Standing Strong (13 page)

‘Right. Good for him. Personally, I don't like them, except for their eggs. I got attacked as a kid,' Kate said.

At that moment the rooster crowed again.

‘And roosters give me the heebie-jeebies,' she added with a tight laugh.

They both looked up, frowning, at hearing the flap of iron above them. Suddenly the chatter on the radios changed pitch and there was a flurry of crackling, earnest voices, hissing radio static, people cutting in and out and talking over each other. Among the chaos they heard the words, ‘Christ! Get back!' and looked at each other with wide eyes as they pulled their radios free and ran out of the shed into the open to improve their reception.

‘Kate, Damien, this is Trent, you there?' The voice was breathless.

‘Here,' Kate said, and then Damien. The fact radio protocol had been abandoned was not a good sign.

‘You're going to need to prepare to take shelter or get out if there's a vehicle there. Sorry, but we're a bit stuck here. Wind's turned and getting a bit gusty. It's just a precaution. It's not heading in your direction. Not yet, but worst case, you've got around twenty minutes if it swings around any more.'

Kate looked at Damien with an expression that seemed to be asking if he was happy for her to answer for both of them. He nodded.

‘Thanks. We're fine. There's a ute and working fire unit here. Out.'

‘Great. Thanks. Be safe. Two one over and out.'

‘Out.'

‘Well, that doesn't sound good,' Kate said, hanging up her radio. ‘But not entirely unexpected.'

‘No,' Damien said thoughtfully. The rooster started up again. He had the distinct feeling its timing was no coincidence, but tried to tell himself he was being melodramatic. But then again, nothing to do with animals could be taken for granted. He knew that.

‘What do you want to do?'

He knew exactly what he wanted to do, but was just trying to process how. He was damned if he'd come this far with his recovery to not listen to his gut now, especially when it had already given him several minutes' warning on the changed circumstances.

‘I want to move the chooks – and rooster. Put them somewhere safe. There's a bank of trees behind their pens and if it comes this way, they won't stand a chance.'

‘I was afraid you were going to say that,' Kate said, with a sigh and exaggerated eye roll. But she was smiling too. ‘Come on then, let's see if the trailer will hook onto the quad bike. Best we leave the fire unit on the ute in case we need it.'

They attached the trailer to the bike and pulled it up near the hen house then stood silently for a few moments. Damien was surveying the enclosure and trying to ascertain how many chickens there were and how many to put in each of the ten compartments of the trailer. Kate was trying to look brave. The chooks were pacing about clucking, clearly on edge and sensing danger, or at least a disturbance.

Suddenly dust rose up around their feet. A whirly-whirly raced away off to their right.

‘Come on, let's get cracking. The wind's definitely picking up,' Kate said. ‘If you catch them and hand them to me I'll put them in the trailer boxes.'

‘You sure you're okay to do it?'

‘No, but it'll take too long if I just stand here being a wimp.'

‘Okay, just leave one box free for the rooster. It looks and sounds like there's only the one.'

It seemed to take them an age before they had all the brown hens contained and Damien left the rooster's separate enclosure with the clearly unimpressed bird held close to his chest.

‘Right, now what?' Kate asked when all the small doors were closed.

For the first time they paused and looked in the direction of the fire. The smoke was definitely thicker and getting closer.

‘I don't like the look of that at all. And I don't think we should waste time climbing the tank again to check.'

‘I agree.'

‘Come on, let's just get out of here. I'll take this, you take the ute and fire unit. I'll wait out the front of the house so we can head out together.'

While Damien waited the minute or so it would take Kate to get to the ute and drive it out to him, he pondered if he was doing the right thing. He hated how hot the birds would be crammed three to a compartment. And where the hell was he going to take them anyway? Where was safe? All he could do was drive. He didn't like that he was so exposed on a quad bike – not to mention on an uninsured and unregistered vehicle, but there was nothing he could do about that. He was probably being overcautious and they'd all laugh at him later – or maybe they wouldn't because of all he'd lost – but he really did feel he needed to do this.

