A pounding outside jolted Emma awake. She shoots up; arm swung protectively onto the empty side of the bed. The nausea from the sudden movement rises in her throat. She takes a deep breath and put her hand to her chest, easing her discomfort.
“We have to go!” Claire continues to pound on the door.
Emma notices the faint yellow light that slid beneath the door. Smoke had gathered there. She lurches forward and pulls it open. Claire’s cheeks are covered by a thin layer of ash.
“Another one?” Emma grabbed the car keys.
She shoves two scarfs into the water bucket they keep in the corner of room for emergencies. They wrap the damp scarfs around their heads, covering their noses and mouths. Emma takes Claire’s sweaty hand and runs out to the front lawn.
The grass had long disappeared, replaced by cracked soil. Salt tends to do that. No matter what she does, Emma can never get a single damn plant to grow there. The fire from burning houses warms up her skin, it stings. Emma doesn’t worry about needing to help anyone. For the last three months they’ve been the last people still living in their street.
“This one’s coming from the North.” Claire coughs.
“We need to leave before the path is blocked.” Emma fiddles with the keys before unlocking the car. They scrambled inside, smoke on their heels. The car lurching forward before Claire closes her door.
Emma had always been proud of their home. Only three years ago they moved in together. They decorated it minimalist. The walls were white, the furniture wooden. Claire liked to use a fine, white pen and add intricate details to the wooden shelves and coffee tables. They covered almost every inch of the furniture and Emma watched Claire for hours as she drew each pattern. They used to be so close.
There, under the weight of a moonless night, Claire stood abruptly from the bed. A gentle breeze entered through the half-shut window as the sun disappeared, leaving trails of vibrant pinks and purples in the horizon. Claire slowly pushed it the rest of the way down. Not the smartest move. The air was now heavy and quiet.
“I just don’t think it would be a bad idea. James said he’d help us.”
“You’re joking right?” a small incredulous smile played on Emma’s pale lips. She sat up on the bed, legs crossed.
“I’ve always wanted to be a mum,” Claire rubbed her clammy arms.
Emma stood and paced. Claire was serious.
“Say something,”
Cold eyes met Claire’s.
“I just never thought you could be so selfish.”
“Why? Because I want to bring life into this world?”
“Into this dying world, yes,” she didn’t feel herself yelling, “Don’t you get it? There is
no future for us, not a happy one at least, let alone for a baby.”
“Yes there is!” Claire’s voice quivered.
“The fact you still believe that makes you an even bigger idiot.”
Pillow and blanket in hand, Claire left the bedroom.
They speed down the gravelled path behind two other cars. Sizzling asphalt met on each side with dried up patches of grass. Even the cacti that once thrived in the hot and dry climate has started to shrink and fade into a dull yellow. Emma clutches the steering wheel to keep her hands from shaking. She switches on the headlights, but the lit trees are bright enough to light a stadium. Her eyes linger on the shinning houses beginning to catch fire. Black clouds puff out of the windows. Her stomach drops, there’s no way their house will survive this one. She regrets not packing more canned food and spare clothes into the trunk of her rusty car.
The fires have been more recurrent in the past couple of weeks, but they didn’t last long anymore —there isn’t anything left to burn. The fires from last month razed what was left of the west woods. The few remaining trees left are dried up and dead from the salt. Tomorrow morning they would be piles of ash, ruins that would never make it into any history book.
Claire’s erratic breathing only seems to get worse as she fights to breathe through coarse gasps.
“Where’s your inhaler?”
Claire shakes her head. Emma can still see every feature in Claire’s fire-lit face. She resists the urge to reach over and wipe the ashes from her cheeks. Instead, she leaned across and opens the glove compartment where she keeps an oxygen mask.
“There’s an oxygen tank in the back.”
Claire reclines her chair and crawls to the back while Emma tries to keep her own breathing in check. The smoke is getting thicker, fogging up the road. She can’t see the cars ahead, leaving them behind. Emma steps on the gas pedal praying the gas needle is true and she still has a quarter tank.
“Have you heard from anyone?”
“James radioed me, head to the sand hill,” Claire coughs from the back.
“What? Why not the docks?”
Claire stays silent as she slides back into the passenger seat. She places the oxygen mask over her face and inhales deeply.
“We should leave now,” Emma shakes her head and peers up at the red and black sky “There won’t be anything left from this one.”
Claire lifts the mask and shuts off the oxygen flow, “But where would we go?”
Most people already evacuated to higher ground months ago. The islands where they initially escaped to had burned out. Only a few stayed. Emma knew it was hopeless, but Claire refuses to leave her home. There’s no reasoning with her.
