by John Muir
**********
FIRE RED
Bob noted there were no cars on the expansive 12 pump garage forecourt which was glistening wet. He was not stopping for petrol. It was merely an excuse for a journey break, and late morning ‘cuppa’ and snack; or as Trish called it ‘elevenses’. If necessary a rest-room visit as well. As he drove to the restaurant car-park next to the forecourt he noticed the assortment of vehicles, all reversed into their parking spaces. He did the same.
“Looks strange,” Bob said.
“Sensible. Ready for a quick get-a-way if the fire gets too close and they’ve gotta make a run for it,” replied Trish.
“Bloody fire’s still 80 km away,” he said sarcastically.
“Typical. Non-Aussies don’t know a damn thing,” she said with a grin.
“I know enough when not to argue with you.” They headed into the large seated area which was deserted. “What’re you gonna have?”
“Same as usual,” she said as she used her forefinger to pull back the lower lid of her eye. “Darn, I think I’ve got something in my eye. I’ll try and wash it out in the ladies. Get me one of their Thai chicken pies, they’re great.” She walked off toward the toilets.
Bob looked around for someone to take his order. A cardboard sign with a hand-drawn arrow pointed toward a buzzer on the counter. He pressed it and waited.
“G’day,”
Bob turned round to see the source of the voice.
“Sorry to be delayed. Everyone’s a bit busy at the back drenching everything just in case. I’ve already sent the girls away.” The speaker was grey-haired, probably in his late sixties, and wearing full length dark blue overalls and heavy duty work boots.
“Not my usual clothes for the restaurant, but its all hands at fire readiness at the moment. I’ll just clean up and be with you in a mo’.”
“Hey, if it’s awkward we don’t want to hold you up.”
“No problem. I need a break. I’m the oldest fart here and can’t keep up with the ‘youngies’. They know what has to be done, they’ve done it all before. They reckon I’m too bossy. Told me to bugger off and serve the restaurant.
The pumps are switched off already for safety sake. Anyway, for the moment I can’t offer any of the dinner menu items; only the take-a-way stuff either from the cabinets or maybe a hamburger.
“Just a couple of cappuccinos and I’ll get a couple of your Thai chicken pies.”
“Our most popular pie,” he answered as he scrubbed up in a hidden hand basin behind the serve up bench in the kitchen service area. He moved out from the kitchen area and behind the counter. “Have a seat. I’ll bring the cappuccinos to you.”
Bob had selected two pies from the warmer putting each on a separate plate and took knives and forks from the tray.
He sat by the broad windows looking south from where they had come. No sign of this raging fire everyone was preparing for. The sky was still a cloudless perfect blue. He was still daydreaming listening to the gurgle of the cappuccino machine when Trish arrived at the table.
“They smell good,” she said as she sat in the chair next to his, and also looked out the south view window. Two fire engines, sirens wailing, raced south down the highway from where they had come.
“Here’s your coffees,” said the over-all covered man.
“Thanks. Any new reports?” asked Trish.
“About 60 k’s away. Don’t worry; I’ll give you plenty of warning if it jumps the fire-break 40 k’s away. That’ll give you about 20 minutes start. I’m still hoping for a wind change”
“Can’t be right about the 60 kilometres.” Bob looked at his watch. “It was 80 k’s when we arrived about 10 minutes ago.”
“That’s about right,” said the senior man. It’s doing about 120 k’s an hour. If it keeps coming this way and jumps the 40 k break, then the 20 k break, we’re all in trouble.”
Trish, eyes exaggeratedly widened, looked at Bob with an ‘I told you so’ look.
Looking at Trish the old man said, “Obviously your young man’s never seen an Australian bush fire.”
“No I haven’t,” answered Bob.
“It’s beautiful and terrifying at the same time.”
“I can imagine being trapped by any flaming red fire would be terrifying,” nodded Bob.
“That’s the error you see. Have a look at your lady’s beautiful long hair. People would describe her as a red-head. But it’s not red is it? It’s closer to orange, but you can’t describe it as orange either. The fire has a special colour of its own. Look at your ladies hair; it’s the same colour as the flame; alluring, attractive and unforgettable.”
