I simply ploughed right through it.
“Sorry,” I told no one. I’d be up for a new gate. If Jack forgives me. If I make it out of here alive.
Bloody hell, Lawson. You get yourself into some crazy predicaments.
I pulled the Defender up to a stop at the end of the trail, and leaving my door open, I raced to the back and opened the rear door. All my plastic tubs filled with files and papers and equipment were there, somewhat tossed about. I picked up the closest one, pulled the lid off, and upended the contents onto the floor of the Defender.
I grabbed the now-empty container, Jack’s shovel, which he’d left with me, and ran for the Bursaria bush. Rosemary ran along with me, and I wasted no time. I dug the shovel into the ants’ nest, putting my foot on the shoulder of the blade and dug it into the nest as far as I could. I levered out a chunk of the nest and dumped it, mostly intact, into the tub.
Ants scurried en masse, but I picked up the tub and ran back to the Defender. I slid it into the back and quickly got the lid closed and locked it. I took another tub, upended the barometric equipment into the back of the Defender. Then I did a second tub, which had pruning gear in it, snatched up a pair of secateurs, and ran back to the Bursaria bush.
I searched the underside of the shrub and carefully snipped some branches off where butterflies were seeking protection from the weather underneath. I gently placed them in one tub and secured the lid.
I looked up at the sky then, and in that one moment I took to think, I heard it.
It was distant, far off but frightening all the same.
It was a quiet roar, like a background noise. Rumbling and angry. It wasn’t thunder.
It was fire.
I had no clue how close it was. But there was something missing too. There were no birds. Yesterday they’d been so loud, but now there was nothing. I looked up at the sky again. I couldn’t see smoke yet, but I guessed if I could see smoke this close, it would be too late.
Realising I was out of time, I picked up the shovel and edged it into the soil around the circumference of the shrub. I needed to try and be gentle, but the urgency didn’t permit it. With as much force as I could muster, I pushed the shovel in, as careful of the roots as I could be, trying to get underneath the bulk of root growth. When I’d levered it the best I could, I reached into the stalk of the shrub and pulled.
I ended up on my arse, but the shrub had dislodged and a kaleidoscope of butterflies took to the wing. Some resettled, some fluttered away. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I told them. “I’m trying to save you.”
Picking up the empty tub, I plonked the roots of the shrub into it and carried it back to the Defender. I slid it onto the floor of the backseat, trying to do as little damage as possible. I raced back to where the first tub and shovel were still lying on the ground, and Rosemary leapt along beside me.
“Your father’s going to kill me,” I told her.
I collected the tub with the butterflies in it, then everything else I could carry and hauled them back to the Defender. I loaded it all in and shut the back door. I closed the rear passenger door, cringing as some of the Bursaria got caught in the door.
I turned to call for Rosemary, but she wasn’t at my feet. I scanned the clearing and found her at the edge of the gully.
“Rosemary, come!” I yelled. She didn’t move. I patted my thighs and whistled. “Rosemary!” She looked at me, so I knew she’d heard, but she wasn’t coming. “Goddammit, we don’t have time for this.”
Ignoring the huge plume of black smoke billowing into the sky, I ran over to her, fully intending to grab her by her collar or the scruff of her neck if I had to. But as I got closer, she disappeared down into the gully.
“Rosemary!” I yelled, anger and impatience in my tone.
As I got to the embankment, I saw where she’d gone. She was standing near the Tasmanian devil den. “Rosemary, come on.”
She barked at me.
“Are you Lassie?”
She wagged her tail.
No one was ever going to believe me.
I ran down the embankment, and as I got closer to her, she started to dig at the den. Then she barked in it.
Something hissed back at her, which couldn’t ever be a good thing, and she backed up. One of the little devil joeys came out, gnashing its teeth in a half ounce of might and fury.
“Oh, Jesus.”
I couldn’t leave it here to burn to death. I didn’t know much about Tasmanian devil dens but I knew enough about bushfires, and everything to the depth of a metre of the surface was about to get baked.
Including us, if we didn’t get going.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I scrambled back up the edge of the gully, making a mental note to tell Jack that I’d just cursed and it had nothing to do with sex. Which was such an idiotic thought considering I might be rendered to cinder at any moment.
I raced back to the Defender and grabbed the last storage tub. I pulled the lid off and upended the papers inside it, grabbed the lid, and raced back to the gully.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” I mumbled as I flew over the edge and almost fell down the embankment. “Bloody hell. What would Jack do?”
He’d take off his coat and throw it over the joey.
Right. I shook out of my jacket and patted Rosemary to calm her and possibly myself. The joey was still out of the den, and I held the jacket out, slowly stepping in toward it. It backed up a little, growling and screeching. I threw the jacket, but the joey scampered back into the den.
Great. Well, it wasn’t going to come back out in a hurry.
Rosemary barked at it, and how she sensed the urgency I’ll never know. But she understood. And so did I. “One more attempt, then we have to go, okay?”
Okay, then. “What would Jack do now?” I looked at Rosemary and she looked back at me. I nodded. “Jack would get his arse out of here, that’s what Jack would do.”
Think, Lawson. What would a Tasmanian devil do?
It would bite the shit out of whatever tried to grab it.
With that as my only game plan, I rolled the jacket around my right fist as best I could, then got down on my knees at the entrance of the den and did the stupidest thing I’d ever done. I stuck my hand in.
Somewhere in my brain remembered an odd fact I’d heard as a child. A Tasmanian devil has the jaw strength to pulverise its prey. Even joeys.
I shook my head and mumbled to myself, “If I survive this, I should have my IQ retested.”