Christmas came on with a rush. One moment Miles was writing about a new set of warning signs placed at the beach in preparation for a busy summer season and the next moment, or so it seemed to him, he was writing the usual police warnings that holiday makers should cancel newspapers and arrange to have their mail collected, before going on holiday. One of the last lead stories for the year was that the Koala Bay Tower Development had cleared all of council’s regulatory hurdles, that the handful of objections received had been dealt with and that residents generally supported the proposals. All the efforts of Graham Gleick to stir up interest in the environmental aspects of the decision had met with little response.
“Still might not mean anything,” Councilor Coustas told Miles when he dropped in to give him a few quotes ‘face to face’, as he put it. “Other councilors still talk ‘o the time Lovett Bay Council wanted to sort out a few traffic problems in an area next to the main shopping area in Lovett itself. So they worked out something that sounded reasonable with one-way streets and two roundabouts and stuck heaps of pamphlets in people’s mail boxes; had stories in the local rag, and called community meetings. A few people turned up at the meetings and make comments about the proposals, but there wasn’t much reaction so council thought it’d be alright. So they did it, they changed the streets around and all hell broke loose. Residents came from everywhere saying ‘we didn’t know you were going to do that!’. Councilors couldn’t use their own phones for people ringing in to abuse ‘em. Even had guys with placards coming to the council meetings.”
“But they put stuff in their letter boxes.”
“People must be too used to getting junk mail; they tossed it all out without looking. Same with the local rag; lotta people must stick it in the recycle bin without even looking at it (From personal observation, Miles knew that many people left the paper on their driveways or front lawns where they had been dropped for weeks.) But that’s the worst I’ve ever heard of. Mostly if it means something to the area, someone who does look at the stuff will pass it on. And they look at the local rag – most times.”
“So is the tower going to cause problems when they start it?”
“Doubt it. It’ll stand out a bit, but it doesn’t affect very much and sparks up that end of the foreshore. Houses will go up in value; everyone’s happy.”
The building certainly was going to tower above everything else on the foreshore, and Miles did point this out in a number of the stories, but he could not think of any way to make the fact of its tallness a separate story. He needed some sort of hook to hang the story on – someway to lead into it, such as a resident’s group speaking out about how tall it was, but nothing eventuated.
Then the start of the bushfire drove his suspicions about the tower development to the back of his mind.
The Bugle Group traditionally celebrated Christmas by requiring its reporting staff to take two weeks leave, but only after they had produced the bumper Christmas issue and made arrangements for the first issue of the new year. As some papers had to be in the printer’s hands the moment the reporters returned from their enforced break, news gathering would be more of a challenge than usual. That year, perversely, the seasonal shutdown was timed to coincide with the likely best news stories of the year.
Strong rains in winter followed by sunshine meant that the bush around the city had grown nicely. All that extra fuel had then been thoroughly dried by a succession of hot days in early summer. As Miles was writing his last stories for the year, the wind started blowing in hot gusts from the west. Bush fire brigades went onto alert. Pleas by reporters for special issues were flatly rejected by senior managers, pointing out that there were no advertisers during the Christmas break.
By then a battle-scarred veteran of the Bugle Group, Miles did not bother to complain. In any case his particular patch of suburb was not to be threatened that year. The Brigade commanders he spoke to were looking further west and north, towards Anne’s house. There was still some danger, however, and in the heartless way of reporters Miles hoped that something would burn down before his final story of the year. It would be unfortunate for those whose houses were destroyed, but Miles could help relieve their anguish by reporting on the event. Emma lightly suggested that the solution lay in kerosene and matches, which would certainly be more convenient than an accidental fire as she could be “on hand” to take pictures. The reporter put the idea to one side, with a sigh. He was not that desperate to get out of the Bugle Group, at least not yet.
In the end, despite fires to the west and north, Koala Bay buildings perversely refused to catch fire. When Miles drove to work on Monday, a few days before Christmas, the penultimate day of the working year for him, he listened to news bulletins on his car radio about fires all around Sydney but not at Koala Bay. He had already written about the area’s preparations and about how the surrounding suburbs were at risk, and the subs would fling together general stories to be slotted into all the Lovett Bay Council papers at the last minute. As he had already sent almost all his other stories over, at the request of the subs, there was little more to do but listen to the reports, and for that there was nothing quite like radio. He had bought a cheap radio to continue to listen to the bulletins in his room. This was sensible enough for Ros to object to it.