The old man looked at Trish and his eyes passed over her hair. A hint of tears seemed to form in the corners of his eyes as he closed them for several seconds. He made as if to clear his throat and nodded his head.
“Yes, the same colour as my wife.” He paused for several more seconds then said, “Please don’t be offended if I give you the account now. Mightn’t be time later.”
“Sure,” replied Bob briefly checking the account, and paying in notes and silver.
“Just press the buzzer on the counter if you want anything else or if anyone else comes in; though that’s unlikely. I’ll keep on filling the guttering and wetting the roof. The others are saturating the ground. We’ve had lots of practice in the 25 years since I rebuilt and took over this place from my parents. You see they died here with my wife protecting it and I’m not abandoning it again. I’ve been properly prepared since then with my own little fire-proof safe shelter at the back.”
Suddenly he looked very weary and dispirited. His shoulders dropped as he turned and walked away.
Trish and Bob ate their pies and sipped their coffees in silence as they gazed out the windows and into the distance. The land was flat and covered in gum trees for as far as the eyes could see. This site was the highest point on the highway plateau but the incline was so slight as to be barely noticeable on approach or departure. The only traffic heading south on the highway were either police or fire department vehicles, warning lights flashing. Many of the cars heading north towed trailers piled high with precious possessions. The service station was many kilometers away from the nearest township.
Bob noticed 100 litre drums spread regularly around the boundary of the property and near the forecourt. Each was propped at an angle with a large block of timber under one side.
“What are they?”
“They’re filled with water. Last minute hope,” replied Trish. “Just before the fire hits they’ll push them over and hope the wet ground will prevent wind blown embers from starting any new fires. With any luck the fire will pass around the wide fire breaks they’ve got here and leave all the buildings undamaged.”
“But there’s hardly any wind.”
“The fire creates its own.”
On the distant horizon the first traces of smoke could be seen. The sudden crackle of a radio transmitter startled them both.
“Calling Crest Service Station. The fire’s jumped the firebreak so it’s only 40 km away.”
Bob walked to the counter and pressed the buzzer. Within seconds the owner appeared.
“Trouble?
“No, just thought I’d better tell you some message came on your transmitter. I didn’t know how to operate it.
“Thanks.” The owner put on earphones and started conversing quietly to the listener at the other end of the transmitter, nodding as he listened to the message.
The owner took off the ear-phones and walked toward them.
“I think it’s about time you played it safe and got on your merry way. The breeze from the south has picked up. Apparently some high flying debris has started small fires both side of the highway north of here. If they get established we’ll be cut off, an island in the middle of the fire. You’ll be trapped here with us. O.K. for those wanting to back-burn another fire-break, but bad news for us. Hopefully the helicopters will knock those out before t
hey get established, but don’t stop to take pictures. Put your foot down and keep going. I’ll tell the boys out the back.”
They quickly shook hands and rushed their thanks, good lucks and farewells before walking swiftly toward their car. The owner had run around to the back of the building.
As they exited the restaurant Bob noticed the strong southerly wind as it picked up fine dust particles and blew them into his face. The air was noticeably warmer. Metres from their car Bob stopped and looked at the slight angle of the car bonnet.
“Damn,” he said.
“What’s wrong?”
“We’ve got a puncture in the right front tyre.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish. I’m gonna need your help to make the change as quick as possible.”
Bob started to worry as he had never had to change a tyre in this car and knew the procedure might be slightly different. He did not even know where the spare or the tools were located in the boot.
He was thankful they carried only a few items as he less than gently tossed the cases out much to the chagrin of Trish who saw her new leather suitcase scratch along the ground.
Quickly lifting the carpet covering the boot floor he felt relieved at seeing the spare tyre under a protective wooden cover. Leaning the cover on the back bumper he noticed the spare was securely bolted into place to prevent it bouncing around. He would need the wheel brace to undo it. That was fine because he had to find the wheel brace and car-jack anyway.
