The Firefighter. Susan Lyons
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rasping coughs, she says, “You can’t lift me.”
“This is not the time to be negative.”
She gives a choked laugh. “Go for it, girl. Prove me wrong.” The laugh dies abruptly as she shifts position, struggles to roll onto her side and gives a couple of wrenching groans that make me shudder in sympathy.
I try to assist as she makes it onto her back, and all the time I’m wondering how I can lift her. Scoop her up in my arms, the way a parent carries a child? Or over my shoulder, in a fireman’s lift?
And speaking of which, where are the damned firefighters?
Is the whole neighborhood sleeping so soundly no one’s noticed this house is on fucking fire?
Anger gives me a needed surge of adrenaline. I squat beside Nana and get one arm around her shoulders and one under her legs, take a deep breath and lift with all my strength.
I get her up a few inches, gasp for air, choke on smoke, and it’s all I can do to put her down without dropping her. My body’s pouring sweat and my silk lingerie is plastered to my skin.
When I can speak again, I say, “I’ll drag you. Hands under your armpits. It’ll hurt, I’m sorry, but there’s no other way.”
“Do it,” she says grimly. Is her voice getting weaker, or is it just that the fire’s louder?
I squat again, hook my hands behind her shoulders and under her arms, take another deep breath—shit! I can’t breathe without coughing.
Giving up on the idea of deep breaths, I take shallow ones and begin to pull her. Yes, I can do this. In tugs and fits and starts, coughing as I gasp for air, but I can pull her.
The only thing is, I’m not moving her fast enough.
We’re inching backwards down the hall away from the fire, which means I’m facing it. The flames are doing a crazy dance, sometimes resting, sometimes leaping.
Through almost constant coughs and moans of pain, Nana says, “Sorry, Tash. My fault. Had a candle burning, fell asleep. The wind came up, must’ve blown it over.”
I don’t have any spare breath or I’d say it doesn’t matter how it happened, we just have to get out. I keep tugging her. Inch by inch. We’ve reached the living room, it can’t be more than twenty feet to the door. But as the fire strengthens, I grow weaker.
“Leave me,” she says. “Save yourself. I love you, Tash.”
“I am not leaving you!” I manage to rasp out, and give her a mighty jerk.
She groans and I try not to imagine what it must feel like to have a broken leg bumped along the floor like this.
Her coughing stops.
“Nana?” I pause one precious moment, heart pounding even faster, and lean close to her face. “Nana?” You will NOT die on me! I can’t say the words aloud, and she wouldn’t hear me if I did.
She’s breathing, I can feel puffs of air from her nostrils, but she’s passed out. It’s probably for the best. She can escape this nightmare.
But I can’t. My burning eyes are leaking hot tears, my skin feels like it’s frying and I’d give anything for one breath of fresh air. The noise has grown to be huge, immense. A monster’s eating up the house.
We’re in its path.
And no one’s coming to save us.
My nostrils and throat are scorched, the floor’s so hot it burns my knees. And I realize, we may not make it.
I’m panting, sobbing, struggling with every ounce of strength to shift Nana’s body. I won’t give up, I can’t leave her.
Can’t see a damn thing now, the smoke’s so thick, my eyes so swollen. There are crashing sounds too. Walls and ceiling falling, I guess.
Is this how I’m going to die?
Bryson said Australia was a death trap. I’d imagined crocodiles, slashing kangaroos. Not something so damned prosaic as fire.
My arms are so exhausted they drop feebly to my sides.
I’d feared an exotic death. Box jellyfish. Stonefish. Funnel-web spider.
My shoulders sag, my head’s drooping, I want to lie down and sleep. Don’t want to die here, so far from home.
Taipan—a snake with the most deadly venom in the world. Paralyzes you.
I am paralyzed. I’ve sunk down on my knees, my body curled over Nana. Coughing helplessly.
Something grabs me from behind.
Crocodile. It’s going to take me under the water, do a death roll.
Weakly I slap at it but it crams something over my face and yells, “Breathe!” in a male voice that cuts straight through the din of the fire.
I gulp in…air. Air that’s not full of smoke. It makes me cough again but I suck in more, greedily. An oxygen mask. Someone did come to rescue us.
I rip the mask off. “Nana!” My hoarse scream tears out of my aching throat.
He forces the mask back in place. Then I’m being lifted, as easily as if I were a baby, and I’m jiggling along in my rescuer’s arms as he runs through the living room and out. Out, out the door, outside into fresh night air that makes me cry with relief.
I jerk the mask off again. “My grandmother!”
As he puts me down on the grass, all my sore eyes can make out is a tall, broad shape in firefighter gear. “We’ve got her. Anyone else in there?”
I shake my head. Realize how good the night air smells. Yes, it’s smoky, but nothing like inside the house. Am I imagining it, or is there a scent of tropical flowers?
“Her leg’s broken,” I tell him. “Be careful with her.”
A blanket’s spread over me, then someone’s handing me a bottle of water. Nothing has ever looked so appealing. The top’s off and I gulp it down, and it’s fresh too, and cool, cutting through the sooty burn at the back of my throat. My skin’s on fire, the blanket’s too hot and I shrug it off, and drink greedily.
“Okay, that’s enough,” my rescuer says. “Put the mask back on. You need oxygen.”
In the background my aching ears still hear the roar, crackle, smash of the fire, and there’s a bunch of male voices barking back and forth, saying things I can’t quite catch. My guy’s voice cuts through it all, as fresh and crisp as the cold water.
My eyes struggle to bring his face into focus. Nice. Very nice. Strong bones, tanned skin, eyes that are maybe blue, maybe gray. Can’t tell in this light, with smoke-blurred vision. Can’t see his hair either. Fair or dark, under his helmet? Either would look good with that face.
And I’d thought the water looked appealing!
His mouth quirks up into a grin and then he’s reaching out, one hand on the back of my head, gently hooking the oxygen mask over my face again. Oh, right. He’d told me to do that.
Okay, I’m officially losing it. I guess that’s what smoke inhalation and a near-death experience can do to a girl.
“Your grandmother’s conscious,” he reassures me. “I can see that from here. She’s talking to the ambos.”
Conscious. I breathe a sigh of relief. But what are ambos?
He reads my puzzled frown. “Right, you’re a tourist. Should’ve known from the accent. Ambos are ambulance paramedics.”
I nod my understanding.
“You’ll both be going to the hospital in Cairns so they can assess your condition.” He glances down my body and something changes in his face. From looking concerned, he’s gone to