Burning for Revenge (12 page)

Almost simultaneously there were another two explosions, from inside the fire. I think it was probably the next two tankers. Or maybe they'd already gone up while we were being blown away. I wouldn't have noticed. Maybe it was some planes blowing up. They didn't seem quite as strong as the first explosion, but then we were further away now. When they blew there was an amazing sky-rocket effect, huge fiery orange comets burning into the sky, with this weird, whistling, sizzling noise. I guess that happened with the first explosion too, but I hadn't noticed among the spinning and rolling of the truck.

There were still two tankers the flames hadn't reached. One at each end of the inferno. With a feeling of fierce joy in my heart I put the rifle to my shoulder. I had been burning for revenge for a long time, and now I was going to do some real burning, to get them back for all they'd done to us. It was the most primitive feeling I've ever had. It went further back than primitive: it was primeval. I was cave-woman swinging the club around my head and charging at the jackals and hyenas.

It only took two shots. I figured I'd better do it fast, because when the shock wave from the first blast hit us I wouldn't have a chance to fire the second.

It was unbelievable. When these things blew, they sure blew. With each shot came a huge flash of light, lasting a second or more, then a column of fire that went up a hundred metres, more blazing comets rocketing into the stratosphere, and a fireball that rolled across the ground like a giant blazing tumbleweed. There wasn't much smoke, but all of it was black. One part of the fireball met the rest of the fire and there was a sort of "wump" as they connected. It started burning even harder and hotter at that point, though a second earlier I would have said it was impossible for this fire to get stronger or hotter.

Then the shock waves hit us again and we rocked backwards and forwards. We were getting used to it, I suppose. I started wondering if I'd get seasick. But it wasn't too bad this time.

What was bad was the lack of air. It was like I couldn't get any oxygen into my lungs. The heat was so intense, even at this distance, that I felt I was getting burnt. I glanced at Fi and tried to say, "We've got to get out of here." I couldn't say the words but she seemed to understand, because she nodded.

Then she did something really heroic. First Homer, now Fi. I'm not kidding, we were in big trouble with air. I think the oxygen must have been sucked into the fire because I honestly felt I might suffocate. Fi looked very red in the face, but she suddenly started to climb through the hatch. I grabbed at her to ask her what she was doing, then I realised. Kevin! God, how could I have forgotten? As she disappeared into the darkness I forced myself up to peer after her. I couldn't see anything. I hesitated, then decided the smart thing was to leave Fi to fix up Kevin while I tried to get the truck moving. I didn't have much hope it would start, but I turned the key anyway. It actually whirred, which impressed me,
but it didn't sound like it had a hope in hell of starting. Besides, even if it did, the tyres and suspension were probably wrecked.

I left it and stood back up, turning round to look through the hatch again. I still couldn't see anything. It was time to abandon ship. I went to open the driver's side door but the frame must have been buckled, because I couldn't shift it. So I struggled awkwardly through the window. My lungs felt like they were burning, like I was inhaling fire instead of air. They say smoking's bad for your health. I should have dropped dead on the spot from lung cancer.

It was such a relief when my feet touched ground. I ran around to the back door. I was sobbing for lack of air but at the same time trying not to sob, because I'd read somewhere that when'you panic you use up more oxygen. There wasn't much of it left. I got to the back of the truck and wrenched at the doors. They wouldn't open: the truck was so badly buckled and crumpled across the top. I was really sobbing now, thinking I'd never get Fi and Kevin out.

OK, they could still get through the hatch into the cab, but it was dangerously short of oxygen, and dangerously hot up the front. Radiant heat, that's meant to be the big killer in bushfires. And I didn't know if Kevin would be that easy to move. If he was still in the middle of his breakdown he mightn't be too keen to do gymnastics through the little hole.

The roar of the fire sounded like it was right on top of us. Kevin and Fi must have felt they were in a microwave. I broke a few fingernails pulling at the door. The truck shook and shivered as another huge explosion,
to my left, rocked the ground. The very air seemed to shiver and shake. There was a shimmer, like you get on a really hot day, when you feel there's a distorting piece of glass between you and what you're looking at. There were crashes and thumps all around me. I couldn't figure out what it was, then I realised: red-hot bits of jagged metal raining out of the sky from the last explosion.

