Emergency: Wife Needed

Phoebe had to agree and when the front door slammed shut behind them, closed by the force of the wind, she shuddered at the finality of the sound. Malcolm led the way into a sitting room where a toddler was lying wan and pale on the couch, his blonde head on his mother’s lap. The child’s skin was almost translucent in the way of infants and young children and his mother was stroking the damp yellow curls back from his forehead. Her focus was entirely on her son. She was oblivious to their arrival.

And it was too much like Joe. This could have been her. That had been her, her cheek resting on the velvet roundness of another’s little cheek, running fingers through sweet-smelling, soft curls, heart swelling with the impossible sweetness of such a love.

Come snuggle Mumma, Joe. How much do I love you?

Mostly it was OK. Mostly the past didn’t rush at her like this, making her breath catch in her throat, her lungs constrict with sudden remembrance. But sometimes…

‘Phoebe?’

Steve was already at Benji’s side, calling to her, casting a glance to hurry her along.

It wasn’t Joe and it wasn’t her. She’d had that life, a long time ago. She had a new one now, she was another person to the one she’d been. There was no turning back the clock. Sometimes her memory didn’t obey the rules, but she had to. And she always did.

She didn’t miss a beat, heading straight over to introduce herself to Benji’s mum, Marg, noting at the same time how the little boy’s eyes were ringed with dark circles, each exhalation a struggle with a tight wheeze. Steve was already setting up the oxygen cylinder, slipping the mask into place, adjusting the straps until he had the fit right over Benji’s nose and mouth. As he moved on to the physical exam, speaking softly to the child, Phoebe questioned Malcolm and Marg about Benji’s health history. Benji appeared unfazed by Steve, a stranger, rolling up his top and pressing a stethoscope against his chest. It was a further sign he was a very sick little boy.

‘Definite obstruction of the airway, difficulty exhaling.’ Steve announced his findings as he continued the examination.

‘You say he’s been sick these last few days? Wheezing getting worse?’ Phoebe asked.

Malcolm nodded and Marg said, ‘We didn’t take him to the doctor because last month he had the same thing and they said they couldn’t do anything—it was just a cold and a slight upper respiratory infection, nothing major. But then this morning he started to wheeze a lot. It’s been getting worse. He was crying and now he’s settled, but he still can’t breathe.’

No point now in explaining he’d not settled but become exhausted. His condition had deteriorated, not improved. ‘The wheezing hasn’t happened at all before? Your doctor hasn’t mentioned asthma?’

‘No, nothing like that. We thought he had a cold and we’d stick it out here. We’ve done it before and it’s always been fine. But we didn’t have a child then.’

‘We should have left. The smoke’s made him worse.’ Marg’s voice cracked with barely restrained feeling as she spoke. ‘What’s wrong with him? Is it asthma? Is it the smoke?’

‘The hospital will have to give you the answers, but it’s likely he has undiagnosed asthma. The smoke or the harsh wind whipping up the pollens and dust are all likely triggers. Wheezing in small children is more likely to be from a cold induced by a virus rather than asthma per se, but Benji’s symptoms suggest it’s much more than a simple cold.’

Steve was continuing to monitor Benji on the oxygen. ‘He’s not responding as quickly as I’d hoped.’ Phoebe looked at Benji, whose lips were now faintly tinged with blue.

‘Nebuliser?’

Steve nodded and Phoebe extracted the nebuliser equipment, setting it up with well-practised hands, running the Ventolin with the oxygen. The ventolin rose, smoke-like, up through the mask and Benji inhaled it, submissive throughout.

‘We’ll need to take him to hospital.’

‘Aren’t we meant to stay put?’ Marg asked. ‘That’s why we called the ambulance and didn’t leave before.’

‘Yes, theoretically, and for the same reason we weren’t meant to come out in the first place, but the best place for Benji is the hospital. One of you can ride with us or you can both follow. That is, if you’re coming.’

