Wildfire

This story contains themes of forest fire and may be triggering for some readers.

Chapter 1

The French Polish was chipped and the white nails had lost their luster. She stirs the ice cubes with a paper straw, stabbing at the orange slice floating on the ruby surface. She raises the glass, examining its contents. The glow from the sky outside, played with the colours, as if viewing the world through gag glasses.

'Somebody eat, this is such a waste of food,' she looks up at her friend, then scans the contents of the plates huddled in the centre of the table, the price for admission in these times for an hour in a booth. Impaling a piece of buttered broccolini, she takes a bite, not hungry, but happy to replace the taste of the ever present astringent smoke in her mouth and throat, at least until her next breath.

The only other group sits across the restaurant, like her little group, unusually somber for a summer afternoon. She feels his eyes on her once again. She was used to strangers amongst her, the seasonal consequence of living in a tourist town. The wind change on Tuesday had seen them all evacuate though, an unending stream of mobile homes, camper trailers, and heavily laden SUVs had conveyed down the two lane highway, the only traffic coming in the other direction the army troop carriers and fire trucks. She refuses to meet his gaze. Tall, broad shouldered, good looking, definitely a reporter.

She hands off her empty glass to the waitress, exchanging it for a fresh drink.

'Oh here we go,' the waitress rushes back to the bar, leaning over and turning up the volume on the wall mounted tv. Dot recognises the voice before her eyes reach the screen. She glances over at Margie, the pain and fear etched on her face, as she watches her father deliver the press briefing. Flanked by heads of different departments, he updates the status on each of the fire fronts. Uncontained. Uncontained. Uncontained. And on and on it goes. She grabs her hand with a squeeze, there is nothing that can be said. The best thing about living in a small community is also the worst. The people fighting along the firefront are not just anonymous faces hidden behind their oxygen masks.

Dot pushes away her drink, and heads out to the deck. She leans against the railing, looking out along the Main Street, the orange haze of the mid morning light making her familiar town seem more like a sci-fi film set.

'Do you mind if I smoke?'

She looks up at him, she notices the emerald green eyes slightly bloodshot. Hers probably were too, she thought, irritated by the constant smoke in the air.

'You must be joking?' He slides the cigarette back into its packet, mistaking her derision for contempt.

She places her hand on his upper arm, surprised by the hard muscle, and the light tingle that runs over her skin. 'Don't be ridiculous you can smoke,' she gestures her hand through the air between them, 'it can't get any worse.'

'You wouldn't think so.'

She studies him for a beat. There is something she doesn't have quite right with him.

'Do you live here he asks?'

'No comment.'

He looks at her strangely. 'Do you live somewhere else?'

'No comment,'

'Will you give me your name at least?'

'Why so you can quote your source? Make up some rubbish to feed the masses. You really are quite revolting,' she turns to look back down the valley.

'What source?'

'Me!' she turns back with an exasperated sigh.

He is looking at her with amusement.

'You have lost me I'm afraid.'

'Is this the latest tactic - play dumb and innocent?'

He draws back on the cigarette.

'I'm nothing close to innocent,' his eyes darken with intensity as they lock onto hers, sending a shiver down her spine. 'As for the dumb, that's not an act I'm afraid.'

'Where are you from?' she asks.

'Hamiltontown,'

She studies his face confused. The neighbouring valley is made up of farms and little else. 'You're not a reporter?'

His face breaks with laughter. 'No. Just a farmer. I can report on the current cattle price, or the monthly rainfall if you like, that's about it. Are we doing some sort of role play fantasy? Are you going to play the cute weather girl?'

His tired eyes sparkle as he teases her. She can't help but grin in return.

'Only because I have been feeding the town for the last two days, and I haven't seen you down there.'

'I only got here this morning. I'm helping Jack get his place ready,' he indicates with a nod inside.

She is quiet for a while, she knows the answer before she asks the question. It's in the way he stands, exhausted fatigue, a country boy beaten, knocked down and dragged back to standing.

'The fire came through Hamiltontown.' It's not even a question. The fire path seared into both the soil and the mind.

He nods.

'Was you place...'

'No, we were fine.'

Their voices are both scratchy, raspy, like they have shared a winter cold. Only this is high summer.

'Was it very bad?'

'I was helping my friend at his Dad's farm, his place is "undefendable".'

