Wildfire

by Chris Ryan

  That tripped a switch in her brain. She screamed and ran towards a square of parched grass beyond the precinct. Here she fell to her knees: she couldn’t run any further. Her lungs were burning and she couldn’t get any oxygen. She stayed there on her hands and knees, gasping. Gradually, common sense began to return. The melting figure must have been a mannequin. All this smoke and heat must be playing tricks with her head. She would give anything to breathe some cool, clear air.

  She looked down. Her eyes were watering, blurring her vision, but she couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. She had assumed she was kneeling on grass, but instead it seemed to be a mass of strange shapes and colours: browns and blacks and reds. Was she in the middle of a flowerbed? She blinked several times, trying to work out what it was.

  As her vision settled, she saw that the blobs were moving.

  She felt something run over her hand. Looking down, she saw a grey blob of hair. Long furry legs stretched out from the blob and a tiny pair of pinpoint eyes looked out over a pair of pulsing mandibles.

  It was a huntsman spider – the legs were longer than her fingers. And it had company. Those other strange shapes around her were more spiders, cockroaches, giant caterpillars and other huge insects … and rats.

  The entire square of grass was covered in these creatures. Driven from the surrounding buildings and sewers by the heat, they’d all ended up on this one patch of damp grass.

  Bel screamed and jumped to her feet. The spider fell off her hand; she didn’t see where it landed. She stepped backwards, felt something crunch under her feet, then caught a glimpse of yellow innards under the toe of her sandal and leaped back in disgust.

  Something was tickling her bare leg. A caterpillar, nearly as long as her hand, was rippling over her ankle. It had green stripes and black hair and was twice as thick as the strap of her shoe. She shook her leg violently, then froze as she remembered the caterpillars were just as likely to be poisonous as the spiders. The caterpillar tumbled to the ground.

  She started to pick her way back to the pavement. Every step she took, she felt feelers and legs and bristles. Her strappy sandals gave no protection – she might as well not have been wearing shoes at all. There was a lawnmower standing on the patch of grass, and the caterpillars and spiders were swarming all over it. She nearly tripped and her heart turned a complete somersault. She imagined herself sprawled on the ground, the creatures crawling all over her. Bel had a strong stomach, but this much poisonous antipodean wildlife was enough to unsettle even her.

  A deafening noise in the sky made her look up. The silver underbelly of an airliner flashed above the rooftops. It was close enough for her to see the red and white lights on its wings, and the winged insignia of the Royal Australian Air Force. Why was it flying so low? And in such difficult conditions? It must be at barely five hundred feet.

  Her flyer’s instinct told her that the plane was in trouble. No pilot would bring a big plane like that in so low, particularly near buildings.

  If the airliner came down on the town, the destruction would be terrible. All that aviation fuel would be like spraying a bonfire with gasoline.

  A hatch opened in the plane’s underbelly. Were people baling out?

  Suddenly a wall of water slammed into her: it was as if several inches of rainfall had all come down in a split second. She was knocked off her feet. When she got up again, the smoky air had turned to steam and she was soaked to the skin.

  She looked up. The water was such a relief in the heat. All around her, the pavements and the buildings were hissing. Even better, Bel realized the grass around her was clear. The water had driven all those dreadful creatures away. She imagined them swept into the gutters, their furry legs and feelers twitching helplessly. Her heart suddenly leaped. Was it a tropical storm? Was this nightmare ending at last? A storm would do the trick. She turned her face up to the skies, expecting to feel rain on her skin.

  But there was no rain. There was only the plane, climbing now into the dark sky, disappearing into the clouds of smoke.

  Bel understood. The pilot’s reckless flight pattern made sense now. The plane had dropped the water – the equivalent of the contents of a small plunge pool. Now the plane was climbing again, soaring away into the smoky black sky. Moments later she heard another gigantic splash followed by a hiss as it dropped another load.

  She waited to see if the water would help clear the black pall of smoke, but it didn’t. It was going to take a lot more water than that to stop the city burning. But rain seemed like a dream on a swelteringly dry day like this. Bel didn’t believe in God, but she had never been more tempted to try a prayer just for luck.

