Season of Hate (21 page)

Telling others about my near-death experience had to wait. I handed over the cordial and cups to Nan and rejoined the bucket line. In my absence two old bathtubs were found and being used as reservoirs for the bucket loads of water. Just as quickly as one line filled them up, another was scooping out the water to douse on the fire.

Nearby gum trees began to burst into flame. The fierce heat ignited the eucalyptus oil in their leaves, making little 'pfft, pfft, pfft' sounds as they exploded then sailed upward on the breeze into the night sky like a galaxy of Queensland fireflies.

Mr Wood stood next to his mates, leaning on his shovel and watching the Hudson house burn. All of them had smirks on their faces. He looked straight at Johnny and imitated a person struggling to speak, then laughed. Johnny didn't bite, just got on with the job at hand but Pindari standing next to him witnessed it and his fuse was lit.

"You lot just gonna stand there or what?" Sergeant Farrar shouted at Mr Wood and his mates. Before they could do anything, Pindari had flung his bucket to the ground and was storming up to Mr Wood.

"Pindari!" Miro called out as he went after him.

"You started this!" Pindari roared moving closer to Mr Wood. "We could have all died!"

"No mate, I didn't start it. But I'd like ta thank the man who did." Mr Wood let his shovel drop to the ground as he moved to meet Pindari head on. Johnny started running toward them both.

"Don't," Miro pleaded in Pindari's ear. "He wants you to start a fight so's –"

"You liar," Pindari hurled at Mr Wood, ignoring Miro's pleas.

"Liar, liar house on fire," Mr Wood taunted, then within a split second grabbed Pindari by the collar of his shirt, more out of drunk bravado than anything else, for drunk or not, it was an uneven match. Pindari was of solid build and pushed Mr Wood's hands away before taking a swing, landing a glancing blow to his jaw. He retaliated by lunging at Pindari's throat with both hands, in a tight choking hold.

Before it could escalate any further, Johnny charged up to them like a wild man. He grunted in Pindari's face his disapproval while at the same time taking Bob Wood's wrists with both his hands in a strong paralysing grip. I'd never seen such depth of emotion from Johnny before. He appeared to have a strength beyond his teenage years and a look so intense it could melt steel. Unable to hold Johnny's gaze, an under-the-weather Mr Wood conceded and dropped his hands from around Pindari's throat.

"Hey you lot! Save yer fightin' for the ring. There's a fire to put out and a crop to save!" yelled the Sergeant, observing the altercation. Johnny pushed his hand on Pindari's shoulder, to urge him away and back to work. Mr Wood gave Pindari and Johnny a contemptuous glare before beginning to beat the grass flare-ups with his shovel.

"This isn't the end of this. Not all of us afraid of your mob. We fight back. You'll see," Pindari threw back at Bob Wood as he returned to the bucket line.

"You two and who's army, ya pair of black cunts," Mr Wood joked to his mates as they banged away at the grass. He looked up and saw me glaring at him from the line.

"They're my friends," I called out over all the noise.

He stopped his efforts for a moment as we looked back at one another. I was certain he could read my thoughts. My eyes didn't waver from his. I felt relieved the confrontation was over, but confused. How could the man who just saved my life, be the same sort of man to deliberately start the fire as Pindari asserted? I turned away. My disappointment with him had registered.

"Come on fellas, the fire won't put itself out!" he bellowed to his mates, returning to the work at hand with a gusto.

The wind sprang up almost supernaturally from nowhere and suddenly we had a very serious problem on our hands. The fingers of flames reached out to the Richardson house next door on the right and soon were spreading up its walls. The firemen redirected their efforts to save it instead. Windows began popping from the heat as it too was engulfed by the ferocity of the fire. The Palmer's house on the left hand side of the Hudson's was luckier; the wind was in its favour. It was decided by the fire crew to try and save it as the other two houses were beyond rescue. They trained their hose on it, wetting down its roof and walls.

A small team of volunteers still kept trying in vain to contain the fire at the Richardson house though. The wind did indeed shift back in the direction of the Hudson house and ultimately beyond it, to the fire's new target, the Palmer house. Containment was paramount, for beyond the Palmer house, was the small bushy corridor leading to the creek and the wooden rail bridge that spanned it. If the sparks from the fire carried on the wind jumped the creek, ruin could be at hand for the town, for a relatively short distance away was the edge of the town's largest wheat field holding. If the bridge went, it would be almost impossible to get to the crop to save it. Not to mention the loss of the train tracks themselves.

Mrs Wood and Nan had started going up the bucket line with trays, handing out drinks and biscuits and scones, all cobbled from everyone's kitchens. Small enough to eat and give strength to those whose strength was waning but not so large as to interfere with the main activity.

From the trestle table Gwen Grady let out a scream that sliced through the night as she pointed to the Hudson house.

"Look! There!" she yelled. All eyes darted to where she was pointing. Inside the house, through the smokey haze, a figure was crawling along the hallway towards the front door. At the same time, a sheet of corrugated iron from the roof picked up by the wind, speared into the main part of the house, shearing through the disintegrating inner walls before falling flat over the person.

"Stand back everyone. There's nothing we can do. It's too dangerous," shouted Sergeant Farrar.

Johnny didn't hesitate. Ignoring the order, he bolted toward the front steps.

"Johnny come back!" I called out as I instinctively ran after him.

"Pat, no!" screamed Doug. The heat drove me back, but not Johnny. He wrapped his shirt around his arm then shielded his face with it as he went through the flaming front door jamb and into the inferno, ducking out of the way of collapsing plaster ceilings as he went. I lost sight of him in the dense smoke.