Undefendable. The properties tucked into the sides of hills, at the end of roads. Usually one way in, one way out. Government speak for no help is coming.

'He has one old fire truck, a couple of water tanks on run arounds. Sprinklers, ponds, pumps.'

He laughs coldly. He pulls his phone out, brings up a video. She watches from the inside of a truck, red embers dance across the road, through the air, across the hood. The forest on either side of the road is bright orange, yellow, red or black. The greens and blues of nature gone in an instant. The forest structure still intact, as if hell has put a filter across the landscape.

She wonders if he is driving in, or driving out of the danger. If she had to guess it wouldn't be away. The video ends, and he swipes to a photo. It's an overhead of a house, it's colours vivid against the blacked dirt that surrounds it.

'We saved the house. Everything else is gone.'

She studies the photo. It's a large ranch house, it looks like it was surrounded by a landscaped yard, although it's almost impossible to tell one blackened area from the next.

'The barns, the fencing...'

She takes in the narrow strip of green surrounding the farmhouse. Six foot in places, maybe thirty in others. The vivid sound of the fire roaring down on them rings in her mind. She imagines the horror of those fighting to save their last refuge, their lives.

'...the animals.'

Her eyes lift from the phone to study his profile. This is no city reporter. A country boy born and bred. This would have been the kid who begged his hardened father to allow him to bottle feed some farm animal rejected by its mother. She imagines the four year old boy, up all night, dragging life back into a half dead piglet or calf. There is probably a twenty year old goat still living on his parents farm. Hand reared so too comfortable with people, but with no business being a pet. His grumpy father complaining about the "passenger" he has been left to look after.

This is the story lived over and over on the land. The pain etched on his face. She knows they would have done everything they could to save those animals, finally dropping the fences in the hope they would find their own way to safety.

'Twenty years of bloodlines all gone.'

She notes the way he commoditises the loss, unconvincing as if the screams of the cattle, and the smell of the burnt flesh don't haunt him.

'At least you saved the house. I'm sure they are grateful for that.'

He looks down at the cigarette in his hand, unsmoked a stick of ash to the filter. He drops it to the ashtray and turns to her.

'It makes you appreciate the little things. Like a pretty girl on the deck.'

His smile strikes a cord deep within.

'What are your plans for today?'

'This.' she waves a hand.

'You guys should come with us back to Jack's place. We are going to waterski on the pond.'

She imagines the cool water on her hot skin, an oasis from the dry baking heat.

'I'm not really in the habit of heading into the forest with strangers.'

'I'm John.' he offers her a hand.

She pauses, hesitant.

'And you're Dot.'

She cocks her head surprised.

'I played football with your brother. I'm two years behind him, three behind you.'

'We went to school together?'

'I'm crushed you don't remember me,' he holds a hand to a mock chest wound.

She can't help but smile.

'Ok, we're going swimming!' Margie bounces out onto the deck, 'C'mon, let's go grab our bathers.'

'I'll see you soon,' John says to her retreating figure.

Chapter 2

Dot watches the forest pass through the plastic rear window. Huddled in the corner of the shitbox jeep with the broken antenna, the song on the radio dropping in and out, passing the brand new dirt superhighways cut into the pines. The red earth of the fire breaks, a stark contrast to the green of the bush, nature's colour wheel as designed by men in yellow trucks. Her love of summer is ruined as the forest, she yearns for the safety of the winter snow, or the spring rains.

Without awareness of the rutted road, the jeep moves over the driveway, the springs in the old seats squawking in protest, Dot clutches the cold of the four Apple cider bottles closer as they clink in her lap. She sighs in relief as the front seat springs forward, waiting for the other three to climb out. She peels her thighs off the vinyl seat, and steps into the summer heat, no less oppressive than being sardined in the back of the overstuffed car.

She follows in the wake of the laughter of her friends, as they climb on the large deck. The wooden bridge from land overlapping the calm waters of the lake. In the late afternoon summer sunshine the pond was a perfect mirror for the mountains that surrounded it, likewise the orange glow of the sky, seeming to double the size of the everpresent knot in her belly.

'Hey,' and then he is there beside her. The scrap of swim trunks stuck to his legs, the water from a recent swim like glitter across his broad chest.