“Turn off that radio and get to work!” she shouted, from Kelly’s desk.
For once Miles rose to the bait. “Half of Sydney is burning up and you want me not to listen?”
“We just care about Koala Bay, that’s what this newspaper is about, young man.”
“Hey I know how you can make yourself useful around here,” said Miles, rising and walking to her. The light of battle came into Ros’ eyes at last, instead of simply ignoring her, that hateful reporter was biting back. “You can tell us what you’ve been doing about the email?”
“And what does that have to do with me?”
“Everything. You bought the computers here, remember?”
That revelation caused Kelly to switch her gaze from Miles to Ros. Kate came out of her cubby hole to also stare at the office manager. The light of battle went out of Ros’s eyes, and she started sliding back to her office.
“I – I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
After finding out exactly what the problem was with the email, Miles had put off telling anyone until the right time. After much delay the right time had arrived.
“You bought the computers, didn’t arrange a service contract and argued with the guy who runs the help desk for the group. No wonder we couldn’t get anyone; you stuffed it up and tried to shove it on to Kelly.”
“I did no such thing,” she said, continuing to shuffle backwards.
“Admin in South Forest knew nothing about it, until I told ‘em. They had no idea you’d done that stupid deal.”
“Nonsense!” said Ros, before she slipped back into her own office and slammed the door.
“I hate the free email,” said Kelly, “I get all this junk email, but looks like I’m stuck with it.”
“If Ros is in charge; it’s permanent,” said Miles. “No point in even mentioning it, but it was sort of worth it to shut her up.”
“Stupid bitch!” said Kelly.
After that little piece of office drama Miles was flicking half-heartedly through some of the bushfire websites when the phone rang. It was Anne. His heart did a small flip, as it always did when she called. The last thing he had heard from her was that she had been angry over him going to the football party, rather than her pool party.
“Miles!!”
“What?”
“I’m at home - there’s a bush fire coming this way.”
“I heard about one on the car radio coming in. Said something about Mount Colah.”
“That’s the one, only it’s not going there, it’s coming here and, well, my aunt is still overseas, and the police have been telling people to leave and, well…”
“There’s no chance of you leaving? Your aunt wouldn’t want to come back to find a corpse in her house.”
“You said houses could be saved if you stayed.”
“Me and my big mouth.”
“Can you come? I would really appreciate it.”
Of course he would. Although he did think it hard that he should take the lead in fighting this fire and not Allen. The lawyer would just hang around like he always did. As Miles had even done the police notes on Friday, at the special request of the subs, he could cut work for a few hours and check with them from Anne’s place.
“How long before the fire gets there?”
“Don’t know, but there’s a lot of smoke. I’d really appreciated it if you can hurry.“
“Okay, I’ve just got to dash home for some stuff. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“That’d be good. Jake and Tomasina .. and Allen.. are coming so there’ll be a few of us.”
“The usual suspects. I’ll be there.”
One block from Anne’s place, Miles was stopped by the police. A single policeman sweltering in a yellow reflective jacket wanted to divert Miles down a side street. He did not have a car, just two traffic witches hats behind him. The police were spread thin trying to divert people away from the houses threatened by the bushfires.
“Gotta divert, mate,” yelled the policeman, an older constable, through the open passenger side window. “Fire’s coming.”
“But I’ve gotta help people in one of the houses.”
The cop shock his head. “All evacuated. Move on!”
“Okay!” Miles acknowledged the direction with a wave, then gunned his engine, spun the wheel and veered around the witche’s hat.
“OI! OI! COME BACK!” The policeman was not happy.
Miles’ ute swerved over the curb - with two distinct thuds as he hit it then two thuds as it rolled off - then he took off down the street. The cop glared after the car fists on his hips but then, as the reporter watched a little apprehensively in his rear view mirror, turned back to his job waving a hand as if to dismiss the incident. Crucially, he did not write down the ute’s number. Miles was not sure about the etiquette for defying a road block to a bushfire, but the policeman had probably decided that if a ute-driving manic was that anxious to go near a fire then he deserved whatever he got - or, at least, that’s what Miles hoped he thought.
