Paradise Lost

The familiar green outside the Pathfinder gives way and we’re in the fire zone, struggling to get our bearings in an alien landscape. I catch my breath and slow down to a crawl, staring wide-eyed at the devastation. Blackened tree trunks stand rigid, stripped of their outer appendages. They’re like limbless sentries in a macabre guard of honour along the side of the road. Landmarks and road signs have disappeared, and the ones that remain are off-kilter and charred; their paint has bubbled and flaked. A fine white ash has collected in drifts and covers every surface like a monstrous outbreak of a flaky, psoriatic skin condition. I nod at a road crew shifting arboreal debris from the asphalt. If only they could rebuild the forest…

* * *

It’s been two weeks since I pressed my forehead against our hardware store’s front window, and peered down the main street to watch a black column billowing ever upward beyond the distant ridgeline.

   “I didn’t want to be stuck up there if the fire came through,” said the customer, escaping from Lake Almanor. “There’s only one road in and one road out.” 

   “The last I heard, 50,000 wilderness acres had burned west of here in a parallel canyon.” 

   “That’s right,” she said, handing me her Visa card. “Its steep sides act as a natural chimney, stoking the blaze to create those enormous columns of smoke.” 

   Those pyrocumulus clouds bring chaotic winds, making a fire “critically erratic” so it’s hard to predict the direction of growth. Each afternoon the wind picks up, blowing west to east, making me uneasy. At the far edge of my back lot, hundred-foot bull pines sway, their long needles are still green. They make me feel secure, like an army giving oxygen. But I know I’m deluded. They’re the sticky, oily fuel that a ravenous fire devours.

   Sandy honks the Pathfinder’s horn as she pulls up outside. I wrap a moist bandana around my face and head out to greet her. Sour air curdles inside my nose despite the protection as she opens the door. 

   “Damn this thing!” She says, struggling to tie her face protection. “I’ll never get used to this stupid mask,” she says, wriggling out of the vehicle.

   “You should be used to it by now, love.” I chuckle behind my highwayman’s costume.

   She stares at me and back heels the car door.

   Dumpf!

   “This isn’t funny, Eddy.”

   “Hey, keep your sense of---”

   Sandy brushes past. I follow her. She stomps inside the store and dumps her handbag on the counter. “Jesus! Can’t you take anything seriously?”

   “I reckon we’ll be fine if we---”

   “We could lose everything!” She draws a tremulous breath and bites her lip. 

   I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her close. She’s right. We might as well. I want to say otherwise. I just can’t bear to lie about it. Every morning, I scan the weather reports looking for rain. There’s nothing but Hazardous Air Quality Reports. And besides, along the Western Range in summer, all we get is constant warnings about dry lightning and thunder.

   Two more days pass by and Sandy carries her anxiety like a dark cloud. She ignores me unless I ask anything directly. The small talk has disappeared for now. Sandy’s even ignoring Mikey, too. He tilts his head to one side, expecting a friendly pat. There’s not even a little belly rub from Sandy. She slops down his minced morsels and a bowl of water, and leaves him to it.

   Now and then messages ping through to my cell phone. 

   ‘Do you have enough food, batteries, a supply of face masks, bottled water?’ 

   ‘Have you packed your stuff yet?’ 

   ‘Is your car ready to go?’

   Friends keeping track of me and vice versa, and customers asking if we’re still open for business. They don’t want to head this way unnecessarily, it’s too risky. And don’t I know it? 

   The next day, Sandy breaks her silence and tells the latest news from her close friend, Diana. She’s married to a firefighter in Quincy. They’re located half an hour south; a mile from Ganser Airport. Gerry says the fire’s now fifteen miles, three minor towns and two firebreaks away.

   “What if it doesn’t rain, Eddy?”

   “We’re fine for now, aren’t we?”

   “Gerry says it’s only thirty per cent contained---” 

   “So, they’re onto it and---”

   “It’s steep, inaccessible terrain.”

   I nod and glance outside as Sandy chews on her thumb. Orange-tinged clouds are drifting past overhead. I part dry lips and exhale, rapping fingertips on the counter. 

* * *

When night arrives, things appear more normal, despite the eerie orange glow far beyond the ridgeline. I recall going for a pee at one o’clock and seeing Sandy lying on her side. Her breathing is slow, and she’s calm and restful. It’s quiet outside for a Friday night. Often there’s a vehicle speeding home or a couple of brash honks announcing a night to remember. However, everything’s dead out there. 

   I sniff the air and a harsh taste catches my throat. The bathroom window is leaking, letting in minute smoke particles that’ll meander round my home and cling to the drapes and upholstery. They’ll lodge inside me forever. I shake my head, wet a towel and wedge it over the point of entry. There’ll be other weak spots and Sandy’s bound to notice my temporary fix straight away.