'I wasn't sure if you would come.' He reaches down to take the four pack from her arms, tucking three under his arm he twists the cap off a fourth bottle and hands it back to her.

'I'm glad you did,' the grin on his open face fills her with something like hope, or a distant memory of summer's past. He drops her drinks into an ice bucket, returning to face her.

'What's wrong?' She doesn't speak the answer in her head. That their little group, the last non essential people in town, feel to her like the last people on earth. Huddled in the silent forest, even the normally strong smell of the pine trees overpowered with the bitter scent of the storm violently inching toward them.

'Nothing,' she forces a smile. He doesn't believe her bullshit as he gently tucks a stray stand of hair behind her ear.

'Have you ever waterskiied?'

'Nope,' she shakes her head to emphasise the point.

'Wandi Valley's number one waterski instructor at your service.' He takes her hand and leads her towards the edge of the dock, as she mumbles, 'modest much?'

She drops her cut off jeans, kicks them to the side, dropping her t-shirt to the pile.

He has the decency to hold her gaze as he says, 'That is really not a waterski appropriate swimsuit. Wait here.'

She watches him jog back down the dock, disappearing into the pool house. Music switches on and she smiles as her favourite song drifts across the lake. She is present for a moment, the beauty of the vista laid out before her, her eyes following the familiar silhouettes of the mountain range, of home.

'Do you need sunscreen?' She opens her eyes, not conscious she had closed them.

'I'm good.' He holds out a nylon rash guard, and she feeds her arms into it. He steps around in front of her zipping the top closed, 'that should fix half the problem. I'm afraid your butt will probably eat your bottom half.' He is grinning again, and it is contagious.

'You are really selling this to me.'

'You are definitely selling this to me.' His kind eyes sparkle as he clips up a life vest. 'So cute Dottie.'

'I can't believe I don't remember you from school. Mr charming.'

'More like Mr Geek at school. I didn't really come into my own until later.'

'Did I know you?'

'Nope, you didn't know I existed. Do you remember the valentines rose fundraiser?'

Dot groaned. She wished she didn't. Student council came up with the brilliant idea to send a long stemmed rose to someone at school. $5 a pop, there was a nervous energy as the boys chose their recipient, and the girls waited for the day, hoping their crushes had noticed them.

'Did you send me one?'

'I did. Along with half of the school apparently.'

'I'm sorry I never said thank you. I just wanted to bury that.' Her palm slaps across her face, subconsciously trying to hide from the memory, the embarrassment still fresh.

'You were so beautiful that day. Lugging around three dozen long stemmed red roses from class to class.'

'Well they weren't going to fit in my locker. And it was more than four dozen. That was so embarrassing. I hated it.'

'You ruffled a few feathers that day. The other girls were freaking pissed.'

'Yep. What a fucking disaster. Why would they limit it to one rose per person? What a stupid fundraising idea. I felt so bad. I wished so badly I could have given them away.' The memory of home room, of the girls waiting anxiously as four arms full of roses appeared in the doorway of their classroom. One by one they were handed out, like some stupid version of The Bachelor, piling on her desk, one, two, three, until there were too many to fit, she started piling them on the floor. She read the first few cards, the hand written notes of awkward boys baring their hearts. She could still feel the eyes of her classmates, as the stupid pile of flowers grew. The disappointment of the girls in her class as it turned to bitter anger. The cruel words that followed her down the hallway all day, and in the weeks that followed.

'I still hate red fucking roses to this day.'

'I love them. Every time I see one it reminds me of you. I couldn't believe any other girl in the school received even one.'

'Well seven years too late, thank you for your rose. I never read the card, I'm sorry.'

'It was my pleasure. I'm sorry it went so badly for you.'

'Ok, can we not talk about this ever again?'

He smiles once more, she marvels at this truly happy human in front of her.

'Sit.' He points to the edge of the dock. Her feet hang in the water as he drops in, standing in front of her in the chest deep water he tugs the skis onto her feet.

'It's just like the rope tow at snow skiing. Keep your skis parallel, sit back against the pull of the rope, arms straight out in front, got it?'

'I guess we are about to find out.'

John motions to Jack on the jet ski, who tosses him the rope. He steps between her legs and places her hands on his shoulders. His skin is warm from the sun, and soft under her fingers. He reaches behind her and drags her butt off the dock, she grips onto his shoulders as the skis lift her legs awkwardly up in the water.