Tomasina’s car was outside Anne’s place, Allen’s car was in the driveway in addition to a sprinkling of cars along the street, indicating that the police had not been successful in clearing everyone out. Apart from the additional cars, there were no fire trucks, fire fighters or hoses or anything else in the street that suggested a fire was on the way. Miles draped a towel over his steering wheel, wound up the windows – leaving them open near a fire was not a good idea - and got out, wondering if he would see the utility again. He stepped out into hell.
The day had been dimmed to a red twilight by an enormous plume of smoke that towered above him to the west, on the other side of Anne’s house, and rolled down over the street even as he looked. A hot wind blowing in his face made him gasp for breath – he could never get use to hot winds - then cough as smoke caught in his lungs. Red hot embers fell through this grey shroud to drop on the asphalt or the yellowed grass of the nature strip. They would get larger, and hotter, as the fire drew nearer. Already it was close; just above the houses Miles could see the tips of red flame.
A helicopter flew by noisily its rotors swirling the smoke around, trailing a gigantic bucket dripping water. It disappeared in the smoke to the north, then another appeared shortly afterwards trailing an empty bucket. He knew that even helicopters with their big water loads could not put the fires out by themselves; they were used to prevent fires reaching certain strategic points, but what was so important to the north, that the helicopter were being used there rather than in front of Anne’s house? At a cross road further along the street a fire truck appeared, then disappeared going in the right direction – towards the fire. If the professionals were still going towards the fire rather than away from it, then the situation could not be too bad. Another helicopter roared over from the East towards the fire, its water bag dripping. It was time to go in.
He found them all sitting by the house’s sole air conditioner, dressed as he had recommended in long, cotton pants and long-sleeved shirts, as well as boots rather than runners or sandals, and cotton gardening gloves. They also had cotton baseball-style caps with thick peaks. This was Miles idea, as he thought they could pull down the peaks if they ever had to front a fire, to avoid the worst of the radiant heat. He had no idea whether it would work, but at least they had some chance if they went near the flames. He had heard tales of people trying to protect their homes dressed in shorts, tee shirts and sandals, as if they were going to a barbecue rather than fight a bushfire. (A better idea, of course, would be not to go near the fire in the first place.) Anne and Tomasina made their outfits look good, but were obviously nervous. Allen got up every now and then to look at the red glare visible through the kitchen window. Jake, however, was sitting in the house’s best arm chair drinking beer. Miles promptly took the can away from him.
“Mate, after the fire hits is the time to drink this stuff. First the fire then the beer – fire, beer, got it!”
“Not beer-fire?” said Jake.
“That’s right, the proper causal sequence is fire, beer – first fire, then beer – sure you didn’t study engineering?”
“Watch it!”
“What wrong with people from engineering?” asked Allen.
“Just a joke, Allen.”
“That fire is getting close,” added the lawyer, looking nervously out the back.
“Did you set up the pump?” Miles asked of Anne.
She nodded. “It’s out by the pool.”
“And the blankets?”
“Just here,” she indicated a chair on which was a pile of wool blankets. Polyester or synthetic fibers could melt.
“Cleaned out the gutters?”
She nodded again.
“Put water in them?”
“No, I haven’t done that.”
“Okay, I’ll look at the pump. Jake you and the others put water in the rain water gutters around the roof. You got the tennis balls.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Anne.
“I don’t have a tennis ball.”
Miles promptly tossed her a tennis ball from the stuff he had brought and was rewarded with a smile. “Wrap an old tee shirt around that, and it’ll stop the water.”
“You came prepared.” Out of the corner of his eye, Miles saw Allen look sour. “What’s that other stuff?”
“The garden hose from my place,” Miles said, taking the item in question from his bag, “and my bush hat. Used it to muster horses.” He stuck it on his head, to illustrate his point.
“You are from the country,” said Tomasina.
“Even engineers w’d know that we’re fighting fires, not wrestling horses,” said Jake.
“True, but that same engineer w’d know about protecting his face from the radiant heat of a dirty great big bush fire coming his way, and how he didn’t have a proper firefighter’s helmet. Best I can think of is to use a cotton handkerchief…,” he produced a handkerchief of red and white squares which he tied around the lower half of his face – making him look like a bandit from an early American western, “…and to pull the brim of my hat down…” He pulled on his hat until all his friends could see was the reporter’s dark eyes. Anne’s eyes gleamed. “It’s not good but it’ll have to do,” Miles said, his voice now muffled by the handkerchief. He pulled on heavy work gloves which he had got his mum to send up to him. He knew they would not melt. “Now I’m the guy with the big hose. Jake starts the pump. Tomasina gets the garden hose. Wrap it in a towel so it doesn’t melt into your hand.”