   I return to our bed, curl up next to Sandy, and close my eyes. I dream it’s winter and I light a fire in the hearth downstairs. Mikey lollops into the lounge and lays his head on my lap. I hear Sandy calling my name and shouting, Mikey! Walkies! 

   I wake with a throbbing head and a dry throat. There’s a smoky taste in my mouth, as if I’ve been standing next to a bonfire all night. I feel alone, despite waking next to Sandy.

   “Morning, you,” I say, stroking her bare shoulder.

   “How’s it looking, today?”

   “Well, it’s---” It’s clear blue outside. “Hey, it’s looking fine.”

   She sighs. “Let’s hope so, yeah?”

   “Fingers crossed, love.”

   There’s the excited patter of clicking toenails and jangling collar tags before Mikey pounces onto the bed. 

   “Hey there, Mikey!” I rub my fingers through his shaggy fur and he drops his lead onto the quilt cover, panting in excitement. 

   We all step outside into the back yard and take a breath or two. White ash has collected in shallow drifts by wooden fence and between exposed tree roots. Birds flutter and skim the through the air as if they’re on a mission from God. Mikey drops a battered tennis ball between my bare feet and watches me recover it. I hurl it straight up into the air and notice an ominous grey-brown column ascend heavenwards. It looks a lot nearer than yesterday. That means the fire is over the next ridge. 

   Sandy beats me to the draw. She’s already texting her friends. 

   ‘Has anyone heard what’s occurring?’ 

   ‘Hey there! Any news please?’

   ‘What’s the latest, Diana?’

   Mikey retrieves the ball and drops it between my feet. It’s now covered in thick gooey paste; a mixture of saliva and ash. Mikey wipes his tongue on the back of his paw and snuffles and spits. The temperature is rising fast. Does that mean stable or unstable conditions? Is that high or low pressure? Mikey nudges my foot again. I throw it and notice Sandy’s fingers tapping in a frenzy.

   “Diana, says they’re evacuating parts of Greenville this morning and---”

   “Parts?” I exhale through tight lips and inflate my cheeks. “Which parts?”

   “That’s not helpful, Eddy---”

   “Hey, people!” A firefighter approaches from the yard’s side gate. “Are you deaf?”

   “What the---?”

   “We’ve been banging on your front door for five minutes.”

   “We didn’t hear you we---”

   “You’ve got to move out.”

   Before I can answer, a billow of dark smoke rolls over the face of the mountain. I can’t move. Black erases blue as if a dam has burst.

   “Let’s get moving, folks!” 

   “Come on, Eddy!” Sandy says, heading indoors. “Move it!”

* * *

Sandy goes straight to the closet under the stairs where our corkboard hangs, layered with scraps of paper, take-away menus and emergency numbers. Messages from a time when everyone had a landline. Sandy plucks away layers of desiccated Post-it notes, shedding them until she spots the evacuation list. 

   “I’ll grab the chargers, the first aid-box, Eddy---”

   “Chargers and first aid and---?”

   “---and that box of food from the kitchen table,” she’s scanning the list as we walk.

   “You haul down our cases from the bedroom, right?”

   “Two cases from our room, sure.”

   “I’ll grab our coats on the way out---”

   “Grab my scarf too, and---

   “---and meet you in the Pathfinder.” 

   “Hurry up, folks!” A bullhorn blares from the road. 

   Damn it. How did it all change so fast? 

   I climb the stairs; two at a time. What do I really need? There’s no time to choose now. I grab my laptop and its charger, the file labelled ‘Important Stuff’, and our wedding photo plus the one of the kids when they were small and---

   “Hey, Eddy!” Sandy sounds out of breath. “We’ve gotta go!”

   “What about Mikey’s food, love?”

   “He’s all set and ready for off.”

   “I’ll grab a couple of tennis balls.”

   Sandy’s already switched off the gas at the mains, soaked a Tupperware box full of bandanas and closed all the windows. When I join her in the Pathfinder, she’s busy texting and the engine’s ticking over.

   “We’re good to go, love,” I say, adjusting my side mirrors.

   “Step on it, Eddy,” she says, staring at her iPhone. 

   “We’re on our way, baby.”

   She rolls her eyes and sighs.

   * * *

There’s a nervous silence in the Pathfinder as we trundle down our rocky track to the main road. Sandy’s tapping out texts as if there’s no tomorrow and Mikey’s snuffling behind us amongst the luggage. Rivulets of drool pour from his mouth and his rapid breaths fog the back passenger window. 

   I’ve a sense we’ve forgotten something important and curse myself for not packing sooner. In the rear-view mirror, I see our house and the ridgeline outlined in flames as if it’s the rim of a volcano. The thread that binds us to our home of thirty years is unravelling and soon we’ll be without a tether, orbiting between worlds; hoping and waiting forever in some foreign domain. 

