Into the Fire Read Online Free Page A

‘We are well prepared, but there’s nothing like a bit of smoke to get us into action. I’m sure there are some small details that we’ve overlooked and now is a good time to be checking.’
    ‘Dad, should we cut back some of that growth down near the shed before Tony gets any water? All those vines and stuff? Plus, the water pressure’s really low.’
    ‘Maybe the fire people are diverting the water or something,’ Antonio suggested.
    ‘But we’re on water restrictions. We wouldn’t be allowed to use water,’ E.D. said.
    ‘If your house is threatened by fire, you can use as much water as you like.’ Mario stood up and walked to the sink. He turned on the cold tap, which spluttered and choked before a weak but steady stream of water cascaded into the trough. ‘It’s certainly not as strong as usual, but there’s enough water there.’
    ‘Even if you’re watering the garden?’ E.D. asked.
    ‘Why not? It’s all a part of fire protection.’ Mario looked at his youngest brother.
    ‘I’ll clear that pile of wood away from the side then get out and help you, Tony,’ said Mr De Lugio. ‘Emilio, get up on the roof and check those gutters. Throw any muck onto the lawn and Tony will chew it up in the ride-on mower.’ He turned back to Tony. ‘Is your leg good enough for you to do some mowing?’ Five weeks ago, Antonio had fallen badly and broken his leg while riding on the bike track up at The Moon, the local motorbike practice track. He wasn’t on crutches anymore but he had a brace on his lower leg.
    ‘Good as gold,’ he said, cheerfully, excited by the prospect of doing something.
    ‘E.D., you’ll have a good view of the fires from up there. Keep us posted,’ Mario said.
    ‘What about the barbecue? And all the petrol and stuff out in the shed?’
    ‘Good boy, Emilio,’ his father nodded. ‘I’ll see to all of that. And go and put some sturdy boots on.’
    A sudden gust of wind slammed the back door closed. E.D. noticed his mother shiver.
    ‘It’ll be okay, Ma,’ he said, getting up and patting her on the shoulder.
    ‘You be careful up on the roof, Emilio.’
    E.D. bent low, his mouth close to his mother’s head. ‘I’m going to get the photo albums and put them in the car.’ He gave her arm a squeeze then left the room.
    The house was eerily dark. Plumes of smoke had turned the sun from its normal yellow brightness to a fiery orange glow.
    ‘Trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, Emilio,’ his father shouted from the kitchen door.
    E.D. was perspiring in his singlet and shorts and figured that the heavier clothes wouldn’t make much difference anyway. He’d seen firefighters on TV dressed in thick overalls and battling walls of fire in searing heat. How did they do it? he wondered, flinging his clothes aside and pulling on a pair of jeans and an old shirt.
    He couldn’t help feeling a surge of excitement as he raced into the living room. It wasn’t often that the whole family worked together like this. As long as the fire front doesn’t turn, he thought, taking a look out the living room windows. He couldn’t see any flames but a wall of smoke rose into the air beyond the nearby paddocks. The two kilometres of land between their back fence and the foothills where the fire appeared to have taken hold was flat, though scattered with gum trees and bone-dry brush and scrub. Despite the heat, E.D. shivered. Perfect fuel for a fire, he thought.
    E.D. shook his head. Whatever the fire did was out of his control. He had a job to do. He looked at the rows of albums and boxes of memorabilia his mother had painstakingly preserved. His mother had kept records of every important family event—and some not so important, E.D. thought, smiling. Piles and piles of photos, school achievements, reports, drawings, stories, videos, certificates, awards, teeth, locks of hair—every detail of the boys’ lives, carefully and neatly categorised, labelled and stored in a series of thick glossy albums