The Protea Boys (14 page)

Georgie’s heart stuttered when the sudden impact winded her. The spiraling, tumbling sensation carried her over the edge. She scrabbled for a handhold, and then a sudden electric shock of pain brought her back to reality as she came to rest against the branch of a eucalyptus tree, its bonsaied roots cradling her in a distorted hammock. A deafening boom walloped through her body as the branches nearby broke and the quad and trailer ruptured on the rocks below.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

She closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing before peering cautiously over the edge of her makeshift cradle to see the crumpled red metal remains staining the rocks below, and then, realizing she had survived, she offered a silent prayer to whichever god had been watching over her.

It is almost like falling in love
.

Her random thought seared through her befuddled brain.

Falling in love?

A freefall with no control but every detail indelibly etched in her mind.

Chapter Nineteen

The curve of the road wound toward the hilltop, and Tom dropped down a gear as the visibility worsened. Then the stench hit him. It caught in the back of his throat, making him want to vomit.

Smoke.

His gut clenched, the familiar herald of danger and fear hit him, and the picture of the charred remains of his sister flashed like a gruesome tableau in front of his eyes. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he forced back the desire to vomit. Fear and dread—instincts that were far too familiar.

For a moment he thought he was imagining it—the fire couldn’t be this close. The billowing clouds had appeared miles away, and suddenly he was in the middle of a smoky gray blanket. He slowed down, searching for signs of the Bushfire Brigade, the familiar yellow jackets and red and white trucks, but there was nothing. Only the acrid smoke, getting thicker and blacker, swirling with every gust of hot westerly wind that fanned the fire.

Indecision gripped him. Should he go back—back to where he had mobile reception and ring the fire shed? Tom swore loudly, regretting his lack of local knowledge. He’d be wasting his time. Fire control would have it all mapped out. They’d be where the need was greatest, resources allocated just as they’d explained at the meeting, and Georgie would know what was going on. The phone tree should have given her at least one update.

As he drove on, the drifting particles of still-burning leaves and debris clouded his vision. He slammed his foot down hard on the accelerator, certain there would be no other vehicles on the road. He had to get back to the farm. No one should be left alone to deal with a situation like this. The flurries of wind increased, and with sudden clarity he realized it would carry the embers directly to the farm—to Georgie.

The seconds ticked by as he gunned the car down onto the dirt road, skidding in the dry dust, visibility reduced to almost nothing. He wound down the driver’s window and peered out, trying to see past the smoke and dust swirling eerily in the darkened air.

Pulling into the driveway, he raced past the shed, across the lawn, and ground to a skidding halt outside the house. He threw the door open and leaped out.

“Georgina? Georgina!”

Nothing.

“Georgie? Answer me!” He peered up onto the roof, hopeful he could scream at her for doing yet another job she should have left to him. “Georgie!” The hoarseness in his voice astounded him. The thick, tinder-dry air scored the back of his throat. He licked his lips and searched the veranda. The hoses lay neatly coiled and buckets filled with water stood at every door. In two steps he was at the back door. The edge of a damp, rolled-up towel showed, and through a gap in the drawn curtains, he saw the furniture she had removed from the veranda. The place looked well prepared, but where the hell was she?

“Georgie. Georgie? Where are you? Answer me, goddammit!” He stamped his foot in frustration on the deck as he searched around, hoping to see her appear around the corner of the house, but by the time he’d made a full circuit, his worst fears were confirmed. She’d vanished.

Irritated, he pushed his sweat-drenched hair from his face and took off toward the shed at a run. Maybe she was there. His frantic yells rattled around the corrugated iron. Across the valley, he could see the line of the fire against the hillside. The eerie, orange-brown glow had intensified, and the fire seemed to be moving closer. The mountain range was a red stripe in the distance. The brigades would be there, at the fire front, not here.

“Georgie!” he shouted again, spinning around in the vacant shed.

Shit.

Next to the truck there was a gaping space, a hole as though a tooth had been pulled, a gap where the quad and trailer were usually parked. They’d gone. She’d taken the bloody thing. Rage swept through him. Stupid, stupid woman. Why did she try to do everything for herself?

