Wildfire (5 page)

Darren dragged a hose past her and shouted, ‘What are you doing? Get stuck in!’

That kick-started something in Wanasri’s brain. There was a gap in the line, waiting for her. She ran in.

Her firefighting career had well and truly started.

She had never frozen like that in training. She didn’t know what had come over her, but she resolved that it would never happen again.

The water poured out of the hoses in white arcs. When it hit the burning columns of vegetation it turned into steam. The eucalyptus trees were rich in oils and burned particularly well. The heat rose, creating thermal currents, sucking flaming fragments into the air. They landed on other trees and set them alight. As fast as one tree was put out, another was catching.

Wanasri’s team was driving the fire away from the house. Meanwhile another team attacked it from the other side of the fence, and a third crew was drenching the walls and roof of the house in case a burning branch came its way.

Wanasri had seen house fires in training, both as simulations and in films illustrating lectures. She had those pictures in her mind now. You could always see what it had been like before the fire: the outlines of paintings or mirrors on the walls; the sofas reduced to metal frames after the cushions had been gobbled up
by the flames. Worse still were the items that were irreplaceable: the fragments of photos, the books, the videotapes. The devastation was obscene. That was what would happen to this house in front of her if she failed.

Wanasri’s arms soon ached with the strain of holding the nozzle. Her turnout gear – as they called the heavy protective suits and boots – felt stiff and new, and stiflingly heavy. The heat was so intense it felt like it would crack her face. It made her think of a sausage skin bursting on a barbecue. But still she carried on. She blasted the flames with water and followed up every little orange tongue she could see. She would protect that house with every last breath in her body.

They carried on soaking the charred fence; the trees behind it had been reduced to black skeletons.

Finally Wanasri felt the hose sag in her hands. The hiss of the water stopped. For a moment the site fell silent. Every member of the three teams was on tenterhooks. Was the fire out?

Steam made a grey cloud around the house. Water dripped off the eaves. The sunlight picked out droplets on the pink and yellow tricycle in the front garden
The grass and the paved drive were littered with burned twigs and rubbish that had fallen out of the sky. Any one of them could have set the house ablaze.

But none of it was burning any longer.

A moment ago Wanasri had felt exhausted. Now, as she coiled up her hose, she was on top of the world. They had done it. They had saved somebody’s home.

A white police 4x4 pulled up between the red engines. Two officers climbed out, pulling yellow safety vests on over their uniforms.

One of them called to Petra, who was closing the water valves on the truck. ‘Is it all out?’

Petra nodded. ‘It’s all yours.’

A gate opened in the charred fence. A fireman from one of the other crews stepped through and beckoned to the policemen. ‘Officer, I think you should come and see this. Looks like this fire was started deliberately.’

Kelly pushed open the glass doors of the flying club. Ben followed her in. The air conditioning was a welcome relief from the heat outside. Ben found it was no longer a novelty to be sweltering hot in the middle of February.

When they phoned the police to report the fire they were told they’d be asked to give a statement, so Kelly had cut their flight short and brought them back.

The foyer of the club was like a hotel: palm trees, an atrium and a few big canvases of aboriginal art. At the front desk was a young male receptionist in an open-necked shirt that showed off a tan. As soon as
Kelly saw him, her behaviour changed. She checked her flying suit, which was once again knotted like a jumper around her hips, took off the orange baseball cap and shook her blonde hair free. Then she went up to the desk. Ben tagged along, feeling rather embarrassed.

Kelly leaned on the counter and gave the receptionist her most dazzling Texan smile. ‘Hi – I’m expecting a visitor. A police officer. My name’s Kelly Kurtis.’

The receptionist consulted a large diary beside the switchboard. ‘They haven’t arrived yet, Miss Kurtis,’ he said. ‘Actually, hang on a sec. A parcel came for you.’ He turned round and picked up a large box that was resting against the desk. It was the size of a tea chest.

‘Oh, that was quick,’ said Kelly. She smiled again. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been shopping.’