I was trying to think, desperately. "What can I do to get this door open?" I needed a tool, but where could I get that? Then, suddenly, I heard a banging on the inside of the door. Fi or Kevin, or both of them, were hammering, trying to get out. But it sounded like all they had was their fists. It sure didn't sound like a sledgehammer, which is what they'd need. The sound made me even more desperate. They were going to die in there. They must have a lot less oxygen than me and I didn't have nearly enough. I flung myself against the door trying to push it back into shape. It didn't work.

Then I heard a voice. It came from above my head. Honestly, I thought it was the voice of God for a moment. It was actually the voice of Homer. Never do I want him to know I confused him with God. His ego's big enough already. His voice came from above my head because I was now crouched down, trying to rip the door open from the bottom.

"Stand back," he said. "Make way for a man."

Typical. I did make way though. Not because he's a man but because he had something I didn't. A crowbar. It was one of those jemmy-shaped ones, about a metre long, heavy and vicious. And very effective. It took him three quick moves, jamming it into the doorframe at three different points, and wrenching hard towards him with all his strength. With the third wrench the door flew open.

Fi and Kevin stood there. They looked pretty wild and pretty upset. Kevin shook like an old man trying to walk for the first time in six months. They stumbled out, down the little step, into our arms. But there was no time for charity. Once their feet were firmly on the ground they had to take care of themselves. I grabbed my pack—it was the only one I could see—and spun around. Behind us, its engine still rumbling away, was the boys' truck. Lee stood between us and the truck, his rifle cradled across his arms. He wasn't looking at us. He was looking in every direction, his head constantly darting backwards and forwards, waiting for the inevitable counterattack. One guy with one rifle ready for the swarms of soldiers who would soon be closing in. We ran towards the truck. I looked back once, and saw Kevin moving pretty well. He was actually a few metres ahead of Fi, so whatever nervous breakdown he was going through, it didn't affect his speed when he wanted to get out of danger.

I got to the cab of the truck. Normally, in situations like this I'd drive. But Homer would be used to this truck by now. Used to the clutch. If I got in and stalled it, we could all die, just because of one stupid mistake.

Behind me Homer called, "Have you got your rifle?"

"No, oh no. We left them in the van."

I glanced around to look at him. In a way I wished I hadn't. The view was horrifying. A wall of flame as high as the sky stretched to right and left, as far as I could see. It was all red, a vast flaring curtain. Somewhere there must be a top to it, but from what I could see it went up forever. Planes, tankers, hangars, sheds, barracks, everything must have been part of the blaze, everything in there would be incinerated. The heat was appalling. I felt as dried out as the beef jerky we'd brought from New Zealand for rations. Luckily I had a long-sleeved shirt on. I knew my face was burnt. My lungs felt burnt too, but that might have been the lack of oxygen.

We should have prepared for this like you would a bushfire, but we'd never dreamt it would be so huge.

I realised we must make great targets, silhouetted against the flames. All I could see beyond the truck was the grass expanse and bitumen runways of the airfield. To my left, where the administration buildings stood, I thought I got a glimpse of people running, but there was so much smoke and garbage floating around that I might have been wrong. I thought I could hear sirens wailing, but again, over the roar of flames, I couldn't be sure of anything. Our attack had happened so fast that they'd still be reacting. I guess the first thought of anyone remotely near the explosions would be to save themselves. Only then would they regroup, reorganise.

Homer swung himself into the cab of the truck. He grabbed his rifle and handed it to me. Then he jumped down again and helped Fi and Kevin up. As he was doing that I ran around to the other side. On the way I passed Lee. I'll never forget the way he looked. Unbelievable. Talk about Rambo. He stood there cradling that gun, legs apart, rock solid, his face expressionless, only his head moving as he scanned the airfield. I thought at that moment I could trust my life to Lee any time and he would never let me down. I continued on round to the passenger door and swung myself up into the cab. As I did, I noticed something funny. A row of holes suddenly appeared in the tray of the truck. A neat little row, like they'd been carefully lined up. Direct drilling. It took me a moment to realise what they were. Then I screamed at Homer, who'd just leapt into the other side again, "We're being fired at!"

"Took them long enough," he said calmly.

He shoved the truck into gear and the old thing leapt forward.

"What about Lee?" I gasped.

Homer shrugged.

"He can walk."

