if you haven’t got enough speed you’ll stall. Just keep going like this.’
Ben glanced at the airspeed. It said 40 knots. With all this twanging and rattling it seemed like 140. He felt particularly reckless to be doing this on a public road. If this was England, by now he would have met the juggernaut and the tourist coach, plus several dozen parents doing the school run. The speed crept up to 50 knots … 51, 52 …