Dark Country (Dungirri)

by Parry, Bronwyn

  ‘I’ll be down as soon as I can, Adam. I’ll call Steve Fraser, too, and let him know of the developments.’

  Adam nodded and left the room, heading to the old cell-turned-storeroom, and Kris swivelled her chair round to face Gil.

  ‘I don’t suppose you saw anything to identify either of the people?’

  ‘No. Sorry.’ He wished he could say ‘yes’, give them a lead to go on, but the figures had been ghostly shadows, just hazy movement in the poor light. Even the closest image, near the diesel pumps, hadn’t caught any recognisable detail of the two people in the car.

  ‘I’ll need you to work on those lists, then, while –’

  Her words were lost in a thunderous roar of sound, smashing through the quiet night outside.

  ‘What the …?’ She was already on her feet and out the door, Gil right behind her.

  A block down the road, brilliant orange flames leapt high in the sky over Jeanie’s Truck Stop Café.

  SEVEN

  Gil bolted ahead of her towards the Truck Stop, but she wasn’t far behind him, despite dialling triple 0 on her phone as she ran.

  The building itself was ablaze, but not the fuel tanks – not yet anyway. At the Rural Fire Service shed a few doors down, she could see lights on already, and she hoped their volunteer training dealt with the possibility of thousands of litres of exploding fuel, because hers sure didn’t.

  A few men were coming out from the hotel, two already running towards the RFS shed, and she yelled across the road, ‘Dave, evacuate the pub – everyone out and away from here!’

  Adam caught up with her, and without stopping she ordered him, ‘Evacuate a whole block on all sides. Get those on this side down to the hall, and …’ she thought quickly, not wanting residents of the side street and beyond walking within range of the fire and potential explosion, ‘the others over the creek and around to the hall the back way.’

  ‘But Jeanie …’

  ‘I’ll go for her.’

  The west end of the café was well alight, and when she followed where Gil had disappeared around the back, she saw the external stairs up to Jeanie’s place had been blown off, along with half of the back of the building.

  It was probably the gas cylinders used for cooking that had exploded, but she’d worry about the how and why later. Right now, Gil was climbing up the remains of the stair post, despite the flames eating at the old wooden building only a metre or two away, and the thick smoke swirling around them.

  If Jeanie was in her place – and where else could she be? – then they had only minutes to get her out. It would take the volunteer RFS crew longer than that to get to the truck shed and gear themselves up.

  As Gil swung onto one of the remaining floor beams, she started up after him, but he saw her and waved a hand towards the old cabin. Above the roar of the fire she only caught some of his shouted words: ‘… ladder … there … awning at … front.’

  He disappeared into the building, and with fear strangling her breath as much as the smoke, and fighting panic, Kris made herself move through the heat and debris behind the café until she reached the cabin. Gil must have noticed the ladder earlier – he couldn’t have seen it through the smoke.

  Firelight glinting on the metal helped her find it, propped against the cabin.

  It was heavy, metal and big, but adrenaline helped her drag it around the front, skirting the fire to take it past the fuel bowsers to the side of the awning furthest from the worst flames.

  In the middle of her terror for Jeanie and Gil, the stark realisation occurred to her that if the fuel tanks below her feet blew, at least her own death would be speedy.

  The ladder in place, she scrambled up it, the corrugated iron of the awning already hot from the fire’s heat, glass from Jeanie’s large windows shattered all over it. The west end of the top floor was burning now – Jeanie’s kitchen and bathroom. Kris climbed through the bedroom window at the other end shouting Gil’s name, Jeanie’s name, and coughing at the effort. In the smoke and the heat and the hellish whirling light, half her instincts screamed at her to get out of there. The other half drove her out of that room and into the living area, desperate to find Jeanie … and Gil.

  Eyes and throat burning, she couldn’t speak when Gil lurched from the kitchen, Jeanie’s limp body in his arms, the garish light showing her white hair dark with blood. Coughs wracking his body, Gil stumbled, falling to one knee. Her own legs barely working, Kris pushed past him, slamming the door shut against the flames. With the wallpaper already curling on one wall, and the carpet smoking in the corner, she knew the closed door would only give them a few seconds advantage.

