The Siege of Deep Creek Part 4. The story so far:
Bruce the dog has had better days. He and his inscrutable boss, Wes Piddens, are hot footing it out of a precipitous gully where they’ve been trying to snuff a bushfire, Wes rake-hoeing and Bruce peeing on it from time to time. They failed, and the fire is biting them on their retreating bums.
Meanwhile, Lady Boss Alice has let the CanAm buggy have its head and is hurtling down the mountain like a torrent down its bed to rendezvous with them at The Wire Gate With No Post.
Now read on.
No, wait a minute. Full disclosure. The gate does have a post, but it burnt off at the base in a previous fire and now it just stands on the ground, not in it. Like a giant can of Mr Sheen with a pointy bottom, about as stable as an upside-down skittle or Kim Jong-Un and only held up by the wire gate. You could have an open gate or a standing fence: you couldn’t have both. Alice hated that gate.
Where is the bugger? What’s he done to Bruce? If he thinks I’m going to open that bloody gate he can whistle Dixie up the Khyber wazoo!
Reaching the infamous gate, Alice set to waiting. Alice hated waiting. The smoke didn’t help. She’d absorbed enough smoke to call herself a kipper. At least there were no more falling trees. For now.
And then up mooched the dog.
Brucie! Oh, Brucie! What’s he done to you?
Bruce just looked at her. Wait on, was he trying to tell her something? Wes! Oh no!
Got any water?
The big galoot emerged from the smoke.
Yes, and Bruce gets it first. You’ve completely dehydrated him!
But I shared…oh never mind.’
He waited his turn at the water bottle.
What are we going to do, Wes?
As long as it doesn’t bust out of the gully today we’ve got another chance. We’ll come back about three in the morning and hit him with the gooseneck.
In the pitch dark?
We’ve got no choice.
Ask for a crew.
Iluka’s on fire, Allie. They’re busy.
It’s not fair!
Nevertheless. Let’s find some reception.
Wes, that gate.
Yes, yes. Fix it. Top of my list.
Liar!
Half an hour later, a final glimpse reveals them parked on a dim and distant hilltop checking their phones.
You got any bars?
Nah.
Ding.
Wait, yep, what?
Texts landed in Wes’s phone, dinging like a monster pokie payout.
You’re popular all of a sudden.
Nope. Setback, Allie.
What?
Fire’s jumped the river again. They’re evacuating Bonalbo.
Dog panting in the sudden silence.
No!
They want me. We gotta get there. Strap in.
But not so fast, Piddenses.
Half a click later, Wes pulled up.
Flat tyre.
Press on, Wes, Press on!
No can do.
In the scorch and smoke, Wes punched six repair plugs into the staked tyre and pumped it up.
On we press!
Two clicks later it was flat again.
Oh, good grief, Wes. Can’t you maintain your machinery!
Like Bruce, Wes had a pretty simple philosophy on dealing with adversity: you just put one foot in front of the other and/or licked where it hurt.
He reached for the repair kit.
I’ve got four plugs left.
What if they don’t work’
Well, I dunno. You got any panty hose? (starts on tyre)
!!!!!!!
That repair got them within sight of the house. The steel rim and some spirited cussing got them the rest of the way. Then it was into the ute, foot down, Bonalbo or bust.
Twenty kilometres further on Wes ceased watching the road. An enormous, depraved black pillar loomed to the west of town. He couldn’t look away.
The Eye of Sauron looked like the Purple Wiggle by comparison.
It’s getting real. The Siege of Bonalbo.
Make it stop, Wes.
Silence.
They rolled into town. Wes donned his RFS gear and walked into the briefing.
So, there you are, Wes. Took your time. Where’ve you been, the beach?
(Write your own answer. It must contain ten cuss words)
A lesson to us all.
Bullgoose
and then