‘Of course we’re coming,’ said Malcolm, adding, ‘Do you want to grab some things, Marg?’ He touched her on the arm, the gesture of intimacy and affection jabbing Phoebe in the heart, although she covered it by packing up their equipment. She’d had that, too, that closeness with someone, that sense of being on each other’s side.

Or had she? Had it really been like that with Adam before it had all fallen apart?

Malcolm called after his wife, breaking into her thoughts, ‘Bring the fire-box, too, just in case, honey.’ Marg’s eyes widened at that. It seemed that in her anxiety over Benji she’d forgotten for a brief moment about another danger lurking on the horizon.

As Marg collected her thoughts and left the room a new sound intruded.

‘Sirens.’ Steve and Phoebe spoke in unison.

‘It’s the CFS siren. The fire must be getting closer,’ Malcolm told them. Phoebe shot a look at Steve, wondering if they’d been foolish coming here. But it was too late to worry about that now. They needed a new plan.

‘Where’s your phone, Malcolm?’ Phoebe asked him. ‘I’ll just let the hospital know we’re coming in.’

‘The phone lines are down. We just managed to call 000 before they went and we don’t have mobile reception here.’

‘I’ll use the ambulance two-way, then,’ Phoebe said, leaving in what she hoped was an efficient manner, trying to quell the mild panic fluttering about in her belly. ‘Back in a moment.’

As she stepped from the house, the first thing she was aware of, after the screaming of the siren, was the hot wind blasting her left side. It had swung around.

Windy days had always unsettled her and coming out into this gale was extremely unnerving. The wind had increased in intensity and buffeted her as she struggled across the driveway. Trees were being bent double by the force of the wind and she made herself keep walking, leaning into the wind, fighting her instinct to return to the safety of the house. She had to find out what the situation was—they couldn’t afford to be trapped on the road.

The howling of the wind was battling with the shrieking of the siren, the cacophony of noise clashing in Phoebe’s head and making her want to scream in frustration.

She made it to the ambulance, tugging open the door and clambering into the front seat. She picked up the radio but the external noises were so intrusive she knew she wouldn’t be able to make herself heard. She put her sunglasses on top of her head and massaged her temples. A flash of light in the rear-view mirror caught her attention. A fire engine was coming up the driveway behind her.

It came to a stop two metres from where she sat.

Four fire officers climbed out and Phoebe knew them all but had eyes for only one.

Max was back.

Which, judging by the immediate pitch in her belly as she took in the broad bulk of him, was a good thing.

Except the three other officers had swung immediately into action, and there was a major fire raging somewhere nearby. So, not so good?

She climbed out of the ambulance and waited as Max issued directions to his men before coming to her, his strides making short work of the distance, his gait giving no indication of the heaviness of the protective clothing all the firemen wore. He wore his helmet but had his visor up and over one shoulder he’d slung an oxygen cylinder. He looked like a man in control.

‘Max! What’s going on?’ Over Max’s shoulder Phoebe could see his crew working in an efficient but hurried manner. Two were unrolling hoses while the third was taking more oxygen cylinders from the truck.

Max answered her question with one of his own. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘There’s a little boy inside, suffering a serious asthma attack. We’re just about to take him out to the hospital.’

‘Not right now you’re not. You need to get back inside.’ Phoebe felt Max’s hand in the small of her back as he tried to guide her in the direction of the house.

‘I need to get Benji to hospital.’

‘Phoebe, I don’t have time to argue. You need to listen to me.’

A trickle of sweat snaked its way down her spine. ‘What’s happening?’

‘This wind change has whipped the fire back on itself and it’s heading straight for us.’ Max took a few seconds before he answered. ‘The road’s been cut off. You’re not going anywhere.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘PLEASE, tell me you’re kidding.’

‘I wish I was. Go inside.’ He pinned her with a look that said this was non-negotiable. ‘I’ll be there shortly.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Our job.’

Phoebe saw Max nod towards his men and suddenly realised he didn’t have time to convince her—she had to do as he asked. She nodded, spun around and headed for the house.

Once she was gone Max turned his attention back to his crew, relieved to find they were well prepared.

