Burning for Revenge (27 page)

I looked at the men again. They were closing in steadily I don't think they were soldiers: they looked more like farmers. They were carrying farmers' weapons, shotguns, not automatic rifles. But for all that they knew what they were doing. They looked more than a match for Lee. They looked more than a match for me.

At least I still hadn't been seen. That was because I hadn't yet moved. On the other hand, I couldn't just stand there and watch them go in and catch Lee. Would they kill him on the spot or take him into Stratton Prison? That was the only question I had time for, and it was only in my mind for a moment. The next second I picked up my left foot and moved it across in front of me, to the right. I watched the men as I did it, terrified I'd see a head turn. My leg was shaking and I hardly dared put my foot down, because I was so scared it would crackle on the bark and sticks.

I put it down, then moved the other foot. I was just as scared, but at least the first movement had unparalysed me a bit, got me going. I took eight more steps, each as nerve-racking as the first. It was so hard, because I knew I couldn't go too slowly; although these guys were moving slowly themselves. I'd have to cover three times the ground they did. With each step I tried to see where my foot landed, making sure there was no bark underneath, but it was difficult among the trees, where even the starlight didn't reach.

I still had no idea what to do. If I went round the back and there were no doors and no windows, I was sunk. I could bang on the wall but Lee would probably respond by running straight out the front, into the arms of the enemy. I couldn't tackle four armed men on my own. All I could think was that if I got around behind them maybe I could distract them in some way, or perhaps even find a weapon. So I kept heading to the right. When I'd withdrawn far enough into the darkness I ran swiftly down the treeline, keeping behind the trees, hoping they'd think I was a fox or a possum, if they heard me at all.

By the time I came into the open again I had the makings of a plan. I'd only thought it through as far as stage one, but that was an improvement on what I'd had before. I felt in my pockets as I ran along and confirmed that I had a light. Not a packet of matches but a cigarette lighter. One of those little disposable things. I couldn't even remember where I'd picked it up, at Grandma's probably.

I'd seen three big haystacks, one under a roof but the other two out in the open. I ran as fast as I could to the first. It was a hundred metres from the barn. How badly would these people want to kill Lee? So badly that they'd ignore their haystacks burning? With my hand trembling I pulled out the lighter and flicked the little roller. I held the flame to the hay. My God, I've had trouble lighting some fires in my life, but I'd never tried setting fire to a haystack before. It went up so fast I nearly singed my eyebrows. Unbelievable. Now it was a race between me and the flames, to get the other two stacks going before the men realised what was happening behind them.

I ran to the second one. As I lit it I glanced back at the first. There was only one flame so far, but it was already two metres high. I lit the next fire, and ran to the third stack, the one under a roof. But as I headed towards it I had a better idea. Just to the left was a truck loaded with hay. It was facing the barn, and the driver's window was open. I swerved and raced across to it. As quietly as I could, I opened the door and leaned in. By stretching I managed to reach the gearstick, and shove it into neutral without even using the clutch. Then I released the handbrake.

I didn't bother shutting the door, just ran around to the back. There was no time now to look for the men, but I heard a little crackling noise behind me, which meant the fire was gaining hold fast.

There was quite a steep slope running down to the barn. I realised that the truck was almost perfectly placed. I gave it a huge push. I felt like one of those mothers who find the strength to lift cars when their babies are underneath. Lee wasn't my baby, but maybe my strength came from wanting to save my own life. Whatever, the truck got rolling. I was surprised by how fast it accelerated. I trotted behind, lighting the load as I did. With the moving air to help, the flames caught even more successfully. By the time we travelled fifty metres the hay was burning quite freely.

I still couldn't see the men, because the truck shielded them, but I got plenty of evidence now that they'd noticed what was happening. There were shouts, followed by several shots. I think they were firing at the cab of the truck, assuming someone was in there, driving. I heard one bullet go over my head with that now-familiar sound, like a high-pitched cicada. It didn't say much for their accuracy that they couldn't hit a truck. I wondered if they'd be able to hit the side of the barn.

