Standing Strong (12 page)

As he drove, he wondered how this fire had started. It was usually one of only three causes: vehicle accident, farm equipment, and lightning. He'd never heard of arson being a cause, unlike a lot of the fires in the more densely populated areas. Out here the community was tight-knit, and every kid knew that if anyone caught them doing something dodgy they'd be given a clip around the ear before being delivered home to face the music, which might be worse. There seemed to be an unwritten rule that anyone could be punished by anyone; none of that it's-my-kid-stay-out-of-it-I'll-deal-with-it nonsense. If a kid – or anyone else for that matter – did something that had wider community implications, like graffiti or playing with matches, it was considered okay for the wider community to sort it out. And, as far as Damien could see, it worked. The only two instances of graffiti in his time had been done by outsiders who'd moved into town. They'd been shut down pretty quick and their antics not repeated.

‘G'day,' he said, getting into the first of the two trucks that had pulled up just off the side of the highway.

As they drove in silence, all concentrating on the radio chatter, it became clear that things were really bad. Two houses and a stack of sheds had been lost, but thankfully no lives. He felt for the landowners and for the firies. He knew all too well that houses could be rebuilt and stuff replaced. But he doubted the guys and girls who battled the flames only to lose something as precious as someone's home would ever be totally the same again. They were proud, they worked hard; to fail was hard to swallow. Especially when it happened so rarely. Out here, houses were so few and far between and most of the land cleared so there was a lot more opportunity to get the upper hand before buildings were threatened. In his almost twelve years with CFS, Damien's house was only the second that had been lost as a result of bushfire.

He'd seen how upset and deflated the guys had been when he'd arrived and found his place in a molten, smouldering mess. And now, just weeks later, some of those same guys would be going through it all again. He wondered if the CFS had started to include Jacqueline in their debriefs at the end of incidents, or was at least promoting her services to members. Plenty of them would have been at her talk the other week, but it was different coming from your leader. Out here, as he well knew, people, blokes especially, were loath to seek help without a decent shove. But while losing more houses indicated a new era, this having a psychologist on hand, and one who was warm and friendly and who wasn't all about textbooks and theory, was a new era too.

As the black and brown smoke loomed larger and then took up the horizon in front of them, the mood in the vehicle became more subdued. Even the radio chatter seemed to have died, although Damien suspected Keith might have turned the volume down.

After turning off the main road, they made a series of turns, the dirt roads showing less and less maintenance as they went on. The journey was vaguely familiar to Damien – he might have been out here to a clearing sale or even another fire in the past few years, though in this area, the scrub, roads, groups of buildings and driveways into them tended to all look pretty much the same. But as they turned off the road onto a private track and bumped their way over a cattle grid, Damien was sure he'd been here before.

Two trucks were leaving. The first rolled to a stop beside the one Damien was in – the second of his brigade – and the four drivers conferred. Damien, sitting in the back, could only hear the odd word, but the tension and weariness in the other drivers' voices were unmistakeable. All the crews waved to their comrades in farewell as they headed off again, but there was no cheer, no boisterous ribbing – they were clearly exhausted, and they might be out here for several hours yet. Firefighting regularly pushed people beyond their limits. Adrenaline helped.

The drivers parked the trucks on the bare area in front of a large implement shed a short distance from a cream brick house. Everyone got out and gathered around Keith. Damien's pulse raced a little and he was already sweating under his gear.

‘Right,' Keith said, ‘so it started two properties over. They got it contained about three and a half clicks away over there to the north-east.' He waved an arm. ‘The landowner has a grader and was able to respond quickly. The good news is the wind has died down and looks like being nowhere near as gusty as forecast. And they're now saying the change won't come though until tomorrow arvo instead of tonight, so that'll help keep things stable. Sorry, guys and gals, it's going to be a hot one and just a matter of keeping an eye on things until we hear otherwise. The guys who've just left have headed out to check the perimeter again on their way home. Trent, I want you to take your truck and team back over the ridge and keep an eye on things there, just to be sure. I'm going to head out and check the lie of the land to the east and south. Damien, can you and Kate stay here and monitor anyone coming and going? If any other brigades and farmers come looking for water, there's a standpipe behind this main shed over there. Okay, so everyone's clear on what they're doing? Any questions?'