‘Cookie, you and Mitch get started on wetting down the house, check the gutters and get any roof sprinklers going. Nifty and I’ll take the BA gear inside and check out the situation there, then we’ll be back to give you a hand.’

Cookie and Mitch nodded and Max left them to it. He grabbed his helmet from the front seat before picking up a couple of cylinders and the breathing apparatus face masks and racing indoors.

Inside was a complication he hadn’t anticipated until he’d seen Phoebe and the ambulance.

Civilians.

His crew had been using the property’s dam water to refill the fire engine’s water tank when they’d been alerted that the fire had swung round. Their only option had been to retreat to the house but Max hadn’t expected to find it occupied. His first responsibility was to his crew and their safety but his second responsibility was to try to ensure there were no fatalities. He wasn’t sure how he was going to manage that but he was determined to do his best. He now had eight other people depending on him.

He left Nifty with Malcolm, knowing he could trust him to sort out the practicalities of things like ladders and sprinklers while he did a quick check of the house, looking for the safest place, knowing there was going to come a time, probably sooner rather than later, when they’d all need to go to ground and hopefully sit out the fire. What he didn’t know was how successfully they’d be able to do that.

He finished his inspection and made his way into the lounge where Malcolm, his family, Phoebe and Steve waited. Waited for direction from him.

Phoebe was the first to speak. ‘What can we do?’

Max thought it was highly unlikely that anything they did inside the house would improve their odds but telling them that would be counter-productive. He needed everyone to stay calm, or as calm as possible, and in all probability that meant keeping them occupied.

His gaze went to the little boy lying on the couch. ‘How’s Benji doing?’

‘His oxygen sats are improving. He’s stabilising.’

That was some good news. If his condition wasn’t deteriorating, that would help to keep everyone else calmer.

‘All right. We’re already starting to see spot fires from embers blown ahead of the fire front. That’s the biggest danger to the house at the moment. Embers can get blown through small cracks so you need to soak towels and block up any gaps under doors and windows. Windows can crack and break with the temperature changes so all the curtains need to come down and furniture needs to be moved away from windows to reduce the chance of flammable materials igniting if embers do come in. You’ll need to keep checking the house, watching out for any gaps or embers. Grab as many dry woollen blankets as you can find and pile them by the cellar stairs. There’s a ladder under the manhole but one of us will check the ceiling cavity for embers.’ He looked around the group, noting their attention was firmly fixed on him. ‘OK, is that clear?’

‘Close doors and windows, take down curtains, wet towels into gaps, blankets. Got it.’ Phoebe repeated his instructions.

No one seemed to be panicking—that, at least, was a good sign. ‘Right. I’ll leave you guys to it but we’ll be back inside before long.’ He tried to convey a confidence he was having trouble feeling. In his opinion the odds weren’t in their favour but luckily no one asked him that. Did they all assume they’d be OK or didn’t they want to ask because they were scared of what they might hear?

Max left them to it and Phoebe’s confidence followed him out the door. She had to force herself to concentrate and remember the tasks he’d allocated. Doors, windows, curtains. What had he said about the ceiling? She looked up. She’d never have considered checking the roof space, and wondered what other direction danger would come from.

‘Steve, why don’t you keep an eye on Benji, seeing as you’ve been monitoring him? I’ll do the patrol,’ Phoebe said. She knew she was asking partly for selfish reasons. She wanted to feel as if she had some control over events and was making some sort of contribution towards keeping everyone safe. ‘Malcolm, can you show me where the towels and blankets are? Then we can sort out the house.’

Malcolm quickly directed Phoebe to the linen closet, bathroom and laundry and they divided the house into two and started wetting towels and shoving them under the external doors and windows. Phoebe then filled up as many buckets and other assorted containers as she could find with water and left them at strategic points in each room, ready to extinguish any embers should it be necessary.