   At the bottom of the track, a firefighter directs traffic. It’s strange to witness our neighbours gathered in a crowd. The neighbourhood is often deserted because its houses are set back from the road and tucked away behind tall trees. I nod at them as we join their parade, although that feels wrong because it’s more like a wake. Anxiety hangs in the air like a psalm on Sunday. 

   Our cavalcade nudges down the highway in fits and starts. At times, I flip on the fog lights as we enter thick clouds of smoke. Sandy hasn’t anything to say and carries on exchanging messages. I wonder how the Quincy’s roads will cope with the deluge of traffic and where we’ll stay.

   At the check point a uniformed woman lowers her face mask and peers at me.     

   “Name?” 

   I tell her. 

   “Who’s with you?” She makes a note. “Anyone left at your address?”

   “No. We’re all good.” 

   A tick in a box ends our exchange. “Drive on.”

   And just like that, we’ve left our home behind. Sandy pauses to watch as I swallow.  

   Her palm rests on my thigh. “We’ll be fine,” she says.

* * *

It’s past three in the afternoon when we arrive at Quincy. Sandy abandons her iPhone and scans the road for a vacancy sign. “Hey!” She points to the right. “Over there.”

   I narrow my eyes and pull over into a nearby space. The outside could do with a lick of paint and the net curtains have seen happier days. 

   “Do you reckon it’s all right?”

   “We’re not staying forever, Eddy.”

   I stretch my shoulders as I alight and Mikey follows me up to the front desk. The old woman inside purses her lips as we enter. “How many are you?”

   “We’re a couple and no kids.”

   “There’s an extra charge for pets.” 

   I reach inside my jacket. 

   “We only take cash.”

   We agree on a price for five nights with an option to extend. I hand over the right money and she slides a key across the desk. “You’re in seven on the second floor.” She folds the notes and tucks them into her top pocket. “Parking’s out back.”

   The room has a floral scent that lurks in invisible pockets and nips the back of my throat. Despite the artificial ambiance, I can still smell the smoke in our clothes. It’s going to be difficult to get used to our temporary home, but we can forget about the fire for a while. At least the smoke here isn’t our smoke. We order a pizza. It’s the first of many.

* * *

Late on the fifth evening, we hear news from Diana. Gerry says, the containment line on fire’s edge is holding and mandatory evacuation status for our town’s been lifted. 

   I sit down to absorb the information and stroke the rough stubble on my chin. 

   Sandy logs into the National Wildfire Coordinating Group’s incident website for a detailed update. It says that downtown has suffered severe damage and the main road’s commercial properties have had it bad. I take a deep breath and release it with a steady hiss, as if I’m a deflating car tyre. Mikey senses the mood change and his tail goes limp.   

   Sandy looks up from her screen and reaches for my forearm, biting her top lip. 

   “It’ll be fine, love,” I say, clearing strands of hair from her face.

* * *

The next morning, we check out and return the keys. I’m a little sad to be leaving our homely little retreat, but glad to say goodbye to take away pizza. Too much of a good thing and all that. We stop by a market and forage for fresh produce in the hope our kitchen has survived. 

   As we leave Quincy and start the climb back to our home, I flip between terror and excitement. Am I prepared to see our house gone? We’ve not had any clarity from Gerry about what’s happened. We’re in some horrific lottery. Is there a best-case scenario? Maybe not.

* * *

Thank God our own home has survived. We can see it from the main road, but only because the surrounding forest has vanished. Sandy’s eager to return to it, but doesn’t know exactly what she’ll be returning to. 

   “I want to go home,” she says, frowning. “But I feel guilty because our neighbours have lost everything.”

   “Hey, don’t, love.” I put an arm around her shoulder and tighten my hold. 

   “What is there to go back to?” Her eyes well up. “It might as well have burned to the ground with everyone else’s.”

   “We need to check the store.” My mouth is dry as I try to swallow.

   “It’s starting to hit me.” 

   I wipe a tear from her cheek.

   “How can a whole town be taken out in minutes, Eddy?”

* * *

Navigating through downtown is difficult, with all the familiar landmarks burned away. It was such a small and close-knit community that residents got around not by street names, but by houses and who lived there. That’s how you’d tell someone how to get somewhere. I didn’t know the names of the streets, I’d tell them, ‘it’s past where Jim Sasson lives, six doors down’.

   Row after row of properties had vanished, leaving nothing but scorched, vacant lots and lines of stone chimney stacks perched above blackened fireplaces. Stores that provided a cornerstone of life in the area have ceased to exist. 

   Our hardware store, like so many other businesses, is no more. People sometimes visited the hardware store from out of state, eager to see the historic items that lined its walls; indigenous baskets, old leather-bound books, and antique guns. It was old-fashioned, because customers still had accounts. I’d send them monthly invoices drawn up on an old typewriter in my upstairs office. We’ve lost all that. The whole of July is burnt up. We don’t know what people owe us anymore. Anyway, they can’t pay, because they lost everything too.

The End