‘Is that right?’ said the receptionist. ‘Looks a bit big to be shoes.’

Kelly shook her head and gave him an enigmatic look. ‘It’s a power chute.’

‘What’s a power chute?’ asked Ben.

Kelly glared at him. It was a look that said,
Children should be seen and not heard
. Then she turned her attention back to the receptionist, hooked her phone out of her trouser pocket and showed him the picture on her start-up page. ‘That’s me and some friends power chuting in Wyoming.’

The receptionist looked at it, then nodded. ‘Oh, those. We’ve got a couple of members who do that off the runway. They must be mad.’

Ben could see Kelly took the remark as a compliment to her bravery. ‘You’ve got to know what you’re doing,’ she said. ‘You have to read the air currents, like a sailor reading the sea.’ She made to put the phone away.

‘Can I see?’ said Ben.

Kelly gave him the phone just to keep him quiet, then started to lift the box down. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to get this out to my Jeep,’ she said, and gave the receptionist an appealing smile.

Meanwhile Ben was fascinated by the picture. It showed Kelly dangling under a red and pink striped parachute with an engine strapped to her back. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘What is that thing?’

The receptionist answered him. ‘You put this engine on your back, then you clip on a parachute and buzz about in the air like a motorized maybug. You’ve got to be crackers, I reckon.’

Ben looked at the box that Kelly was trying to lift onto the floor. ‘And that’s all in there? Can I see?’

Kelly ignored him, but the receptionist answered, ‘You can buy those things in town. There’s an outdoor shop that stocks them.’ He noticed that someone had arrived at the other end of the counter. ‘Excuse me.’

Ben looked at Kelly. ‘I’ll put the box in the car for you if you let me look at the chute later.’

Kelly gave him an irritated look and lifted the box easily off the counter.

Suit yourself, thought Ben. Sorry I’m not twenty-two years old.

‘Miss Kurtis,’ said the receptionist. ‘Your visitor is just parking now. You can use the manager’s office if you need some privacy. Would you like me to look after your parcel for you?’

The policeman took off his cap and put it on the desk. The cap was white, with an intricate badge and
a black peak which was so highly polished it showed a reflection of the fan rotating in the ceiling. His radio, clipped to a shoulder strap, made quiet crackles as it picked up the transmissions of other officers out on patrol. He sat down at the desk in the manager’s office, keys and handcuffs jangling at his belt.

‘Sorry to interrupt your plans,’ he said. ‘I won’t take up too much of your time.’ He took a notebook and pen out of his breast pocket. ‘Can you tell me briefly what you saw when you reported the fire?’

Ben and Kelly pulled up chairs. Kelly shrugged as she sat down. ‘We didn’t see much really. It was burning quite well by the time we spotted it.’

‘You didn’t see any suspicious characters?’

‘Officer,’ said Kelly, ‘we were a thousand feet up.’ There was a poster on the wall of the airfield, showing the ground as photographed from a plane. A Cessna on the ground was just about visible as a small white arrow on a two-inch strip of black runway. She pointed to it. ‘It all looks like that. You can’t see what people are doing.’

The police officer looked at the poster and put his pen down. ‘I thought that’s what you might say. It’s
just that we have strong reasons to believe the fire was arson. As you were the people who alerted the authorities, you’re officially regarded as witnesses and so we have to question you. There is one piece of evidence I’d like you to look at. Again, I don’t suppose you can tell me anything, but I’m asking just in case.’ He took a sheet of paper out of his notebook, unfolded it and handed it to Ben and Kelly.

It was a photocopy of a leaflet. The bottom part had been burned.

‘A stack of these leaflets was found at the scene of the fire. If we knew who produced them we might be closer to finding our arsonist.’

Kelly glanced at the leaflet, then saw something that made her take notice. She read it out: ‘ “Stop secret US experiments” – what’s all this about?’ She scan-read the rest of the text and made a contemptuous noise. ‘Typical environmental scaremongering. They always make Americans out to be the bad guys.’ She handed the leaflet to Ben. ‘Your mom might know who these retards are.’