Malcolm was filling the last few buckets so Phoebe started taking down curtains. As she moved around the house, she was able to catch of a glimpse of the fire crew. Despite the fact they were all covered from head to toe, including flash hoods and goggles over their faces, topped by helmets, she knew when it was Max, the sheer size of him giving him away even before she saw his easy gait and powerful stride. He was still extinguishing spot fires with the hand-held water sprayer. Surely he couldn’t continue doing that for much longer as, much as she hated to admit it, even she could see he was fighting a losing battle.

She finally got all the curtains down and did another check of the doors but the waiting was awful. The fire was coming—coming straight for them unless, by some miracle, the wind changed again—and she found herself wishing it would hurry up and arrive. Or at least that something would happen to distract her from this feeling of waiting for the inevitable and being the only one with nothing productive to do about it.

As she stood there, wishing for something to happen, the lights went out. In the sudden darkness she could see the glow of the fire more clearly. The only source of light was coming from the brightly burning bush and in the sudden darkness, and accentuated by the silence, the wind sounded more ferocious and Phoebe started to feel more than slightly nervous.

Embers were flying through the air now, igniting spot fires all around the house as they landed. She watched as a spot fire burnt brightly a few metres from the house. Max appeared, dousing the fire, extinguishing it as quickly as it had started. He saw her in the window and gave her a thumbs-up before striding out of sight, leaving her alone to her strange, solitary watch.

She grabbed a torch and paced through the house, moving from room to room, checking on Steve and Benji, double-checking the wet towels and topping up water basins. The sky was black now and she could see flames jumping from treetop to treetop on the next ridge, could hear the dreadful sound of the fire roaring like a wild animal as it devoured everything in its path. It was close now, too close, and still Max was outside.

Phoebe stopped pacing in the kitchen. The windows here faced east and looking out she could see a towering wall of fire racing across the land. The spot fires were inconsequential now in the face of the ferocity of the main blaze. She scanned the garden for Max as she stood at the sink, filling bottles of water, but could see no one. Where had they gone?

Watching the fire approach, Phoebe couldn’t believe they were safe in the house. Surely the fire would destroy everything in its path? It was far too late to make a run for it. The wall of flame was greedily seeking out any fuel—undergrowth, trees and hay bales alike were being consumed.

She jumped as the outside door opened and four firefighters swarmed inside. They were all carrying oxygen cylinders and breathing apparatus. Three didn’t stop, just headed through the kitchen before peeling off in different directions, two to the front of the house and one to the ladder in the manhole. The fourth put down his load before removing his goggles and flash hood. Max. His hair was curling and damp with sweat. He wiped one forearm across his brow, leaving a dark streak of soot and sweat on his skin.

Phoebe passed him a water bottle and he took a long drink as she went to the back door to shove the wet towel back into the gap. She caught Max’s expression as she stood up. He obviously thought she was wasting her time.

‘That’s not going to help, is it?’

‘No.’ Max shook his head and for the first time since the bushfire had started Phoebe was truly afraid.

‘How long have we got?’

‘Ten minutes, maybe more, maybe less.’

‘What do we do now?’

‘Get everyone down into the cellar and stay there.’

‘Are we going to be OK?’

Her pale blue eyes were enormous, their unusual colour accentuated against the dust coating her nose and cheeks. Max checked his impulse to wipe the soot from her face. Forcing himself to concentrate on the job at hand, a dangerous job that really needed his undivided attention, he replied to her question.

‘I honestly don’t know.’ As he answered he saw Cookie reappearing from the manhole. Cookie gave him a thumbs up before making his way to the cellar steps in the passage outside the kitchen. Max counted heads as people retreated to the relative safety of the cellar. He knew there were no guarantees they’d get through this. If the house became engulfed by the bushfire, their chances were pretty low, but the cellar was their best option.

Seven people, carrying an assortment of blankets, oxygen cylinders, torches and water bottles, disappeared from view.

‘Time to go.’ He picked up the last two cylinders and nodded towards a torch and a water bottle sitting on the table. ‘Might as well grab those, too.’ He had a quick glance at his watch—4.05 p.m.—before checking the room one last time. He didn’t expect to be in the cellar for long. The fire was moving so fast it wouldn’t take long to pass by. The only question was, would they still be here after it had roared through?