He searched the ground for the marks in the dirt, and finally found the tire tracks leading toward the dam. With a staggered moan of relief, he realized she’d be taking the fuel cans down to the dam and priming the pump. If the electricity got cut, she would know she needed to rely on the diesel pump.

Tom’s breath came in raw gasps, but he ran on, rounding the corner by the eucalyptus, knowing he would find her crouched over the diesel pump. He pushed through the overhanging branches. The calm water reflected the trees, and the strange orange light flickered in the thickened air. The stillness, the impenetrable silence, no bird sounds, no Georgie, nothing except a pair of jerry cans under a damp sheet.

“Oh, Jesus.” He let out a groan of frustration, his stomach clenched, and another wave of nausea overtook him. The familiar odor of smoke and ashes churned in his gut, and he forced the memory of his sister from his mind.

Not again.

It was too much. It couldn’t happen twice. He wouldn’t let it.

“Georgie!”

Tom scanned the edge of the dam, his gaze drawn suddenly to the set of tire marks curving away from the dam into the brush.

What on earth...?

Tom followed the path away from the dam over the tussocky grass flattened by tire tracks. The incline increased toward the ridge overlooking the valley, and he stopped, sucking air into his constricted lungs.

Fuck!

The realization hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. She’d gone up to the fire trail, probably to slash it. Why had he wasted time chatting over brochures, cups of coffee, and past lives? Wasn’t this one more important? He skidded to a halt as the land dropped down over the rocky embankment.

The tread marks disappeared—went over the edge. He inched closer to the overhang.

“Georgie?” he yelled into the all-encompassing silence; the echo of his voice bounced eerily back up at him in the thick air. “Georgie!” Wedging his leg between two branches of an overhanging tree, he leaned farther out over the edge. A glint of red drew his eye, and he traced the path to the remains of the smashed quad and trailer wedged at least a hundred feet below between two trees.

Bloody hell!

Clamping his lips tightly together, he swallowed the surge of bile filling his mouth. She’d gone over the edge. He took a shuddering breath and fought his desire to throw himself down after her.

Think!

He had to think clearly.

Easing himself to his feet, he wrapped one arm around the trunk of a tree and peered into the void.

“Georgie!” His voice bounced back at him, and then he stilled.

“Tom?”

He leaned even farther over the edge, his eyes scanning the steep incline.

“Here. I’m over here.” Her faint voice wafted back up to him.

“Are you okay?” His pointless, ridiculous remark made him curse. How could she be okay? She’d fallen over the edge of the bloody cliff. “Don’t move. I’m coming down.”

Tom edged closer, hooking his feet through the exposed root system of the tree. By twisting his body, he could just make out the bright pink of her cap glittering through the waving leaves.

“I can see you, Georgie. Hold on.”

“Tom.” Her voice sounded stronger now. “I’m okay. I just can’t move. I’m caught in the roots of a tree, and the rock crumbles every time I shift. You need a rope.”

The mixture of relief and terror made his temper snap. “Yes, I know I need a bloody rope. Just stay there and let me sort something out for once. Wedge yourself and don’t move.”

“That’s what I’ve done.”

“Stay there and don’t move. Don’t even breathe unless you have to. I’m going back up to the house. I’ll get the four-wheel drive and use the winch to pull you up. Okay?”

“Tom?” What was the matter with her? Why the hell couldn’t she do what she was told for once in her sweet life? Now wasn’t the time for a conversation. “Yes?” he snapped.

“Be quick please, Tom. I’m scared.”

I’m not surprised
.

He refused to voice his doubts. “Just hang on. I’ll be as quick as I can.” Struggling to gain a hold, he pulled back up the overhang and forced himself to leave.

Breath rasping and chest heaving, Tom raced back along the track and threw himself into his four-wheel drive. He twisted the key in the ignition as he slammed the door and gunned it over the grass between the rows of proteas.

Hang on, Georgie, hang on. I’m coming.