'Oh my god, I don't know if I want to do this.'

'It's ok, I've got you.' His green eyes steady her nerves, in his arms they are not in a burning forest, just a boy and a girl living in a perfect world of two. She lifts one hand from his shoulder and traces the line of his jaw, running her finger tips softly against the beginnings of a newly grown beard.

'Are you ready?' Jack calls from the water.

'Are you ready?' John echos to her.

She nods, 'You have to kind of make a cannon ball shape,' he hands her the rope. Just hold on, it will pull you up and out of the water.' She watches as he stokes towards the jet ski, pulling himself up easily onto the back of the craft. He sits backwards watching her.

'Ok?' He calls.

She grips the plastic handle, as she shouts her ok in return, and shrieks as the rope jerks against her grip. She wobbles but catches her balance as she rises from the water. Once she is up, she discovers it is pretty easy. The muscle memory built up over years of downhill skiing, serving her well. The water is smooth, and forgiving, and she is reminded of bluebird power days on the hill.

As the jet ski carved across its wake, she tips, losing her balance, her arm breaks part of her fall, and she discovers the surface of the water may not be as kind as the soft powder of winter. She bobs in the water, the wind knocked out of her, she tries to calm her breathing. John is at her side, he slips her feet from the skis. He slides them across the water to Jack, who ferries them back to the dock.

'You're ok, deep breaths.'

She focuses on his arms in front of him, gracefully moving back and forth as he treads water. His eyes stay with her, even as his chin drops below the water. His shoulders rise and as he spits a stream of water across the lake, like some stone fountain head she can't help but laugh.

The jet ski returns and he helps her on board. As he climbs in behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist he whispers, 'I told you those bathers were going to get upto no good.'

Chapter 3

Dusk brings with it the softening of the angry orange sky, but as the light begins to fade the red glow along the mountain ridge begins to reveal its angry scar.

'You're biting your lip.' John says pulling her into his arms, her back resting against the hard plain of his body.

'It's almost beautiful.'

'It is beautiful. This is the majesty of nature. The forest needs the renewal of fire. The old trees are sacrificed to make way for the next generation of growth, this is the way it always has been. We just need to get out of its way.'

'It's terrifying.'

'There is no need to fear the fire. It will eventually burn itself out, and we will return. Whatever is taken we will rebuild.' He lays a kiss on the back of her head, buries his nose in the nest of her hair. In his arms she shivers. 'C'mon, let's get you a jumper.'

He takes her hand and they follow a path around the lake. A canvas tent on a wooden platform comes into view.

'You're Glamping?' she asks.

'Well I wasn't going to share a bed with Jack.'

'Really roughing it back here I see.' She steps through the canvas opening, surveying the round structure. She ducks through a door behind the bedhead,

'There's a bathroom back here.'

'People do pay to stay here you know.'

His silhouette fills the door to the tent, standing in the threshold, he is male perfection. She crosses the room, drawn to what is real, and honest, and as the sunsets behind him, he is as much a part of nature as the landscape backdrop and aching more beautiful. She stops a step in front of him, she feels the trace of his eyes as they roam her, head to toe, and slowly back, and when his eyes return to hers, it is not the fading light that darkens them. His fingers reach out and brush the back of her hand. The fronts of his fingernails draw a soft path up her bare arm, the shiver that racks her not from the cold this time. The sleeve of her T-shirt lifts as his path continues, his fingertips now trace the skin of her collar bone, revealed by the slouching V neck of the oversized shirt. She hears herself drop a breath, his fingers comb her hair as he closes the distance. He pauses as if granting her one last moment before him. As if he knows after this she will be choosing china patterns, and writing out baby names. She won't be able to close her eyes without seeing him. She won't be able to dream a dream without him in it. And as he drops his lips to hers, the fading sun fills her heart.

Chapter 4

He buries his nose in her hair and inhales audibly. In the shadows his smell overwhelms her, and before her mind can wander back to the place of fear, she is melting, sinking further into his embrace, her only thoughts the feel of his mouth on hers. He has her legs wrapped around his waist and is dropping her on the bed, she is still clinging to his shoulders, dizzy from the kiss, soft at first, then his intensity rising to meet hers.