“Goodness!” said Tomasina.
Besides the pump and the garden house, Anne had found a small fire fighting cylinder in a cupboard, and had carefully read the instructions on the side. She had also filled up the house’s few available buckets and put them in the kitchen. It would have to do.
“Anne and Allen take towels and put out any spot fires. Also, put something over the plastic fittings on the tap.” Miles felt as if he was a coach giving his team a pep talk before game time which, in sense, he was. “Remember to keep below the fence. It’s sure to burn but it’ll keep the radiant heat off you for a time.”
Anne looked alarmed at the thought of her Aunt’s back fence catching on fire.
“We’re not going to go out when the fire’s coming are we?” asked Allen, the disbelief evident in his voice. “Shouldn’t we wait for the fire brigade people.”
Allen was right. They should wait until the fire had passed or at least hit the back tree line where it would naturally peter out, before going outside to put out all the spot fires. Those spot fires would see the whole house burn down, if not attended to. But if Anne wanted him to go out to meet the fire, he would go.
“What’s the matter Al,” he said, voice muffled by the handkerchief, “don’t you like barbecues?”
He walked out and the others followed, leaving Allen with no choice but to reluctantly step outside.
In the few minutes Miles had been inside the red twilight had given way to an inky, smoke-filled blackness that made them all cough. In front of him, above the fence line, he could see giant tongues of red flames. He remembered being told that the flames looked taller close up as the image was reflected off the smoke above, but that did not help. He still felt tiny. Then there was the noise. Already it was a deafening roar, like being in the slipstream of a big jet, and it was getting louder.
He coughed again. So far the fire’s pace had been sedate but it had plenty of fuel and when it hit the slope, Miles knew, it would come on with a rush. He was suddenly aware of a ball of ice in the pit of his stomach and had to fight the urge to turn and run. What would they think of him of he did that? What would Anne think of him? What had he got himself into? Somewhere in the gloom he could hear the helicopters. He tried to think. What to do?
“Hey!” he said, screaming above the noise, “get busy and fill those gutters.”
For something to do Miles moved the pump off the pool decking where Anne had put it, and checked to see whether its petrol tank was filled. He started the pump, pointing the nozzle back into the pool so that he didn’t lose any water, adjusted the nozzle to get a satisfactory plume, then switched it off again. Out of curiosity he took off one of his gloves and tested the water in the pool. It was scalding hot. Well, even hot water would be effective against a fire. He dropped the hose ready for use and looked to see how the others were doing. Jake was already up a ladder at the side of the house, and had stuck a tennis ball wrapped in one of Anne’s old tee shirts in the down pipe. As Miles watched Jake took the garden hose, handed up by Tomasina, and started spraying water into the gutter.
Allen crawled up to Miles, who had taken to crouching to in the hope that the closer he was to the ground, the better the air. “There are water restrictions!” the lawyer screamed.
If Miles had not been scared he might have laughed. What was Anne doing with this guy? “Tell that to the fire,” he screamed back.
Miles crept up to the gate and to his surprise, in the gloom, he saw it move. He looked through the bolt hole to see two pleading eyes that belonged to Sam, looking back. He flipped the bolt – without gloves it would have been too hot to touch – reached through and dragged the terrified dog in by the collar.
“You’ve been left behind?”
“Sniffle.” Sam wanted to jump all over him. Miles let go of the collar and pushed him away.
“Get in the house and stay low.”
The dog shot straight to the house and Anne, seeing that he was terrified, let him in. He went to ground in the kitchen where any sensible dog should be in a bush fire.
“This is madness,” coughed Allen, still lying flat
Cough! Cough! “Just think of it as smoke from the camp fire.”
“Aren’t you suppose to be fighting it.”
“No point.” Cough! Cough! “Gotta wait until it gets to the break just outside here. The cleared area.” Cough! Cough! “Then we’ll hit it. We’re trying to protect the house, not save scrub.”
He crawled up to Tomasina. “You’re with me with the hose down by the fence,” he screamed. “We’ll play with the big fire.”
“Okay,” she squeaked, then coughed.