***

“Georgie. I’m back. Are you still okay? Stay really still. I’m going to attach the snap straps to the winch and lower it down to you. Can you hear me?” He stood on the edge, straining for the sound of her voice.

“I’m okay. Just hurry up.” Faint and frail, her words wafted through the falling embers.

Galvanized by her reply, Tom pulled the steel rope off the winch and attached the snap strap. The loop had to have enough room for her to pull it over her head. He switched on the winch. The whirring of the electric motor filled his ears as he dropped the strap over the edge, praying it wouldn’t snag on any of the branches or rocks.

“Can you see the strap?”

“Yes. But I can’t reach it. Lower it a bit more.”

“Be patient, it’s coming.” Irritation and frustration roiled in his gut as the winch took an eternity to unwind.

“Now pull the strap over your head and under your arms.” He clenched his fists, almost crushing the remote until he could wait no longer. “Got it?”

“Yes, I’ve done it.” A crack and a slither of rocks punctuated her words, and his stomach lurched.

“You still there?”

“Yes.”

Her voice sounded strained. She had to hold it together; there was nothing he could do. Going down there would just make matters worse.

“I’m still here, but hurry up, the rocks are really unstable.” Another slurry of rocks skidded down into the valley.

“Okay, here we go.” He flicked the switch on the winch, and it took up the slack. “Hold tight. You’re going to have to lean out, backward, and walk up. The strap will hold you. Don’t try and use your hands. Stay clear of the incline above you; otherwise, the strap will snag. Imagine you are abseiling.”

“I’ve never been abseiling.”

The tremor in her voice made his heart twist, but he had no time for sympathy. “Get on with it.”

Tom lay down and peered over the edge. The steel cable inched its way up. When the pink of Georgie’s crooked cap came into view, he let out a huge sigh of relief. His gamble had paid off. Carefully, he pulled her up over the verge and onto firm ground.

“Don’t move.” He flicked the remote, and the steel cable slithered to a halt. The silence seemed louder than the winch had been, and for a moment Tom just stood, waiting for the thumping in his chest to subside. Georgie had collapsed to the ground and rolled over to lie on her back, eyes closed and her face pale and etched with a look of total vulnerability that made his heart wrench. He squatted down beside her, removed the ridiculous pink cap from her ponytail, and gently started to loosen the snap strap from under her arms. Her eyes flashed open, deep, deep indigo, almost black.

“How do you feel?”

She struggled to sit up, and Tom moved behind her to support her back and lift the snap strap over her head.

“I’m okay. I think,” she said, moving her head from side to side. “I don’t know how, but I don’t think I’ve done any serious damage.”

“We need to get you to the hospital and get you checked out.”

“No chance, Tom.” She pointed over beyond the ridge. Clouds of gray-black smoke were spiraling up into the sky, and flakes of ash settled around them. “The fire’s moving really fast now. I’m not leaving the house, and anyway, odds on, the road’s closed. I’m fine, just bruised and shocked. A cup of tea and a shower and I’ll be fine.”

“Why is it everyone thinks a cup of tea will fix their problems?”

***

The possibility of a cup of tea and a shower faded into insignificance as Tom and Georgie reached the shed. Small spot fires had broken out on the grass between the house and the shed, and the heat radiating from the corrugated iron walls only increased their discomfort.

Tom winced as Georgie lowered herself gingerly to the ground and reached for the side of the car for support. “We have to get you checked out.”

“Tom, it’s out of the question. I’ll be fine, and anyway, it is too late to leave now. We’d run the risk of being caught by the fire in the car. We have a far better chance, and so does the property, if we stay here and defend the place. We’re well prepared.”

“The property might be well prepared, but you’re not.”

“No option,” she snapped, making her way defiantly to a filled bucket and floor mop.

How could she fight a bloody bushfire with a floor mop? What was the matter with her? “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

Georgie squinted at him, one eyebrow raised, and nodded slowly. It wasn’t the time, but she acknowledged her small victory. He could give her that right now; all he wanted was to put out the spot fires on the grass that appeared to be growing by the second, running in trails across the dried grass in the direction of the house.