  Gil was already struggling to his feet, and with one arm around him, she took some of Jeanie’s weight. An upturned table blocked the window, so together they stumbled to the bedroom, and she kicked the door shut behind them.

  ‘You first,’ he croaked, nodding at the glassless window. ‘I’ll pass her.’

  Jeanie weighed less than she did, but with oxygen-starved lungs it was a struggle to hold her when Gil handed her through the window. Her knees buckled, taking her down. At the same moment the back of the bedroom wall erupted in flames, Gil disappeared from her view and trapped, holding Jeanie, she could do nothing but shout his name.

  She dragged Jeanie back a few metres towards the ladder, and then Gil was there again in the garish light, tucking something inside his jacket, clambering over the window frame, and insanely she wanted to cry and rage at him for scaring her.

  He lifted Jeanie in his arms as Kris crawled the last metre to the ladder.

  ‘Go.’ He gave her a small nudge with his foot.

  Somehow she made it onto the ladder without falling, concentrating hard to get each foot onto one rung, then the next, feeling the ladder shudder as Gil moved onto it above her. And then yellow-clad arms folded around her, and Paul Barrett’s voice said near her ear, ‘Nearly there,’ as he steadied her, and lifted her down the last rungs, then Karl Sauer in his orange SES overalls moved in to take Jeanie from Gil.

  Her eyes burned so much she could hardly see, but she knew the body holding her upright as she coughed was Gil, his own breathing as ragged as hers.

  ‘We need to get out of here, Sarge,’ Karl said. ‘Can you make it as far as Ward’s?’

  She nodded, and with Gil beside her, she pushed her heavy legs one step at a time away from the fire, following Karl hurrying down the road with Jeanie.

  She didn’t know if Jeanie was alive or dead, and that frightened her more than being in the midst of the heat and flame.

  How could she bear to lose Jeanie? And how would Dungirri survive, if Jeanie died?

  Gil felt like an old man, shambling up the road; the effects of the smoke seemed to be paralysing his muscles as well as his lungs, the effort to keep moving as great as if he carried a huge cement block instead of supporting one slightly built policewoman.

  He’d never in his life experienced fear as strong as the dread that had gripped him when she’d appeared in the burning building. Seeing the car accelerating towards her earlier in the evening had been bad enough, but that had been over in a few moments. In the fire, the time had dragged like hours, each second endless.

  Even now, she might not be all right, and Jeanie … Jeanie had to be in a bad way. The gash on her head, the lack of consciousness, and there were burns on her legs. He’d had no choice but to get her out of there, but how much had hauling her around worsened her injuries? He might have killed her.

  Ahead of them, under the streetlight at the vacant lot beyond Ward’s Rural Supplies, Beth Wilson leapt out of an SES vehicle, and ran to meet the guy carrying Jeanie, starting her examination even before he laid her carefully on the ground.

  Gil was too far away to hear their quick exchange, but close enough to see Beth start CPR. In the ten or so seconds it took to reach them, the man – one of the Sauer brothers, he thought it might be – had grabbed a defibrillator out of the SES vehicle, and Beth was giving
instructions to place it.

  Gil held Kris back, just held her, while Beth administered the shock to Jeanie’s chest. There was noise in the distance, but here they all kept still, hardly daring to breathe.

  When Beth gave a weak smile and set the defibrillator aside, he started breathing again, and coughing.

  She glanced across at them while she attached an oxygen mask to Jeanie. ‘You two, sit down somewhere. Try to breathe slowly and deeply. We’ll take a look at you as soon as we can.’

  ‘Will she be okay?’ Kris asked.

  ‘Her heart’s beating again. That’s a good start.’

  ‘I should help. I’m trained …’

  Beth barely spared them another glance, but her firm order wasn’t unfriendly. ‘So are Karl and I. You’ll help most by sitting down with Gil, and letting me know if either of you develop any severe problems.’

  Karl waved a hand towards a rough bench against the brick wall of the Ward’s building, and Gil pulled Kris down beside him, relieved to be able to lean back against the wall instead of making the effort to stay upright.