‘I'm going to head left at the driveway and see if I can help the guys,' Kate announced when she pulled up alongside him. ‘You go right back the way we came. When you get to the bitumen, turn right. I'm pretty sure you'll find shade and shelter for the birds at the old railway siding a few kay up. And you'll be well out of any danger.'

Damien nodded as he took in the directions. He hadn't been out this way for years, but he did remember the old, disused railway siding. And, if he remembered rightly, there was a large stand of gum trees just off the road not far from where he'd join the highway that might provide enough shade.

The trip along the dirt road felt endless, even though Damien knew it only seemed worse because of the wind in his face. The trailer of birds wasn't too heavy for the bike and he was able to average around forty kilometres an hour. When he was on the bitumen he was able to do sixty, and soon the stand of trees came into sight. He pulled over.

He was safe; time to check on the birds. He just hoped they hadn't expired in the heat and all this was for nothing. He crossed his fingers as he did a circuit of the trailer, lifting the main doors from the mesh sections so the breeze could flow through. There was a bit of fussing and clucking, which he took as a good sign – at least some were still alive. Buoyed, he peered through the mesh into each compartment in turn. Beady eyes blinked or stared back, little heads tilted as if to ask what was going on. He almost laughed when he got to the rooster, who seemed to be glaring furiously at him, clearly insulted by his treatment.

He didn't like feeling so out of the loop, but from the flurry of voices on the radio, he knew it was best he stay out of it. Reception was pretty crackly anyway, he was probably almost out of range. He was sure he could hear Kate's voice in the mix. She would have given them a heads-up. From what little he could hear, it was clear they were in the midst of a serious emergency.

‘So much for just cleaning up and monitoring,' he said aloud. Suddenly he felt loneliness grip. He missed having Squish beside him and wondered if his auntie Ethel was still at his van or if she'd taken the kittens back to her place. His thoughts strayed to Jacqueline. Oh, to have her to go home to, to wrap his arms around after a long, stressful day. Why did things have to change, damn it?

Something in the corner of his eye drew his attention. He turned to see flashing blue lights coming towards him.
Uh-oh.
He always got nervous when he saw flashing blue lights. He got up and swallowed a few times, readying himself to explain why he'd been riding a quad bike on a public roadway – one that belonged to someone he didn't know – and without a helmet; he doubted his CFS helmet would pass muster. As he made his way over to meet the car he was surprised to see not a policeman alight but an old man. He was even more surprised when the old man flung his arms around Damien's neck, almost throwing him off-balance. His eyes began to prickle at seeing the tracks of tears through the deep lines and streaked grime on the old man's face. He held the man tight as he sobbed and muttered, ‘Thank you,' over and over. Damien tried to hold his own tears at bay, but the exhaustion and tension caught up with him and he soon found himself sobbing too. Over the old man's shoulder he noticed the policeman standing by his vehicle wiping his face with the back of his hands, staring at the ground and shuffling his feet in the dirt.

An hour or so later, the old man's son arrived with a ute complete with ramps to load the quad bike. They attached the trailer to the ute and Damien and Pete, the policeman from Charity Flat, waved them off. The birds were being taken to the showgrounds at Wattle Creek where there were pens to keep them safe for the time being. The old man, Bruce, had lost his pens and his house – he and his chooks and rooster were now homeless. Damien hoped he was well-insured.

Pete drove Damien back to the fire ground, travelling mainly in silence. The news had settled as a hard, painful ball in Damien's stomach. He felt tired, heavy and sad as he stared out the windows, watching the countryside fly by. A part of him wished he was being taken straight home. He didn't want to see the devastation.

They eventually turned in and crossed the cattle grid to find six fire units and several farmers and their units. Hoses were trained on the flames still chewing their way through the smouldering trees and ruins. If only the clearing had been bigger and extended right around the house and sheds. Damien was greeted warmly and given lots of manly back slaps. He blushed when Kate, clearly caught up in the moment, kissed him on the lips before pulling away quickly when everyone started cheering.