“But let me face it.”
She crawled off, looking distinctly apprehensive.
The roar intensified. The fire had reached the slope. It would be on them in a minute. Time to get the hose. Miles walked over, bent almost doubled, just I time to see Allen turn and fling himself at the safety rail around the pool. What was the man doing? After tangling with the fence for a moment and burning his face on the red hot metal, the lawyer fumbled at the safety latch on the gate – his gloves saving him from nasty burns - then pulled it up with a panicky jerk.
‘Jesus wept!’ thought Miles. The lawyer had lost his head and was going to jump in the pool. He hadn’t heard Miles told the others what happened to water in a pool with bush fire a hose pipe length away. The reporter charged, got to the gate before it swung shut then flung himself at Allen, grabbing the lawyer around the waist and pulling hard. Allen held onto the pool decking for grim life with one hand, flailing at his opponent with the other. Miles could not budge him.
“JAKE!” He might as well have been shouting into a tornado. He jerked his head against Allen’s shirt, dragging the handkerchief from his mouth. So much for that idea. “JAKE! COUGH! COUGH!” In the gloom he could just see Anne’s head turn and her mouth fall open in surprise, then nudge Jake and point. “COUGH JAKE!” The philosopher, bent double, came at a run. “HE WANTS TO GET INTO THE POOL!”
“WHAT?”
“JUST STOP HIM! STOP HIM!”
Grasping that there was danger of some sort, Jake wrenched Allen’s hand away from the decking and then the two of them literally threw him over the safety fence. Still panicking Allen got up and tried to get through the gate.
“STOP HIM GETTING IN THE POOL!” Screamed Miles into Jake’s ear. “IT’S BOILING WATER.”
At least realising the problem, the philosopher landed a good, clean, right to Allen’s jaw. The lawyer fell as if he had been polaxed. Miles thought for a split second that the sight of Allen being belted had made the whole thing worthwhile then remembered he had a bushfire coming. He yelled “START THE PUMP COUGH! COUGH! THEN DUMP HIM INSIDE”, then grabbed the hose and scuttled down to poor Tomasina, near panic herself, by the gate. .
The back fence was sagging from the heat. Then, with a whoosh, the fire arrived right at the tree line and the fence burst into flame. Miles put the hose above the fence, just as Jake jerked the pump into life and started spraying the area just outside. Tomasina poked the garden hose through the gate bolt hole and added to the stream of water. Miles put out most of fire in the cleared strip in a few sweeps of the hose, then doused the back fence, and the still burning trees behind the fence. He dragged Tomasina back and sprayed water all over the back yard putting out several spot fires. He moved back again, and dealt with some scrub that was still smouldering. A few more sweeps and the noise had almost stopped; they could hear themselves speak again. Tomasina dealt with a few sparks and a small fire that had started in the grass near the house while Miles, sprayed water on fires in the back garden of Sam’s owners, dousing the back of their house while he was at it. There were houses on fires on either side of them and another plume of smoke from across the street but otherwise the air was clearing. He switched off the pump and left Tomasina to hunt for fires around the house with the garden hose. She pounced on another flame and then there was little left to do but clean up. Everyone except Allen, who was out cold on the kitchen floor, his face being licked by Sam, checked the house and garage inside and out, but it was all over.
“You’re troopers,” he said to Anne and Tomasina who grinned in appreciation.
“I’m hot,” said Tomasina. “Wish we could get in the pool.”
Miles turned on the garden hose again, checked to see the water was cool, turned the nozzle to spray and showered her. She took it in good part, swinging her hair in way which Miles considered to be very cool, despite the heat. Then it was Anne’s turn. She did not have Tomasina’s long hair but she smiled at Miles, with water running down her face and into the open V neck of her shirt. He found himself short of breath. Must be the after effects of the smoke. Jake was also doused but Miles thought he just looked soaked.
“Now beer,” said the philosopher hopefully.
“You bet, beer.”
Sam bounded into the midst of all this also to be sprayed, and shook himself vigorously.
“Oh migosh!” said Anne. “We forgot Allen.”
They trooped into the kitchen to find the lawyer blinking and sitting up, holding his jaw.
“Are you alright?” asked Anne.
Allen thought about that for a second, fingering his jaw, glaring at the others.
“I’ll sue,” he spat.
“He’ll live,” said Miles.