  They watched in the streetlight and moonlight while Beth and Karl worked with calm and efficiency on Jeanie. Funny how the girl who’d been so shy she’d been nicknamed ‘Mouse’ now gave orders to others without hesitation.

  In the distance, he could hear the motor of the fire truck pumping water and the shouts of the crew at work. If they could keep the fire contained to the building, the fuel tanks would probably not explode, he figured. The fuel pumps would have been turned off for the night, and that should reduce the risk. They were far enough away here, and protected by the sturdy building if it did blow; further down, at the end of the main street, he could see the lights and the shadows of the evacuated people, milling at the hall.

  Kris and Gil sat in silence for a while, listening, watching Beth clean Jeanie’s head wound and monitor her while Karl cut away the remains of her trousers and treated the burns on her legs. Kris’s breathing gradually eased and Gil’s, too, became less of a struggle.

  ‘There won’t be anything left of the building,’ Kris said, her voice raspy but no longer gasping.

  ‘No.’

  As if on cue, a rumble and a drawn-out crash signalled a significant collapse.

  ‘Oh, God.’ She sniffed, cleared her throat. ‘It’s been her home for fifty years.’

  ‘I know.’ It wasn’t just smoke clogging his voice. He tightened his hand around hers, and then wondered when he’d taken hold of it.

  He should untangle his fingers, let hers go, before anyone saw and made things difficult for her. He kidded himself that it didn’t matter, that it was a normal reaction to the stress. Maybe she hadn’t noticed. Or maybe with all the chaos and trauma, she’d forget.

  ‘You care for her.’

  For Jeanie, Kris must have meant by her observation, but that wasn’t his brain’s first interpretation, and the words echoed in his head as an accusation.

  ‘Yeah. I worked for her for a while.’ Those few words weren’t adequate, but he didn’t know how to describe what Jeanie had come to mean to him. How she’d shown him that there was a world beyond the hell of living with his father. How sometimes, in quiet times, they’d talked. Or rather, Jeanie had talked, and he’d listened. He realised later – years later – that in her own way, in her stories of her marriage, her life and community, she’d been teaching him things he’d needed to learn.

  He still had hold of Kris’s hand. He uncurled his fingers, reached inside his jacket, and drew out the photo of a young Jeanie and her husband that he’d snatched from her bedside table. The light from the moon shone on the silver frame, and the couple smiling out of it, and Kris gently took it from him.

  ‘This is what you went back for?’

  He nodded. ‘She doesn’t have many photos of him.’

  And even fewer, now. So little to be left of a man’s life. Aldo Menotti, who’d survived war and imprisonment and made a new life in a young country and winked when he’d snuck sweets into a small boy’s hand.

  That memory had stayed with Gil, but distanced, as though the small boy was someone else, because then Aldo had died fighting a bushfire, and not long afterwards the boy’s mother had left, and there had been little kindness in his life after that.

  ‘She’ll be grateful to have it. So I might almost forgive you for scaring the hell out of me, Gillespie.’

  Jeanie would be grateful – if she made it. Beth didn’t look quite so worried now, but she hadn’t budged from Jeanie’s side, and the small figure under the blanket remained motionless.

  Jeanie had to be okay. He wouldn’t dare imagine any other scenario. She’d come around any minute now, and although she might spend a day or so in hospital for precaution, she’d be fine, and he’d buy her a beautiful house wherever she wanted it, and she’d never have to cook another meal, or pump petrol, or do anything for anyone else again.

  Sirens were approaching, their wailing eerie in the night. Soon two ambulances pulled up, and a police car, and the area began filling with people. Gil helped Kris to her feet, worried when she wavered, and led her straight over to an ambulance.

  One pair of paramedics were already beside Jeanie, and the other pair, eager to work, took charge of Kris and Gil. Before he knew it, he had an oxygen mask on his face, and some sort of monitor pegged on his finger. They’d pulled out a gurney for Kris, and she was sitting on it, a blanket around her shoulders, giving instructions to two uniformed cops while the paramedics attached monitors to her and checked her over.