His adrenalin started to surge when he could not quickly see any box or toolkit bag containing the equipment he needed. Each of the wheel-wells was covered by a further wooden cover. He lifted the left one and noticed a black pouch. When he pulled that out he realized that it had to be at least part of the tool kit. It was too small to contain the jack as well as the wheel-brace and other loose tools. It was securely tied in two places by strong rope with double knots. He worked feverishly to undo the knots; then tried sliding the rope off the end of the packet. Both methods failed.
“I hope you’re good with knots,” he said to Trish and passed the package to her. “The jack must be somewhere else.”
A quick check of the right wheel-well revealed a second larger black package. A quick feel of the contents satisfied him that this was the jack. Thankfully, this one was not tied and he pulled out a very efficient looking small car-jack. He turned to Trish almost in triumph to see that she had already unfastened both knots on her package and had extracted the wheel brace and a solid looking screw-driver to remove the hubcaps.
He handed her the jack as he grabbed the wheel-brace and tried to unscrew the spare tyre. It soon became obvious that it had not been undone for quite a while but the rising panic gave him extra strength and the nut began to slowly turn. Thankfully, Trish had remained silent and not started to nag with impatience or panic.
Soon he had the nut off its long securing bolt and he began to lift the spare tyre out of the well. No sooner had he started when he realized something was drastically wrong. The rubber of the tyre was loose around the rim and therefore totally empty of air.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he screamed. He moved to the side of the car and quickly scanned the courtyard for the service station air pump. After a few seconds he spotted it on the far side of the courtyard. Thankfully the air-hose was still connected to the pump. He now just hoped the generator was still on. Clutching the offending tyre to his chest, he jogged to the air hose and arrived quite out of breath.
He quickly unravelled the hose that was neatly hooked over the post. It seemed his hands had begun to malfunction as he tried to fit the air-hose to the tyre nozzle. Nothing was coming out of the air-hose. He looked up at the pressure feeding machine and read the sign above it. It told users to set the measuring guage to the correct tyre pressure before starting. He could not remember how many kilopascals of pressure were meant to be inserted. He would have to guess and simply stop when he felt the tyre was hard enough.
His hands were black with the dirt and accumulated road dust from the tyre, and the front of his light blue shirt looked more like a cleaning rag.
He heard a voice calling his name and looked toward Trish. She pointed across the road. A small spot fire had started in the canopy of the trees and some of the undergrowth.
He guessed at a number and wound the pointer up from zero on the control board. This time, when he attached the nozzle, the air started to gush into the tyre. After a couple of minutes the tyre had risen up to meet the wheel rim. He paused and jumped on the tyre to check its hardness. He felt it was still not enough and pushed more air in. Scared to risk bursting it he felt he had to be satisfied. He licked his dirty finger and put the spittle on the valve. After a few brief seconds he was satisfied there was no leak from the valve. Though if there had been he could not have done anything about it.
Not bothering to tidily wrap the air-hose the way he had found it he jogged back to the car and placed the spare tyre on the ground under the right side of the car. Trish had already sensibly laid the tools out by the right front tyre in readiness and had removed the hubcap. She was trying to loosen the wheel nuts.
“O.K my Grand Prix pit crew, you’re doing well,” Bob remarked.
Trish responded with a weak smile. If she was feeling the same pressure he felt, she was hiding it very well.
He let her continue trying to loosen the wheel nuts as he checked under the car for a cross beam to place the jack. He soon found it and raised the jack level by turning it with his fingers until it touched the car-body. Then he took over from Trish at the flat tyre and noticed she had already loosened two of the five nuts. He quickly had two more nuts loosened. The final nut would not budge. He knew it would not do any good to start jacking up the car until the final nut had been loosened.
He hoped the panic he was starting to feel would give him the adrenalin and extra strength. He consciously looked at the tree canopy on the opposite side of the road as motivation. It had already spread but not yet near enough to the road to be a danger. It did not work. The visual attempt at prompting his inner strength had failed. Against all advice he set the brace on the tyre at what he hoped was a good angle and jumped down on it with both feet. As expected the brace cartwheeled off the tyre, bounced off the bitumen and the sharp end struck heavily into his shin.
