They came through it, bursting out of the cloud all at once, just as they had gone in. The sky was still blotted from sight, and in the distance the glow of flame was so intense it was like watching the sun itself tip over and collapse among the bush. There was a strange calm all around them. A quiet had settled all along the empty road. Everything they could see of the landscape was black. Tree branches stripped bare. The ground dusted with ash. It was as if the world had just stopped somewhere behind them and this was all that remained. And yet it was strangely beautiful. With a soft haze lingering in the air, the sky was split with shafts of blue sunlight.
Dettie was laughing, wiping tears from her eyes. ‘I told you,’ she said. ‘See? We’re fine. We made it.’
The car sounded heavier, the engine straining a little more, the clatter of the fan belt grinding even louder, but they were still in one piece. The edges of the windows and all around the air vents were stained black.
Sam realised he’d been chewing on the inside of his lip when he tasted the blood. The feeling stung his eyes, but he was enjoying, in an odd way, the rusty taste that soaked his mouth. He thought again about the dead kangaroo, its stiff limbs and the dried patches of fluid on its fur. The blood he could taste now was fresh. When he sucked at it, and swallowed, he felt new warm blood taking its place. And there was something vital in that, something making it taste almost sweet. His blood. His life. And he felt it pulsing on quietly while Dettie sat up front, chuckling to herself, her gaze sweeping the landscape, with no idea of the sensation in his throat.
Far ahead of them two square shadows emerged from the blur. Vaporous in waves of heat, they eventually resolved into red metal. A pair of fire trucks, parked sideways across the road, blocked any oncoming traffic. As the car drew closer Sam could see a group of firemen rolling up the hoses on the truck. It appeared that they had just contained a burn and were now stacking their helmets and packing away their gear. One of the men looked up from splashing the ash off his face, and when he noticed their car approaching, he leapt up and started to wave.
Dettie was slowing down, a weary groan easing from her chest, but as more of the firemen began turning and calling out, gesturing for her to stop, she started looking around frantically for a way to get by the trucks. The car swayed as she swerved back and forth across the asphalt, speeding and slowing in jerks. When one of the closest men—Sam could clearly see the moustache on his face—dropped his bag and stepped forward, holding up his hands, Dettie swept off the side of the road just in front of him, skidded over the loose dirt and tried to thread her way around the truck on the left. But as she mounted the dip the wheels kicked burnt sand into the air, the tyres slipped, and the wheel snapped out of her hands. Growling, the car spun and slid into a mass of twisted bushes. They jerked violently to a stop, and the boomerang tied to their mirror whipped against the window and shattered into sticks.
Winded, Sam felt the seatbelt against his chest and the vent almost wrenching from his neck. He looked up through the burnt twigs littering the windscreen. There were more flames peeling into the sky ahead of them and the wind pushed ripples of heat in their direction. He could hear the firemen’s shouts and their boots approaching across the gravel. They’d stopped. The car had stopped, and gradually the rattle in the engine slowed and settled to silence. Dettie had dark tears streaming down her face, but she wouldn’t wipe them away. Her foot was still pinned to the accelerator. Her hands stayed hooked on the steering wheel. It looked to Sam like she might never let go.