  Adam appeared, and Steve Fraser, but Gil couldn’t concentrate on their conversation with Kris because one of the paramedics assessing Jeanie came over to him. An older man, with an air of calm and experience.

  ‘Can you tell me how you found her? Did you see what gave her the head injury?’

  Gil slipped the oxygen mask down so he could answer. ‘In the kitchen, lying on her front. I think she must have got caught by the explosion, because the wall behind her was mostly gone, and there was debris around her.’ He thought back, tried to remember what he’d taken in of the scene in the rush to get her out. ‘There was a cupboard door open near her head. She might have hit that when she fell.’

  ‘Any idea how long she’d been there?’

  ‘We heard the explosion from the police station. I ran straight there. So, I guess four or five minutes, maybe.’ It had seemed like hours, but logic said it couldn’t have been. ‘I tried to cradle her head when I could, but there wasn’t much time.’

  ‘Fire usually doesn’t leave many choices. But you got her out alive, mate. That’s what matters.’

  ‘How is she?’ He didn’t expect much of a detailed answer, and he didn’t get one.

  ‘She’s holding her own. We’ll know more when she’s been assessed by the docs. Birraga hospital only has basic facilities, so we’re calling in the rescue helicopter to take her to Tamworth.’

  He could go back to Sydney tomorrow via Tamworth, Gil figured quickly. Make sure that Jeanie had the best care, and everything she needed.

  ‘Put that oxygen mask back on, mate,’ the ambo told him, as he headed back to Jeanie.

  He hated the feel of the mask on his face, but took the advice anyway, taking a moment to adjust the straps to make it more comfortable. His head down, he saw legs in neat trousers passing, and he jerked his head up to see the back of a man, making a beeline straight for Kris.

  Adam and Fraser both stepped aside when he approached, and the man put his arms around her, drawing her in close, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder.

  When he turned his face to speak with Adam, Gil recognised him, and his lungs constricted again. Mark Strelitz.

  Mark Strelitz, Dungirri’s golden boy, who had almost died with Paula in the car accident all those years ago. Now a federal politician, highly respected on all sides of politics, and heir to one of the wealthiest grazing properties in the region. Rich, popular, intelligent and influential – th
e kind of man who could have anything he wanted. Including, it seemed, Kris.

  Before Mark could notice him, Gil tossed the oxygen mask aside and walked away into the shadows.

  For a couple of blissful seconds, Kris allowed herself to lean on Mark. He knew her well enough that she didn’t have to pretend, and his sympathetic, supportive presence gave her the brief space she needed to regroup, to clear the buzzing in her head and focus on what needed doing.

  So much to do, to organise. Mark dropped his arms as she pulled away.

  ‘You shouldn’t be here, Mark,’ she told him. ‘Emergency personnel only in this area. But if you could go up to the hall, and keep everyone there calm, I’d really appreciate it.’

  She could rely on him to do whatever was necessary. He’d proved that, again and again, through all the traumas of the past few years. A natural leader, people trusted him because he cared about the community and he was one of them.

  ‘Of course. What do you want me to tell them about Jeanie?’

  ‘They’ll hear the helicopter when it comes, so tell them she’ll be flown to Tamworth. Serious but stable is probably the best descriptor for now.’ She hoped. She’d worked with Beth and these two ambulance crews frequently enough over the years that she could tell the difference between worried and desperate. They were monitoring Jeanie closely, but her vital signs seemed to be holding steady. If the head wound wasn’t severe, if the heart problem wasn’t bad, she could still have a full recovery.

  Kris concentrated on believing that. She’d seen any number of people who’d been seriously injured survive and heal. Steve had had a bullet in his thigh last summer, and now he walked with barely a limp. The summer before that, she’d endured the long ambulance ride to Birraga beside her friend Bella, attacked by a mob gone mad, and now Bella was fine, happier and healthier than she’d been for years.

  So it would be all right, as long as she got off her butt and organised everything so the helicopter could get Jeanie safely to hospital. The oxygen mask still dangled around her neck, and she took it off, waving away the paramedic’s protest as she hopped off the gurney.