Ben read the leaflet. The contents were actually quite weird.

Not far from Adelaide, in the Great Victoria Desert near Coober Pedy, the American military built a listening station a couple of years ago. Ever since then, the people of Coober Pedy have been stricken by a number of strange sicknesses. Depression, skin diseases, strange allergies and migraines have all doubled in the Coober Pedy population. Not only that, but farm animals have been becoming ill, for reasons that vets are unable to explain. We want to know what goes on there. Are they polluting the water? The atmosphere? Are they releasing radiation or biological particles? This American-built listening station is counted as US soil. They do not have to stick to our laws – the laws that protect the environment and the people who live and work there. They do not have to declare what goes on there. Worse, if these sicknesses travel, could Adelaide—

The rest was charred and unreadable. But after reading it, the sound of the police officer’s radio crackling away in the background seemed quite eerie.

‘Son, why might your mother know about this leaflet?’

‘She’s an environmental scientist,’ Ben said. ‘Her name’s Dr Bel Kelland and she’s speaking at the conference centre today.’

The officer passed Ben his notebook and pen. ‘Can you give me her contact details?’

Ben wrote down his mum’s mobile number and passed the pad back. ‘I doubt she’d know these people. She deals with more serious stuff: tsunamis and things. Governments come to her for advice. She doesn’t hang around with fringe groups and nutters.’

Kelly leaned back in her chair, her arms folded. ‘Officer, do you really think the fire was started deliberately?’

‘Miss, we get one or two deliberate fires in Adelaide every month. There’s a small proportion of the population who like to see things burn.’ The officer put his pen and notepad away.

‘Why would environmental protestors start a fire?’ asked Ben. ‘That’s not very green, is it?’

The police officer put his hat back on. ‘I admit it seems strange.’

The radio on his shoulder crackled and this time it was louder. ‘
Fire on Veale Gardens. Engines have
been dispatched. Fire investigation officers, stand by
.’

He sighed. ‘That’s another fire. Thanks for your time. If either of you folks remember anything later on, give the station a call. Keep that leaflet, and if you see your mum before I do, would you show it to her?’

Ben nodded.

As soon as the officer had gone, Kelly looked at her watch. ‘You’re probably hungry. We should go to the cafeteria.’

Ben didn’t feel remotely interested in food. ‘I only got about two minutes’ flying,’ he protested. ‘I thought I was going to get a proper lesson.’

‘It’s quite strenuous,’ said Kelly. ‘Two minutes is a lot of time to concentrate if you’re only thirteen.’ She started to walk towards the cafeteria.

Ben fumed. He wasn’t going to let her brush him off like that. He caught up with her and spoke in a low voice. ‘If you take me up again and give me a proper lesson I’ll go and amuse myself this afternoon so you can chat up George on reception.’

Kelly stopped in her tracks. She looked at him, astonished. Her voice came out as an incredulous whisper. ‘How do you know he’s called George?’

‘His records were on the desk in the manager’s office. I know other things about him too, which I might tell you later.’ Ben put on a pleasant smile and indicated the direction of the front door. ‘Shall we go for a spin?’

Wanasri was having a busy day. Engine 33 had been called to a two-storey warehouse on the edge of town. Two teams were already there, playing hoses over the flames, but the fire was licking through the walls and the floors. A giant plume of black smoke hung in the air, blotting out the sun. Nearby, in the drive of the warehouse next door, a group of twenty or more people had gathered, watching the fire with expressions of dismay. A few of them were probably bystanders, but the rest were employees evacuated from the building.

As Wanasri jumped down from the truck, she saw
three firefighters in breathing masks coming out of the building. Their turnout gear was glistening wet and they were moving slowly, as though their clothes were very heavy. She had seen that distinctive walk before; it meant the heat was taking its toll. Inside the ware-house must be very hot – much hotter than the fire they had just been to.