He ushered Phoebe in front of him towards the cellar. As they reached the doorway a loud explosion occurred, startling them both. Phoebe jumped, the beam of her torch lighting up the passage ceiling, and Max collided with her.

‘What was that?’ She turned to face him, a look of terror on her face.

‘Gum trees, I expect. They heat up in the fire and they explode.’ Max didn’t tell her that quite often that would be how the fire spread.

Another explosion got Phoebe moving again and Max followed her down the stairs.

The cellar wasn’t huge and the floor space they had at their disposal wasn’t much bigger than a hospital lift. The others were already sitting on the floor in a semi-circle, Mitch, Steve, Cookie, Malcolm, Marg and Nifty. Benji was lying in Marg’s lap, opposite Steve.

Despite the fact the cellar was several degrees cooler than the rest of the house, it was still hot. Max knew his thick fireproof clothing didn’t help matters but he was reluctant to remove his jacket, its protective qualities were too important. His crew were all still wearing their full kits, too, and the others had thick woollen blankets over their shoulders. Everyone would be feeling the heat.

Max wrapped a spare blanket around Phoebe, taking care to leave a decent portion of it around her shoulders. ‘Pull this over your head if I tell you to.’

She nodded, and he could sense the nervous tension running through her. Her shoulders were tense, her back rigid, but, like all of them, she was maintaining a calm façade.

He put his oxygen cylinder on the floor and sat in the only free space at the base of the stairs, pulling Phoebe down with him. Each member of his crew would need to share their tank with a civilian—the reason Mitch, Cookie and Nifty had positioned themselves where they were.

Max checked his watch again—4.10 p.m. the fire front must be almost on them. It was becoming more difficult to breathe as the fire sucked all the oxygen from the air. They needed to conserve their energy and that meant keeping their chatter to a minimum. He held up the auxiliary mouthpieces and spoke to the people huddled around him.

‘We’ll share our oxygen with you—you’ll need to breathe through these mouthpieces. Just breathe normally through your mouth, regular breaths.’

Max settled Phoebe between his knees, her back tucked against his front. The auxiliary line was short and the lack of space meant they couldn’t sit face to face and for that Max was grateful as he knew he’d find that too distracting. He opened the valve on his cylinder, pulled his mask over his face and then handed the auxiliary mouthpiece to Phoebe.

He checked the room—from what he could see in the torchlight, everyone appeared to be breathing comfortably. They might not need supplementary oxygen but Max figured the unusual activity gave everyone something else to concentrate on and would hopefully serve to keep their minds off the bushfire.

Phoebe shifted her position slightly, the movement momentarily pushing her bottom further into Max’s lap, before she settled into a more comfortable spot. One that didn’t leave her pressed into his groin. The cellar might just be large enough to accommodate four firefighters, four adult civilians and one child but it wasn’t big enough for him to escape his growing awareness of one very womanly woman.

He was caught between a rock and a hard place, although he wasn’t complaining. Since this was the situation they were in, at least he was the one who had the opportunity to reassure Phoebe. Then again, maybe it was a cruel joke. They were in a situation he was all too aware could spell death for all involved, he was holding a woman he was seriously attracted to, and they were stuck in a cellar with a mob of other people, meaning there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about acting on his attraction. He looked around for a distraction, anything to get his mind off the round firmness of Phoebe’s backside as she shifted again to tuck the blanket underneath her.

But there were no other distractions. There was nothing to do but sit and wait. The breathing apparatus made conversation impossible so there was literally nothing left to do except sit and think.

He checked his watch for the third time—4.20 p.m. Fifteen minutes had passed. He’d give the fire another five minutes before checking the situation. By then they’d either be safe or—He didn’t want to think about the alternative.

Phoebe’s blonde hair was shining in the dim light, reflecting the meagre light of the torches. She looked golden and perfect, epitomising everything that was good in the world, and he promised himself then and there that if they survived the day, he’d ask her out.

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