They dispersed, murmuring, leaving Damien and Kate behind. He knew Keith was probably easing him back in gently, and that Kate, with as much experience as him, was probably there to keep an eye on him. Actually, maybe she was being eased back in as well; she'd been at his fire that day when they'd all been taken by surprise and outwitted by the wind and flames.

They stood in silence for a few moments, watching the trucks disappear from view. Damien felt a surge of vulnerability and wondered if it was just him or if Kate was feeling that way too.

‘Right, well, I think we should take a good look around, see what's what,' Kate said, clapping her hands together. Damien thought what Kate was really saying was that she didn't trust the forecast and wind and weather reports and that if she was going to be left here without a truck for protection she was damned well going to figure out an escape route or some other contingency plan. Well, that was what he was feeling, anyway.

‘Yeah, good plan. Hey, any idea whose place this is? I'm sure I've been here before …' He was starting to feel a little jittery. Perhaps that was just because he couldn't put his finger on why this place was tugging at his memory. He frowned.

‘No, but I know I've never been here before, I'd remember that tank,' she said, pointing.

A large corrugated tank was perched high on top of a tall steel structure. Damien shuddered slightly. He wasn't at all a fan of heights. Growing up and working on the farm and being involved with CFS saw him regularly facing that particular fear, but he'd never quite conquered it and he certainly wouldn't be volunteering to climb up there in a hurry.

‘I'll go left and check out the standpipe and water situation, you head that way and we'll meet back here in around twenty minutes. Okay?'

‘Yep, sounds good.' Damien checked his watch as Kate strode off with her shovel.

He did a full turn to take in the sights, sounds and smells. There was not a breath of wind. It was eerily still and quiet. All the birds must have already fled – that wasn't a good sign. He looked around. It was too still. Too quiet. Something didn't feel right. Or perhaps he was just being a little paranoid, hypersensitive. He tried to shake it aside. His stomach churned. He told himself he'd feel better when he'd checked out what his immediate surroundings had to offer. Maybe if he could find a farm firefighting unit he'd feel more comfortable.

He moved off towards the front of the house, looking for anything that might be a hazard if the fire came this way. But Keith wouldn't have left him and Kate here if there was any possibility of them being in any danger. Damien suspected this was the house of a bachelor – the only garden to speak of was a bed of neglected roses near the front door, mulched with gravel. There were no weeds and no dried-off neglected lawn – whoever lived here was either very fire-safety conscious or not much interested in aesthetics. He could relate to that. The only reason he'd had a garden was because his parents had planted it all those years ago when it was the family home and his mother had always kept up with the pruning and mowing of grass. He'd sprayed a bit of weedkiller around occasionally, but hadn't done much else in the way of gardening. Now, if he'd had someone to do it with, make a home together with, that would have been a different story. Well, he liked to think so.

As he headed around the side and then back, the feeling that he'd been here before became even stronger. He wished he could remember – it was beginning to annoy him.

A gust of wind whistled past him. He tensed and looked up. The trees were still. That was odd. He felt even more uneasy. At that moment a rooster started crowing, destroying the silence and startling Damien a little. And then he remembered: he'd come here with his dad years ago to get some chooks. If it was the same man they'd come to see, he bred prize-winning Rhode Island Red poultry. He'd been an old man then; he must be ancient now. Or perhaps his son had taken over, or maybe every adult looked old to a child. Damien felt a little better now that mystery was solved. But he still didn't feel completely at ease. He walked on a few steps. In front of him was a large wire enclosure surrounded by trees. He could see that the trees were there to provide shade and shelter but, Christ, it made it a fire hazard. He frowned. It was all in a wide-open, bare space, but he'd seen fire jump highways twice the size of that gap. He quickly finished his circuit and went to check on Kate. As he rounded the other side of the house, she rushed towards him.

