Still I haven't got anything to go on with, so I'm going to do what I always do at a time like this. I'm going to offer up one of my flash fiction pieces.
The following is based on a description that one of my colleagues gave me of what she and her partner experienced when they were evacuating the fire.
* * * *
Passage Through Hell
“Do you smell that?” Steve looked up, settling the newspaper
onto his lap with a sharp crackle.
At the kitchen counter, Shelley looked up, scenting the air.
“Smells like smoke.” She sliced the last piece of apple, dropped them into the
bowl and set down her knife. Wiping her hands on her apron, she crossed to the
open back door.
Beyond the screen, the late autumn day was a tapestry of
bright blue and yellow, russet where the trees were ready to shed and patches
of green.
“I don’t see anything, but it does smell like smoke.”
Steve got out of his chair and walked to the front door,
opening it to peer outside. “There’s smoke.”
Shelley hurried to see as he pushed the outer screen door
open and stepped out into the shade of the porch roof. “It’s strong and the
wind’s blowing this way.”
It was unnerving, standing there with thoughts flooding in.
The drought had the county in a death lock and fire was what everyone feared
most. “What do you think?”
Steve, normally placid and calm, looked worried, making her
fear worse. “Stay here. Pack some things. I’m going to go see.”
In the kitchen, she wrapped the piecrust in plastic and
wrapped plastic over the bowl of apples before shoving them in the
refrigerator. “It’s nothing.” She reassured herself as she hurried down the
short hall and began throwing things into the garbage bags she’d grabbed from
the pantry.
Steve was back in record time. “We’ve gotta go, right now.” He snatched two of the
bulging bags from Shelley. “It’s at the bottom of the hill and heading this
way.”
A whimper escaped as Shelley followed him outside. She
hesitated. “What about Mush?”
“Dunno. He’s gonna have to fend for himself.” Steve was
already behind the wheel but she couldn’t bring herself to just leave their
four-year old dog to fend for himself.
“Mush!” She shouted, looking around the clearing in which
their house stood. “Come Mush, come!” Nothing.
“Come on!” Steve
started the motor and jerked the truck forward.
A last glance around and she scrambled into the cab. With
only one road in or out, she knew they couldn’t wait.
Even before she had her foot off the ground, Steve gunned
the motor, shooting down the rutted drive. Shelley shrieked and grabbed the
front of the seat, hauling the door closed without a word of reproach. They
were both scared.
They bounced down the track and swung around the last bend.
She gasped, a hand flipping up to her mouth in horror. Seemingly right in front
of them, all of the trees that had always seemed so peaceful were in flames. The
fire was jumping toward them. First ash, then live embers drifted from the sky.
The roiling cloud of smoke flowed in front of them, making it almost impossible
to see the road, but Steve kept going, relying on habit and knowledge and
instinct.
Seconds later the truck rattled across the cattle guard, the
tires bumped onto the edge of the highway, just in front of a line of speeding
cars that emerged from the cloud. He gunned the engine and the powerful truck
surged forward.
“Hope we get through.”
She knew he was thinking of the heavily forested stretch of
road that lay ahead - directly in the fire’s path and closer to the flames than
they were. Hanging onto the seat with one hand, the other with fingers splayed
on the dashboard to stabilize herself, she didn’t dare to glance at her husband.
It would frighten her too much.
Slow curve right, straight and back to the left and... They
were in Hell. Spires of flame spiked up, reaching far overhead, narrowing the
narrow two-lane road further. Embers rained down, whispering or banging off the
roof and hood. Many came to rest in the bed of the truck, fanned into hotter
flame by the passing wind, and then expiring from lack of fuel. The thick
clouds of smoke turned bright day to twilight and darker as they advanced.
Still Shelley didn’t speak. Her lips hurt from biting, but
there was nothing to be said. They would live or they would die and nothing she
said would matter.
Movement in the sideview mirror grabbed her attention. A
glance and she whirled on the seat, the cry of, “Oh my god!” torn from her
throat.
The car that had been behind them was gone - buried in a
fallen tree that blazed like a Yuletide log.
She turned back, sick imaginings that defied words filling
her.
Minutes passed and Steve kept on like a madman, swaying
around curves, accelerating along the straight stretches while the fire kept
pace.
The tears chilled and she wiped them away, beginning to pray
the Rosary she had learned as a child but hadn’t spoken for years. The tears
returned when she reached, “O my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the
fires of hell, lead all souls to Heaven, especially those who have most need of
your mercy.”
At her side, Steve’s knuckles shone white in the gloom as
they rounded another curve. “Thank god!”
Ahead, no more than a mile, the haze was thinner, whiter. He
pressed harder on the accelerator just as three fire trucks came around a bend
ahead of him, lights flashing. An arm appeared at the window of the lead truck,
signaling Steve to stop.
“What’s it like back there?”
“Hellacious. There was an accident about six miles back. A
tree fell on a car. Don’t know what happened to them.”
“You’re almost out. Red Cross is setting up at the
fairgrounds.”
“Thanks, and good luck.” Steve began to roll up his window,
just catching, “Thanks. We’ll need it.” He waved in acknowledgement and drove
away.
Two weeks later, Steve and Shelley returned to nothing. Mush
was never found.
* * * *
Sadly, while this is fiction, it is also a modicum of fact for many victims of the fires that burn everywhere in the world each year.
If you have the wherewithal to donate - be it clothes, money or time - do. For those who lose everything, you will be a saviour.
Have a fire-free day.
Best~
Philippa
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