"What were you trying to do, you stupid – ?" Dad began to chastise as he ran to my side and pulled me back roughly. He paused when I looked up at him.

"What about Johnny?" I cried.

Our eyes returned to the doorway engulfed in flames. Everyone held their breath, fearing the worst but hoping for the best. Binda stood motionless, tears forming in her eyes but with a look of desperate hope on her face.

"There he is!" screamed Miss Kitty and others. She ran forward like a distressed parent toward the house as did Binda, both only to be forced back by the heat as well. "Help him. Please someone help him," pleaded Miss Kitty.

Johnny had managed to get to the person inside and was leading them through the fire and smoke, pushing aside bits of burning debris that were falling all around them. Their dark forms were silhouetted against the flames. The victim collapsed near the front door. Johnny, with no regard for his own safety and with his shirt now catching on fire, picked the limp figure up in his arms and carried it as best he could, through the wall of flames now swamping the front verandah and staggered down the wooden steps.

One of the firemen ripped off his coat and smothered the flames on Johnny's arm as he fell to the ground with the rescued person still in his arms. Just as Miss Kitty dropped to her knees near Johnny, Dad raced to the side of the other blackened figure and gently turned it over. Whoever it was, they were barely hanging on to life. The face was black and the hair burnt back to the skin on the scalp. The smell of the burnt flesh was sweetly repugnant.

"It's young Steve Wood," a voice called out and soon his name was repeated over and over in whispers that rippled along the line. Mrs Wood screamed and pushed forward, joined by her husband, kneeling on one side of their son opposite Dad. Mr Wood sobered up in an instant.

"Save my boy, doctor," Mr Wood pleaded. There was little Dad could do. While his wife cradled Steve in her arms, he smiled up at his dad.

"Proud of me now, Dad? Got rid of them Abos for ya," he managed to get out before going limp. Mrs Wood hugged him hard.

"No, no, no …" she wailed over and over. Horrified, Mr Wood attempted to stroke Steve's cheek.

"Don't you touch him,
ever
again." Mrs Wood spat out. She held Steve's lifeless body tightly to her chest as she rocked back and forth and wept. A distraught Mr Wood stumbled to his feet then looked into Dad's face. His eyes were moving pools of deep despair.

"I'm so sorry, Bob," Dad said softly, placing his hand on Mr Wood's shoulder. He looked at Dad's hand then into his face again. The aggression he had always shown had gone. It was the look of someone lost, someone searching for answers. He stayed looking at Dad like that for a few moments before fleeing into the night. Father Prittenden, who had at first stood back to give them some space, knelt down to comfort Mrs Wood. He began to say some prayers over Steve as people moved discreetly away to give them their privacy.

"Why my Stephen? Why Father? Why?" Mrs Wood asked in a desolate voice, before bursting into unrestrained tears.

While Dad was over with Steve, Doug and I looked at Johnny. He appeared not to be breathing. As tears began to fill my eyes, the same fireman who'd ripped off his coat for Johnny was already putting his fingers in Johnny's mouth to clear the airway. He started to give him mouth-to-mouth. There was no response. I was howling by this stage and making all sorts of promises to God if only he would bring Johnny back to us.

He was quickly turned on to his side and given a few sharp whacks on the back – still no response. He whacked him again, only harder. Johnny coughed and spluttered. He was alive. Binda was crying and smiling all at the same time. Her father Pindari comforted her. Miss Kitty, relieved as all of us cradled Johnny's head in her lap while Mrs Chang gave him some sips of water from a metal cup. Not thinking of his own injuries though in a lot of obvious pain, Johnny had to be gently restrained by Miss Kitty from craning his neck upwards to see how Steve was.

"Rest, rest. You just lie there and rest, Kevin," soothed Miss Kitty as she stroked his head. She looked up to see if her mistake was overheard by anyone. Only me, and I didn't let on.

Dad was now with Johnny who was going into shock. He trembled as Dad gave him a shot of adrenaline and something for the pain. We could see his right arm and chest were badly burnt, all melted like candle wax.

The injection seemed to calm him. Mrs Symonds handed Susan a blanket and she placed it as gently as she could around Johnny to help keep his body temperature stable due to the hyperthermia. Miss Kitty graciously albeit reluctantly withdrew, allowing his 'mother' Mrs Symonds, to take her place cradling him in her lap.

"He'll be alright, won't he Harry?" worried Mrs Symonds.

"He's alive, let's start with that." But the concerned look Dad gave Susan, told a different story. Pindari left Binda and went over to Mrs Wood and Father Prittenden. He extended his hand to her. She looked up at him, bewildered.

"My name is Pindari. Come. We put your boy to bed," he said gently as he bent down on his haunches. She loosened her grip on Steve and let him pick his lifeless body up in his bear-like arms. The Sergeant began to make some objection but was silenced by Dad.

"Let them be. There's nothing can be done, except a mother to say farewell to her son in private. I'll drop in on her on the way home." The crowd parted to let them pass. I watched as they made their way slowly up the street as if in a solemn procession.

"And Sergeant, can you radio the Flying Doctor, please? Johnny needs urgent hospital attention to those burns." Dad then turned back to a more stabilised Johnny.

"You did well, son. Foolhardy perhaps, but heroic nonetheless."

The fire was relentless, now spreading past the Palmer house and heading for the bushland beyond and nearby creek. Those volunteers who had taken a breather during Johnny and Steve's rescue had to quickly pick up where they had left off. A team of men armed with two-man saws, furiously carved a barrier between the creek and the encroaching flames, so that the fire could be held tightly on our side of the creek even though it meant the bushland leading down to it might all be lost. Within minutes large sawn eucalypts crashed to the ground. The force of the impact hurled cinders high into the night sky like glowing confetti.