Only Homer could make a joke at a time like this. I glanced in the side mirror, and sure enough there was Lee, in the dump section, with the rifle at his shoulder now, in a firing position. I didn't wait to see if he fired. Instead I got busy doing the same thing: trying to save our skins. I brought Homer's rifle up to my shoulder too and searched the airfield, looking for the trouble I knew was out there.

Homer cut loose on the accelerator. It was insane. If I hadn't been shaken up already, I sure got shaken up now. One second I was thrown against Fi, the next against the window He was doing the right thing though, zigzagging wildly. The tyres on the truck were tested like never before.'At any moment I was expecting at least one of them to blow. We lurched down hard on one side, then suddenly lurched down harder on the other.

Of course it was made a lot worse by the rough ground. We were racing at maximum speed across the grass of the airfield. Then there was another wild lurch,
to the left this time, and to my astonishment we were suddenly on a smooth beautiful surface.

It took me a second to work it out. Then I realised. A runway. Unbelievable. I didn't know if this was a good idea. It meant we were getting away from the hottest part of the fires very quickly, and maybe getting out of range of some of their guns, but on the other hand we would be an easier target, going in a straight line.

Then Fi grabbed my shoulder, digging her fingers in like talons. She pointed, but she didn't need to, because I'd just seen it as well. I felt sick: my insides seemed to collapse.

It was a jet coming in to land.

I'd say it was about twenty metres above the end of the runway. Its wheels and flaps came down together, like a duck spreading its wings as it landed. It was a beautifully symmetrical thing, beautifully balanced, perfectly shaped. But there was still something vicious about it: it was more like a wasp than a bird. It seemed weird to me that it would come into an airport where almost every building was a raging inferno, but maybe it was out of fuel and had no choice. Anyway, it sure as hell was going to land.

And Homer kept right on driving.

At first I thought he hadn't seen it. But with us all screaming at him, that didn't seem likely. It only took one look at his face to realise he'd seen it. He was pale and sweaty and his eyes were fixed on the plane like he was hypnotised. "He's going to bluff it," I thought. This was like those awful games of chicken in American movies, where cars go straight towards each other at top speed. I can never bear to watch them in movies, but here, on the runway, in real life, it was infinitely worse.

With a little puff of white smoke from its wheels the jet touched down. It gave a slight skid, but that was its only hesitation. Suddenly it was screaming down the runway, right at us. It seemed to have a mind of its own. And I didn't know if that mind was going to change in time to stop us getting smashed to pieces. What speed would the plane be doing when it hit us? Two hundred k's? Three hundred?

We just kept coming. We would have been doing close on a hundred k's ourselves, every revolution that could be squeezed out of the old diesel. I put my hand on the door handle and glanced out the window. I didn't like the thought of throwing myself out of a truck going at a hundred k's, throwing myself onto bitumen. But I didn't like the thought of hitting this jet full on. If it came to the point would I be able to jump? I didn't know if I had that much courage.

Fi was screaming at Homer. She was actually screaming: "Stop! Stop!," which wasn't good advice', because if we stopped we still would have been wiped out. I think Kevin fainted. His eyes were shut and his face looked clammy, little drops of sweat all over him. He was leaning against Fi's shoulder like he had no control, like if she wasn't there he'd fall straight to the floor.

And Homer, good old Homer, he seemed set to kill us all. His eyes looked like someone on drugs. He gripped the steering wheel as if he wanted to squeeze juice out of it. He was backing himself to the maximum, using our lives as the stake. The truck didn't move one centimetre to the side, either way.

The plane came so fast. One minute it had been in the air above the airfield, the next it was racing straight at us. It got bigger and bigger. It stopped looking beautiful and symmetrical, and just looked plain frightening. Its windscreens were like bug eyes. They seemed to be staring at me personally. It was hard to imagine there were humans behind them. I know their brakes were on, because smoke was steaming from the tyres. I wondered if they noticed there was no smoke from our tyres. I grabbed the door handle again and actually began to open the door, to be ready. I was mentally begging Homer to spin the steering wheel, to swerve off the runway Fi wasn't mentally begging him to; she was screaming at him. I had too much pride for that: even if it killed me I wasn't going to scream I wondered if Lee in the back might already have jumped. I wouldn't blame him The jet seemed so much bigger than us now From a distance it had looked quite small For the first time I realised Homer might deliberately smash into it. This might be a suicide mission. He might have figured we had no chance of surviving anyway and our lives were a fair exchange for this valuable and deadly plane.