  She had reached the edge of the green and could see an outdoor activities shop. Its front window was broken but it seemed to have escaped the flames. She got up and strode purposefully towards it. It was time she got some boots. Her sandal-wearing days were behind her, she decided.

  As she walked, she took her phone out and tried to call Ben. She couldn’t get through. After a few tries she had to give up. It was hardly surprising. There were probably a half million other people all trying to place calls at the exact same moment.

  Bel put the phone back in her pocket. Where was

  Ben? Had he managed to land somewhere safely?

  How would she ever find him again in all this chaos?

  Chapter Fourteen

  In the desert below, the railway line snaked up to a small cluster of buildings. ‘I can see a station,’ said Ben. ‘And a couple of huts.’

  Kelly consulted the map on her knee. ‘It’s Coober Pedy.’

  ‘I think we should land,’ Ben said. ‘We can ask if the police have found my mum or your dad.’

  Kelly mulled over the idea, biting her lip. She seemed reluctant.

  ‘If we don’t land here,’ said Ben, ‘how far are we going to go? All the way to Darwin?’

  Kelly straightened up in her seat. ‘OK, give me control. I might be able to land.’

  Ben was surprised she was going to try it. He was a bit disappointed too. He felt he had got the hang of flying and was looking forward to trying a landing. With a sigh he took his hands away. Kelly reached for the controls.

  As soon as her left hand touched the stick her mouth twisted with pain. She folded her arms into her body, hunching over them protectively.

  ‘No good. My hands are too painful,’ she gasped.

  ‘That’s another reason for landing. There ought to be a doctor around here.’

  ‘One station building and two huts? You’re being optimistic.’

  Ben shrugged. ‘At least they’d have a proper firstaid kit. Look, can you talk me through landing?’

  Kelly thought about it. Instead of answering, she said, ‘You’ve got control.’

  ‘I’ve got control.’ Ben took back the stick and the throttle. He felt a bit guilty, but all the same he was pleased to get the chance.

  Kelly straightened up. ‘Landing is the most dangerous part of flying and it’s difficult. You’ve got to do exactly as I say.’

  Ben gave her a withering look. She certainly knew how to wipe out any ounce of sympathy he might feel. ‘Do I ever not do as I’m told?’

  Kelly looked out of the window. ‘Let your altitude drop to five hundred feet. We’ll aim for that flat stretch of road there, so bring her around in a big circle while I check it out.’

  Ben tilted the stick left and balanced with a little rudder. He executed a perfect turn to the left, then glanced at the altimeter. It said eight hundred feet. He now felt completely at home manoeuvring the little craft in the air. Landing would be a cinch. He put the nose down.

  ‘That’s too steep!’ shrieked Kelly. ‘We’re going too fast. Ease off the throttle and that’ll take you lower. You don’t need to point the nose down.’

  A bit shocked at being shouted at, Ben pushed the throttle down to decrease the revs.

  ‘Not too slow! You might stall. Don’t let the speed get below fifty knots.�
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  ‘All right,’ Ben retorted through gritted teeth. ‘No need to screech about it.’

  ‘Throttle!’ she said.

  In a moment, thought Ben, I might throttle you.

  Kelly looked out of the window again.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ said Ben. ‘I thought you’d decided where to land.’

  ‘I’m checking to see how bumpy it is. And that there are no obstacles like trees or telegraph poles.’

  Ben glanced out of the other side. All he could see was a few scrubby buildings: a shed and a petrol station with a dust-encrusted flag hanging limply on a flagpole, then the railway station a little way away. ‘Don’t be daft, there’s nothing for miles.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’m telling you how to do it properly. Making assumptions can get you killed. Right, there’s no wind and we’re at five hundred feet. Keep that height and fly over the path you will take, just to check everything is safe.’

  Ben turned and took the microlight over the makeshift runway at exactly five hundred feet. He remembered to check the plane was level.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Kelly. ‘Go round to the start again, and as you go, point the nose down – just a touch – so we descend.’