Even if they left now, all is for miles is ocean. They might not even have enough food to make it anywhere safe. Emma resists the urge to smash her fists again the steering wheel.
The muffled sound of the TV reached the kitchen where Emma pulled out two easy bake oven pizzas. The smell of fresh tomato paste and cheese flooded the kitchen. Claire beamed as she pulled a few leaves from a small basil plant they bought three months ago as only a seedling.
Emma was slicing the pizzas when the words ‘devastating fires’ echoed from the living room. Curious, she went to stand in front of the TV. Images of burning houses and forests were being showed on an endless loop.
“Oh dear,” Claire gasped from behind.
“They’re not stopping.”
Claire wrapped her arm around Emma, “Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll be fine here, there hasn’t been a single fire in here yet, that’s got to count for something right?”
The dry grass catches fire like a fuse. Flames start closing in on the path. Fire burns the last bit of hope Emma held for this place. She taps the steering wheel as if that will make the car go faster. The rear-view mirror is so bright she has to point it away from her. Fire lights the dried roots of a tree breaking through the asphalt, leaving only a small opening. Claire shifts in her seat as Emma steps harder on the pedal. They both gasp as the tree collapses onto the road. Emma grabs the wheel and swerves left. Both wheels on the right side lift off the ground as the car misses the log by inches. Claire grabs the handle above and braces for impact. Impossibly, the wheels slam back to the ground shaking them painfully. Emma accelerates again and speed around the tree.
“We’re all getting into Mason’s shit boat and leaving.” Emma’s heart pound so hard she barely hears what she’s said.
Claire stays quiet knowing arguing is pointless. She sighs, reluctant to accept what she’s been denying for months. Emma reaches over and covers Claire’s hand in an attempt to comfort her. Claire nods and tries to smile, but her chin quivers.
No matter how many fires there had been, the sand hill stood proud and tall, unburnt. High enough to provide a safe and reasonable vantage point. That’s where they watched the boats sail away with hundreds of people at a time. Off to the mainland, to safety. Or perhaps to a place where regulations had become so strict freedom did not exist anymore. Claire would cringe at the idea of being packed into a refugee camp somewhere in the mainland. Far from the sea, far from her true home.
The first time they climbed the sand hill, they watched the east forest burn for hours as the sun set. That day Emma quit smoking. It was also the first time she saw James cry.
“Are you okay?” Claire asked him and slid her hand down his back soothingly.
James sat on the sand with knees to his chest, face red. Emma sat beside him digging her hands into the sand, picking it up and dropping it slowly like sand in an hourglass. Mason had fallen asleep a few meters away while waiting for the fire to stop. Mason was James’ cousin, more like a brother. They were the only survivors when their houses burned in the first fires. They had nothing left, but a small boat that Mason’s dad used on the weekends to go fishing around the island.
Kirra sat across from James, their hands intertwined awkwardly. She started sleeping with him only a few months ago when she offered him and Mason a place to stay. She had been yet another survivor who found her way to the sand hill during one of the fires. She was in her late twenties but never talked about her family. No one pried either.
“I’m sure this will be the last one, the radio forecast said the temperature was starting to drop again,” Claire spoke confidently, but Emma doubted she even believed herself.
“That’s what you said last week.” Mason muttered from where he laid.
Emma looked back at the dimming horizon as the orange hue disappeared from the sky, yet still covered the forest floor, kind of beautiful really. She never believed the phrase ‘beauty hurts’ until then.
The car slows down as they approach the sand hill. The group stood at its base. Emma and Claire joined them. Ash-covered faces filled with relief stare back, but as relieved as Emma is, anger and frustration power her words.
“Why did we even bother coming here?” She crosses her arms.
No one responds.
“Mason, where’s your boat?”
“It’s in the water already.” Finally, someone with common sense.
A quiet agreement settles on their faces. Emma turns to Claire, but she isn’t there. Out of the corner of her eye, Emma spots her climbing the sand hill. Claire staggers and digs her hands into the sand to steady herself. Emma runs after her, they all do. Claire reaches the top and stops to look back, frozen before the blazing heat.
“Claire, we have to leave.” Breathless, Emma rests her hand on Claire’s shoulder.
Claire smears the wet ashes across her cheeks as she continues to stare. They refuse to follow her gaze, all except Emma. Whether they look or not, it doesn’t matter. Wisps of hair catch the light as their silhouettes turn orange. Even Emma is haloed as the flames swallow the last of what they know.
Val Writes 