the horse races and The Trading Post along to help kill time.
‘What are you looking for this week?’ Phoebe asked, nodding at The Trading Post.
‘Old clocks for Dutchy to restore while he’s out of action.’
‘How’s he doing?’ she asked, enquiring after a collegue. ‘Have you spoken to him lately?’
‘He’s OK. His ankle’s feeling good, the pins seem to be holding it all together. He’s still peeved about the accident happening in the first place, especially as he’s the health and safety rep for the fire crews.’
‘But it’s not like he was the one who slid down the pole wet.’ Phoebe suppressed a laugh. The accident hadn’t been funny but the mental image she got whenever she thought about it was. A firefighter shooting down a wet pole at high speed was like a slapstick cartoon. ‘He didn’t know Tiny had been stupid enough to slide down when he was wet.’
‘No, but it was an accident that could have been avoided.’
‘Most of them are.’
‘Yeah, I guess. Have you seen the new signs at the top of the pole now?’
Phoebe nodded. The new signs instructed the emergency personnel to use the stairs, not the pole, if they were wet.
‘I still can’t believe the loss of traction created enough force in a one-storey slide to fracture his ankle.’
‘Unless you can slow yourself down using one foot as a brake, you slide down pretty fast. Dutchy’s got a fair bit of weight behind him—it’s like trying to stop a freight train. He probably hit the floor at an awkward angle and his ankle couldn’t take the pressure.’
‘His replacement should be here tomorrow. Max Williams?’
‘That’s what I’ve heard.’
‘Let’s hope he fits in all right. It’ll make it tough otherwise—we’re such a tightly knit unit.’
She glanced out of the window as Steve buried his nose in his papers. The strong north wind was carrying fingernail-sized particles of ash to them and she watched as they drifted around the ambulance. Despite the mask, which covered the lower half of her face, the smell of the burning bush filled her nose. She didn’t know what made her more nervous, sitting in a stationary ambulance on the edge of a bushfire, shrouded in thick brown smoke, or having a French test looming tomorrow.
She was less prepared for the second event, woefully prepared. Pulling a face, she plugged the headphones into her Discman and slipped them into her ears. It looked like any last-minute swotting would have to be done now.
‘What’s with the long face?’ Steve laughed as he looked up from the paper. ‘Aren’t your endless courses meant to be your downtime? Your fun?’
Stretching her legs as much as the cramped confines of the front of the ambulance would allow, she simultaneously poked him in the ribs. ‘I’ve got a test tomorrow and this time I want to blitz it.’
‘After you bombed out in the last one, Little Miss Competitive?’
Turning up her nose, Phoebe ignored him and waved a hand at the smoke billowing across the bush in front of them. ‘I’m not sure if my lecturer will accept a bushfire for an excuse. He’s already decided I’m a lousy student.’
‘Are you?’
‘Afraid so, so bug off and let me cram.’ She hit the play button and tried to tune out Steve’s attempts to distract her by counting to ten in French. Again and again. At least she’d remember her numbers tomorrow. Maybe.
She parroted back the phrases which she’d hoped by now would be familiar but which for some reason had decided to jumble in her brain, and while she recited she watched, almost mesmerised, as the dark smoke danced and swirled, the wind tugging the air and giving it a life of its own. Even within the close confines of the ambulance she could taste the smoke. It coated her tongue and any time she drank from her water bottle to wet her throat, the taste was tainted by the odour of the smoke. The sun was a hazy orange ball hanging in the sky, obscured by the smoke. It was almost midday yet the light suggested it was much later in the afternoon.
Phoebe tried to concentrate on her French. The man on the disc was conjugating verbs and she realised she was supposed to be repeating the words in the pauses. She could listen to a French accent for ever without tiring of it. Today it had the added bonus of blocking out the noise of the fire, but if she didn’t concentrate she’d never pass tomorrow night’s test. Since joining the ambulance service a little over a year ago she’d become skilled at making the most of her idle time, something she hadn’t had much experience with in her past life. Then every minute had been accounted for and she’d been permanently stretched to her limits. She increased the volume and began repeating the words.
She glanced out her window again as she muttered to herself. A few feet to her left a second ambulance was parked. She could see Bluey lying back, eyes closed, as he catnapped while Ken read. Everyone had their own way of killing time. Looking back towards the river, she thought the smoke was getting thicker. It was almost a solid wall and the lights of the emergency vehicles bounced off it, reflecting red and orange, mimicking the flames. Her heart rate increased as she imagined the fire heading in her direction. This wasn’t the first bushfire she’d attended but it was, by far, the most formidable and she closed her eyes as she tried to get her imagination under control.
Steve nudged her in the side, attracting her attention. His hand was on the volume control for the two-way radio and she removed her headphones to listen to him.
‘Pete Brady’s been injured. The firies are bringing him out to us.’
The Onkaparinga River in front of her formed the south boundary of the Bradys’ farm. Their house and most of the sheds were less than five kilometres from where the ambulances were parked and she wondered again just how close the fire was. Apparently the firefighters had burnt a fire break on the other side of the river but the smoke was now so dense she couldn’t see that far. All she could hope was that the break was large enough to stop the fire, but she doubted it. She couldn’t imagine that a fire that burned with such fierce intensity would hesitate at this pitiful excuse of a river and give up the fight.
A red Metropolitan Fire Service car emerged from the smoke, its headlights and rooftop emergency lights piercing the gloom as it drew up alongside the ambulances. Phoebe and Steve took a quick gulp of water before repositioning their face masks and scrambling from their vehicle, ready to assist.
The fireman had his door open and was already helping Pete from the car. Pete leant heavily on the other man and hobbled the few steps across to Phoebe. She quickly moved to Pete’s right side, taking some of his weight. The firefighter nodded at her in acknowledgment and she felt a flicker of recognition as she met his gaze.
She turned away, concentrating on getting Pete safely to the ambulance, focussing on her job. It was unlike her to be easily distracted yet she couldn’t help risking another glance.
He wasn’t familiar, she was sure she’d never met him before, so why did she feel like she had?
He was tall, at least six feet two inches. She was nearly five feet ten herself and he was definitely several inches taller. His thick, dark brown hair curled slightly over his ears and at his neck and was currently covered with a layer