  Ben could tell by her voice that this was it. Butterflies were building up in his stomach.

  By the time they reached the start of the runway, they were at two hundred feet.

  After spending so long seeing only sky on each side of him, it was rather disconcerting to see the ground so close.

  ‘Turn here,’ said Kelly. ‘We’re going to land.’

  One hundred feet. The runway was ahead of them, taking up nearly half the windscreen. Their speed was 60 knots. The butterflies in Ben’s stomach clumped together in an uncomfortable lump. 60 knots felt rather fast. The ground shot past underneath them. Would that spindly undercarriage take it?

  ‘Put the nose down just a touch more,’ said Kelly. ‘Close the throttle down gently. We want to be slow – fifty knots – but we don’t want to stall. You’re going to continue coming down like this then put the heels down and she’ll land.’

  Ben eased closer to the ground. He saw small rocks whizzing past and felt all his confidence draining away fast.

  ‘Put the nose down more,’ said Kelly. ‘And don’t look at the ground, look ahead or it will all come up too quickly.’

  Ben looked ahead. As he did so, a kangaroo hopped into the road, stopped and sat on its haunches.

  Ben looked at Kelly in alarm. ‘Where’s the horn?’

  ‘Pull up!’ yelled Kelly. ‘If we hit it, we’re toast!’

  Ben opened the throttle again. The engine roared. The kangaroo blinked at them, then the view changed to deep blue sky again.

  Kelly leaned out of the window as the microlight soared upwards. ‘Stupid thing’s still sitting there. Come round again and we’ll land to one side of it.’

  Ben’s heart was pounding. The aborted landing had really shaken him. His mind went blank. ‘What do I do?’

  ‘Ease off the throttle and bring her down.’ Ben did as he was told.

  They came round again. ‘Get straight and level,’ said Kelly. ‘Then point the nose down until I tell you to bring it up.’

  The kangaroo was still sitting on their runway, blinking at them gormlessly. At this altitude it looked like a man in an oversize rabbit suit.

  ‘Don’t you dare move, Skippy,’ said Ben. Sweat trickled down inside his suit.

  ‘Don’t look at the stupid kangaroo,’ said Kelly. ‘Look where you’re going! Right, you’re at thirty feet – ease the nose up – slowly. Keep her level, you’re wobbling. We don’t want to touch down with one wheel. Just relax.’

  Relax? When he was sitting here being bombarded by instructions? When the ground was whizzing past only metres away? His hands were so slippery with sweat that he could barely keep his grip on the stick.

  ‘Bring the nose back a bit more.’

  Ben tweaked the stick back.

  ‘Not that much! We’ll stall! Nose forward—’

  Too late. There was a bang which Ben felt all the way up to his teeth. They were on the ground.

  ‘Throttle off!’ yelled Kelly. ‘Brakes on!’ She leaned forward with her arms folded, her hands tucked protectively by her elbows. Wasn’t that what airlines told you to do for an emergency landing?

  Ben squeezed the brake handle. The craft slowed. Slowly he let out his breath. He seemed to have it under control. A huge grin spread across his face. ‘Wow, I got us down!’

  Slowly Kelly straightened up. ‘Yeah, and you nearly took our undercarriage off doing it. Taxi over to the station there. Let’s find out what’s going on.’

  ‘How do I do that?’

  ‘Just drive it like a car. Steer it with the stick and the pedals. But keep the stick forwards so the nose is down.’ Ben hadn’t driven a car before of course, but he reckoned he could guess what to do. The station was a single-storey shack like a couple of Portakabins and a big water butt, and it was about two hundred metres away, so he pulled the throttle up to work up some speed. But he did it too much. The microlight shot forward at 70 knots, the engine howled and the rpm needle swung into the red.

  ‘Not that fast!’

  ‘Oops,’ said Ben, and slowed to 40 knots. It was an uncomfortable ride: they felt every bump in the ground. Steering felt different on the ground too and it took Ben a few goes to get it right. The kangaroo blinked at them as they bumped towards the station in a series of S shapes.

  Finally Ben braked and unclipped his seat belt.