‘What's up?' he asked. They weren't due to meet for another ten minutes and she was looking a little harried.

‘I don't know,' she said, gnawing on the inside of her lip. ‘I don't like how close it looks from up there.' She indicated the tank with her head. ‘I can't help thinking they've got it wrong.'

‘Well, there're no certainties where fire and wind speed and direction are involved, as we both well know. What do you want to do, radio in to Keith?'

‘Nah, better not. I'm probably just being paranoid – you know, after …' She sighed. ‘Someone would have called us if things had changed – Trent should be nearly on top of it by now. I guess we'd better just sit tight. What do you think?'

‘I'm feeling a bit on-edge myself, though that's probably just because we're without a vehicle. I'm going to take a look myself. Is that definitely the highest point around here, do you think?'

‘Yup.' They walked in silence over to the tank and Damien paused and looked up before gripping the ladder with both hands, gritting his teeth, and putting his foot on the first rung. It seemed to take him an age, but eventually he was up there, and fighting vertigo, to take a good look around. Kate was right: the orange glow did look awfully close. And he'd swear the cloud of smoke was rolling ever so slightly in their direction. He could see one CFS truck in the distance. And he could see a big cloud of dust rising to join the smoke – most likely the grader doing its work. He looked around further and tried to judge the direction by the sun. It was difficult in the dark haze rising from the horizon. He estimated that what little breeze there was was heading towards them – completely different to what they'd been told. From what he could see, all that stood between him and Kate and the fire front was a few paddocks of stubble – a couple of thousand acres, tops.
Have I got it wrong? Have they?

A strong gust hit him, causing him to sway slightly and his heart to race. He clutched the top of the ladder tighter.
Christ, that's all I need!
He carefully started heading back down.

‘I reckon the wind's changed,' he said, once safe on the ground. ‘And it seems a little gusty. I'm sure they've got things under control out there, but I don't like it at all.'

‘No, me neither. What do you think we should do – ask them to come get us?'

‘Nah, they're busy, let's see if there's a firefighting unit here first. Also, if the landowner's out on his grader, there should at least be a ute here somewhere. We'll be fine.' He said the words, but he didn't believe them for a second. The unease in his stomach was getting stronger. Satisfying his curiosity should have made him feel better, but it hadn't.

‘Come on, let's stick together.'

Kate seemed relieved. They looked in the large shed. There was a tractor with spray unit attached, a truck, header, chaser bin, and what looked like space that would fit a grader. He was disappointed to find the truck and tractor doors locked. They walked to another, smaller, shed. He wondered if Kate was as worried as he was that no one had called them on their handheld radios with an update. There was plenty of chatter going on, but their names hadn't been called. Though the others had only been gone ten minutes or so, and they were probably still sussing things out themselves.

They peered into the shed, needing a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

‘Thank God!' Kate said when she saw a fire unit trailer hooked onto a ute. When Damien found the keys in the ignition he let out a deep breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. They checked the unit over. It was full and the ute started first go, as did the pump.

They stood leaning against the trailer and ute for a moment and then wandered in separate directions to check out the rest of the shed. Their relief was clear; things didn't feel so bad now. There was also a quad bike in the shed – with the keys in the ignition – and over in the corner a few large plastic drums. Chook feed, Damien surmised.

‘Hey, whoever lives here must have trial or show dogs, or something. Isn't this a dog trailer?' Kate asked, standing in front of what looked like a squashed caravan.

‘Show poultry,' Damien said. ‘I finally remembered why I knew this place – I came out here with Dad as a young tacker to get some chooks. If it's still the same guy, he's a prize-winning breeder – like, Royal Show–prize–winning.'