‘Yeah, yeah, nothing to see. Move along,' Damien said, trying to sound light and laugh it off. He and Kate had shared a moment – two or so hours ago, not just now – but he only had eyes for Jacqueline. He ignored the protestations of his weary body, grabbed a rake leaning against the nearest truck and walked over to the chicken coop. Anything to get away from the scrutiny and appear busy.

He couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the orange flames burning on the black trunks of Bruce's trees and at how his intuition had saved more than just him and Kate. Tears prickled again as he stood there watching, unable to pull himself or his thoughts away.

*

Damien didn't get home until after ten-thirty that night. He was wrecked, and filthy, and looking forward to a nice cool shower. As he drove in, he paused to check the depository with his torch.

He was surprised to find Ethel stretched out on his bed with the kittens and Squish beside her. He smiled and stood watching for a few moments, enjoying the peaceful sight and wishing it was Jacqueline he'd come home to – no offence to his auntie Ethel. It would just be so nice to come home to someone. For the first time, he thought he really understood the significance of the expression ‘keeping the home fires burning.'

Chapter Thirteen

Jacqueline got to work early Tuesday morning in the hope of catching Doctor Squire before he went and did his hospital rounds. She was exhausted from fretting about the difficult conversation they had to have, so much so that when Ethel had phoned to check on her the previous evening, Jacqueline had promptly burst into tears. She wasn't much of a crier, ordinarily.

Doctor Squire's door was open and he had his head bent, reading something on his desk. She knocked gently, barely eliciting any sound at all. A part of her hoped he might not hear her and she could leave, telling herself she'd tried.

But he'd heard her – his head jolted up with shock, his eyes wide. He clearly hadn't expected anyone to be in the building at this time of day, let alone at his open office door.
Oh God, off to a bad start already
.

‘Ms Havelock!'

‘Sorry, Doctor. I didn't mean to startle you.'

‘What are you doing in so early?'

‘I need to talk to you, and yesterday …'

‘Yes, yesterday was hectic. As are most days, really,' he said with a sort of pained smile, taking his glasses off, carefully folding their arms in, and laying them on the desk.

Jacqueline felt for him. Being a country doctor, especially being the only doctor, was clearly tough. She saw the hours he put in and that he was never actually off call. He did his rounds, saw to patients here, and attended the hospital whenever someone turned up out of hours.

He motioned for her to have a seat, which she did. She sat on the edge of the chair, but allowed herself to relax ever so slightly. She was here. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen, and then she would be free of this yoke that was weighing her down.

‘It must be important. So, tell me. What has you in my office at seven-thirty on a Tuesday morning?' Doctor Squire asked, leaning back in his chair and linking his hands in his lap. His expression was neutral, bordering on friendly, and expectant. At least he didn't have his arms folded across his chest.

Jacqueline had gone over and over in her mind how she would approach this, so she only had to remain calm and follow her plan. She took the letter she had received from AHPRA out of her handbag and laid it flat on the desk so he could read it. He seemed to take an age to get his glasses from the desk, unfold their arms, and put them back on his face. The clock on the wall ticked its seconds in a hard plastic rhythm.
Clack
.
Clack
.
Clack
. His chair squeaked.

After what seemed another age, he took his glasses off, handed her back the piece of paper and said, ‘Right, I see. Um. Well.'

Without a word, Jacqueline pulled from her handbag the letter of resignation she'd written and handed it over. He put his glasses back on, peered over them at her, smoothed the sheet of paper flat, and began reading.

When he'd finished and taken his glasses off again, he sat back in his chair, linked his hands and gazed at her with his lips pursed, clearly thinking things over.

‘Of course I'm also sending a response to their letter, explaining myself and resigning my registration,' Jacqueline said slowly. The words were like barbed wire slicing through her, shredding the career she'd studied long and hard to achieve, and which she'd enjoyed – as short as it had been.