  ‘Set the parking brake and cut the engine,’ said Kelly.

  Ben did as he was told and slipped open the catch on his door. ‘I’ll let you out from the other side.’

  Kelly shook her head. ‘I’ll stay here. You go and ask.’

  Her face was trickling with sweat. Ben’s was too, but he didn’t think it was just the heat in Kelly’s case. She was hunched over her hands again, protecting them.

  He put his phone into the pocket of his flying suit, disconnected his headset and slipped it round his neck, and jumped out.

  Away from the shade of the plane, the sun was mercilessly hot. Ben unzipped his flying suit. Underneath, his T-shirt was soaked with sweat. The dust stuck to his arms and face.

  He walked into the station building. Two big fans rotated in the ceiling but they barely stirred the air. A pair of double doors led to the railway track. There was just one platform. It looked like only half a station. Obviously the northbound and southbound trains never arrived at the same time.

  ‘G’day.’ The stationmaster pushed open the door of the ticket office. He was a robust-looking man in his sixties with a peaked cap and a shirt in the red livery of the Ghan.

  ‘Hi,’ said Ben.

  The man looked out of the window at the parked microlight. ‘That’s a stylish way to travel. I’d stick to that if I were you; faster than the train. Especially today – it’s been delayed.’

  ‘Why was it delayed?’ said Ben.

  ‘Kidnapping in Adelaide. That makes a change. We’ve been delayed by floods, lightning strikes and roos on the line, but never an attempted kidnapping. The police stopped it for half an hour.’

  ‘Did they catch them?’

  ‘No. Turned out to be a hoax or a false alarm.’ The stationmaster shrugged. ‘Still, makes a change.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure the police didn’t find anyone on the train?’ said Ben.

  ‘Oh yes. They gave us the all-clear. They don’t take any chances these days, what with terrorists and suchlike.’

  Ben was stunned. Bel and the major hadn’t been on the train after all. So where were they?

  Through the open door to the ticket office Ben could see a drinks fridge. Condensation had collected on the window; the row of cans and bottles inside looked cool and inviting. He reached in his pocket for some coins. ‘Can I buy a couple of bottles of water?’

  ‘Sure.’ The stationmaster went to the frid
ge. ‘If you need to refuel, my sister runs the roadhouse next door.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Ben, ‘can you tell me where the town is?’

  The stationmaster brought two bottles over to Ben and made a sweeping gesture with his hand. ‘This is the town. That’s a dollar fifty.’

  Ben paid him. Out of the window he could see the dusty petrol station, a few hills shaped like pyramids and a number of small sheds. The road was just a smoothing out of the desert texture. In the microlight, Kelly was waving her gold and black paws to shoo away a pair of emus who were strutting over to peck at the plane, but nothing else in the landscape moved.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Ben, ‘I mean a big town. My friend needs a doctor.’ He handed over some coins.

  The stationmaster beckoned him over to a map on the wall. He pointed to the railway station with a stubby finger. ‘You’re right here.’

  On the map, the station was in the centre of a complex array of streets: a church, a motel, a school, a theatre. It didn’t correspond with the isolated shacks that Ben saw out of the window.

  The stationmaster chuckled. ‘Son, we not only have a doctor, we have a hospital. In fact, you’re parked on top of it. Welcome to Coober Pedy.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Ben, beginning to think that the poor old guy must have gone doolally in the heat.

  ‘The town,’ said the stationmaster. ‘It’s all built under the ground.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  In Adelaide, the streets were full of boiling smoke. The police and ambulances were busy dealing with casualties; the fire brigade had their hands full trying to deal with the fires. The army had organized mass evacuations, but so many people slipped through the net – the ones who hadn’t got out fast enough, or were stuck somewhere that was inaccessible.

  Those people were now trying to get to safety by themselves.

  Some made good decisions, others didn’t. It was impossible to tell which option would be more dangerous until you tried it. Whether you survived was more down to luck than judgement. Choices had to be made in a split second. Do you open this door or that door? Do you run down this road or that road? Every choice was a toss of the coin. Heads you win, tails you lose.