I ran after the truck, which was gathering speed at quite a rate. The faster it went the more fiercely the fire burned. I had to drop back again, because the flames were blowing in my face. I had one hand over my eyes, shielding them, only able to look down at the ground. But within, I'd say, seventy-five metres of the truck starting its little journey it was an inferno. Flames on wheels. The wildest sight, if anyone had time to stop and look. A travelling bonfire.

Normally, if you send a vehicle rolling away on its own it doesn't go straight. I knew that from mucking around with the Landie, letting it drive itself when I was hand-feeding stock. This truck went straight because the gully leading down to the barn formed a natural funnel and kept the truck aimed at the door. I didn't know that though until I felt the shadow of the roof and looked up and saw I'd followed the rolling bonfire right into the barn. It accelerated through the big open doors and hit the far wall with a grinding thumping noise. But I hardly heard that above the roar and crackle of the flames. In the still dry air of the barn they took on 3 new life.

Realising I was now silhouetted against the light, I threw myself to the left, rolling across a long row of bales of hay until I thought I was out of sight. I glanced at the truck. The flames were already touching the roof of the building. They seemed twice as high as they had been outside. The barn was full of hay and horse feed—there were bags of it right beside me, and a row of pegs for bridles and stuff. Through the flames, on the other side of the barn, I could hear the proof that there were horses: a frantic fanfare of whinnies and screams. The air was full of burning bits of straw, some black and dead already before they hit the ground, some still red with fire. Little spirals of smoke from spots all over the floor told me that this place was going to be blazing from top to bottom in a matter of moments.

I couldn't bear the shrieks of the horses. The knowledge that I caused this, that they would die horribly in flames lit by my hand, was too much. I looked around, desperate to reach them. The fire from the truck had spread across the entrance. No one from outside could get in now. But there was an upstairs, a kind of loft running the full width of the building. To my left was a stepladder. I ran to it and shinned up the thing so fast my hands barely touched the sides. I got to the top, turned right and ran full speed across the boards. The heat up here was dreadful and I felt myself gasping for breath before I'd gone ten metres. They'd always told us in Science that heat rises, and here was the proof. As I crossed the truck itself I got a blast of heat that scorched my jeans, my hair, and my face. It was like someone held a huge hair dryer a couple of centimetres from me and turned it on full blast.

At the other end I was shocked to find no ladder. Below me were three horses kicking wildly in their stalls. Further along were two more and a small group out of their stalls, milling together in a frantic terrified squealing mob. I went back a few metres until I was standing over a small heap of loose straw, said, "God help me," which was the quickest prayer I could think of, and jumped into it.

The pile was as small as it looked and I hit the floor under it pretty hard. My bad knee jarred. It always let me down when I needed it. But there was no time for a medical examination. I hobbled over to the first of the closed stalls. A big chestnut mare was charging backwards and forwards in the narrow space, like she wanted to smash through the gate but didn't quite have the courage. She was swinging her head: the whites of her terrified eyes reflecting the red of the flames. I pulled out the peg that held the gate and went sideways fast: this mare had lost all sense and one blow from her hoofs would kill me. As I pulled out the peg from the second pen I glanced to my right and to my astonishment saw Lee. I'd almost forgotten that he was the reason I was there. He was doing the same as me, freeing trapped horses, and I realised then how the other horses had got out of their stalls.

He glanced at me at the same time as I looked at him. For a moment our eyes met. He showed no reaction. He must have seen me first; he would have got the shock of his life when he did.

I released the last horse, a black colt, then asked myself the big question, the biggest of all: How are we going to get out? The entrance to the barn was completely blocked by fire and I couldn't see any other exit. Although it was a big building we didn't have much time now: the other side, where I'd gone up the ladder, was engulfed by flames already. The reason we hadn't been fried alive so far was that the fire favoured that direction, for some reason. Maybe the breeze from the entrance was blowing over there. But the air was so hot and I knew we were fast running out of oxygen: my lungs were hurting, and no matter how much I sucked in air it wasn't enough.