He swore loudly at the pain. As he rubbed his shin his hand felt mushy and when he drew it away it was covered in blood. Now was not the time to worry about that. He quickly put the brace back on the nut and to his surprise found the offending nut had loosened.
Just as he was about to start lifting the car with the jack he heard several sets of feet running toward where the cars were parked. These were obviously the owner’s helpers who had been working out the back and dousing whatever they could. A couple of them saw Bob and quickly realized his predicament. One whistled at the others and suddenly there were five men standing beside Bob.
One kicked the jack away and two grabbed at each of the right side wheel well and the bumper of the car. Suddenly they had lifted the right side of the car off the ground. One snatched the brace off Bob, and quickly removed the loosened nuts and the flat tyre. With unbelievable swiftness, he put the new tyre on and started to tighten the nuts. A short yell from him, and the car bounced as it was dropped back on to the ground. He quickly tightened the nuts, banged on the hubcap and before Bob could even proffer a proper thanks to any of them they had raced off to start up their vehicles and race off.
Bob noticed that someone had already put the flat tyre and suitcases in the boot. The tyre might not have been secure but it was too late for that.
Bob threw the tools and jack into the boot and shut it. Trish was already in the passengers’ seat. Several more men came from behind the building and started to push over the 30 or so 100 litre drums. Mini tidal waves splashed across the forecourt and around the pumps. Bob started the car and hoped the replacement tyre would do its work.
The car slewed sid
eways a few times until he gained control through the water rush. The barrel-pushers too had jumped into their vehicles, and were now heading out on to the highway.
The fire now had a good control on the far side of the road, with the flames reaching to the lower levels of the trees. Bob looked at them and then looked across at Trish. Yes, the old man was right. The flame was the exact colour of Trish’s hair. Then he thought what a strange thing to think of at this time.
He soon had the speedo reading up to 120 km per hour. The others who had departed were already way ahead and pulling further away. There was no other traffic on the road.
“Did you see if the old man got out with the others?” asked Trish.
“No. I didn’t see him, but he could’ve got into one of the last SUV’s to leave. There were lots of people in that last lot.”
“Just as well we got that extra help otherwise we’d have been cutting it a little fine.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you about the fire danger. I still find it so hard to believe the speed of that fire.”
“Apology accepted. Just check the spare a bit more often eh?”
The final 250 kilometre ride home was spent pretty much in silence. They listened to the news updates of the progress of the fire along the highway, and were relieved to hear that the wind had changed just north of where they had been and blew the fire back on itself. Ground teams, and helicopters with monsoon buckets were now damping down the area to prevent the chance of further outbreaks. Early investigations seemed to show that the fire had been deliberately lit by two car-loads of thrill-seeking teens on a back-road of a forest plantation. The police had arrested four occupants of one car. It was believed the four occupants of the second car had been consumed in the blaze.
The radio announcer advised that full TV coverage of the fire, the casualties and details of the many dramatic rescues would be given on the 6:00 p.m. news that night.
Even when they arrived home little was said. They both showered and changed. Bob threw his badly soiled light blue shirt, and blood stained trousers and sox into a bucket containing some liquid stain removing concoction Trish had prepared. She had also cleaned and bandaged the deep and nasty looking hole beside his shin bone where the jack had struck. They sat silently together on the couch when the 6:00 p.m. T.V. news began.
A dull voice overdubbed the aerial film from helicopters and fixed wing aircraft where the devastated areas were being shown. Surprisingly the front was narrow but up to 10 km width in some places. It was nearly 150 km long and avoided all settlements. Very few buildings had been destroyed and only five lives lost including the four youths from the car that had started all the trouble. Their names were with-held pending further police investigation. The fifth victim was named as the well known and popular proprietor of the Crest Service Station on SH1 who had apparently been trapped in an outbuilding where he had apparently tried to take shelter.
The commentator went on to advise that by coincidence, on the same day 25 years ago the proprietor had lost his wife and parents at the same place in an almost identical blaze.
The aerial shot of the undamaged service station/restaurant main buildings played on the screen for several seconds. They also showed the burnt out hulks of several outbuildings at the rear.