I looked wildly at the wall. Somehow we had to get through there, preferably taking the horses with us. The side wall, that I was looking at, seemed pretty solid. Up the back, where it was only planks instead of logs, might be a chance. Between me and the wall was a tractor, a grey Fergie, with a shovel out the front. I wished it was bigger but it was all we had. I clambered over the big rear wheel and onto the seat. I pressed the ignition button and the engine turned over. But it didn't start. I stabbed the button again, sweating and swearing out loud in my frustration. Not that anyone would have heard: the noise was enormous now. The tractor still wouldn't start. "Oh God, please," I cried, and stabbed it a third time. It caught, coughed, spluttered, paused a long moment while my heart paused with it, then finally caught and ran. I've never heard a sound as sweet as the pulse of that engine. The gearstick was between my legs. I chose low second, pushed the lever to maximum revs and charged straight at the wall. There was no rollcage on the damn thing and I knew the risk I was running, but what choice was there? Better a beam of wood on the head than burning alive in this hell. My lungs were scorching and I didn't feel like I was getting any oxygen at all. The shovel hit the wall and the shock of the impact all the through the tractor and all the way through me. For a moment I thought we were through. The wall seemed to go out of kilter and I saw the loft sway as though it was about to fall. Straw rained down and I hunched my shoulders waiting for the heavy beams to thump onto my head. But nothing else happened. I began to think the tractor wouldn't do it after all. The shovel and the arms that held it seemed badly out of shape now, not surprisingly, but as I backed up I used the lever to raise the shovel a bit, hoping that might help.

I reversed as far as I could and slammed my foot on the brake. As I did Lee leapt up behind me, and gave me a pat on the shoulder. It helped somehow, in a weird way. I accelerated again, going even faster this time. I think the previous time I had actually slowed a little as I approached the wall, not consciously, just the unconscious fear of running into something solid at absolute full-on speed. This time I didn't hesitate. We hit so hard that Lee fell right off the back. I heard a kind of screaming noise that for a horrible unforgettable moment I thought was Lee. But it was the galvanised iron roof ripping away from the wall. The wall leaned out from the top, away from us. It was something but it was not enough. I flung a desperate glance behind me. I didn't want to run over Lee, although he probably deserved it. But he was crawling away from the wheels. He knew I had to go again. The big rear wheels spun as I pushed the throttle to maximum again. The tractor lurched backwards.

That brief glimpse I'd had behind was truly a scene from hell. The horses, silent now, huddled into the furthest corner they could reach, almost suffocating each other as they leaned away from the flames their desperate terror outlined in every trembling muscle, every drop of sweat on their shining coats, every gasping rasping breath. My own breath was gone. I was coughing like crazy and the coughs were agony. I had my left arm over my mouth as I reversed, to filter out the smoke. I went back as far as I could, as far as I dared. Then, head down, trying to escape the heat and the smoke, trying to protect myself from the building that I was expecting to collapse onto me, I charged again.

I knew this was the last time. If I had to go back for a fourth attempt, it would be too late. I'd die in that furnace. Already the chances of the horses escaping were next to none. They were too scared now. They'd be too hard to move. Luckily I was thinking about them and not about the wall as I hit. Otherwise I don't know whether I would have had the courage to hit it quite as hard as I did. The wall seemed to pause, to wait, maybe hoping something would come along and save it at the last minute. The wheels of the tractor spun madly The wall began to sway outward, from the top. Crossbars popped and fell. I looked up. Sure enough the beams were sagging, and as I gasped the first one dropped. I screamed, even though it missed me by two metres, landing to my left with a huge dead thump. Ahead of me the wall at last went down, hitting the ground outside. I didn't hear the impact, but I felt the bellow of air that rocked the tractor, blowing a storm of dust into my face. At least oxygen came with it and I got something into my lungs, but behind me I heard the whoosh of the fire, its excitement as new ammunition arrived.

The front wheels of the tractor now had something to grip. They bit in and the tractor lurched forward. I still had the throttle-lever pushed to the limit, so I took off suddenly. Another beam came at me, but this one wasn't falling flat like the last one. It was swinging sideways as it fell. I guess one end broke off before the other one. The bottom half was coming right at my face. Half a tonne of falling timber. I threw myself sideways, at the same time scared I'd go under the wheels. The beam crashed into the back of the tractor as I went sprawling to the ground. Somehow I landed on hands and knees. I staggered up.