AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’m loving the shearers’ quarters but have to say, Son of Hades is driving me mad.”
“Well, he did claim it first.” Stacey had arrived with Harry behind her.
Everyone who hadn’t been at my birthday party went mad again, jostling to give her a hug or a clap on the shoulder as a welcome for Stacey’s first brigade meeting since saving Harry’s brother in the recent bushfire.
“Okay, okay! Everyone, calm down! We haven’t finished yet. You can catch up with Stacey and Ash when we break for tea and coffee.”
“But that’s the last of the wombat burrows briefing?” Dwayne asked hopefully.
“One part to go: where the burrows are.” Uncle Bruce rearranged his paperwork. “Right, good. Settle, thank you. Okay. The national park has GPS locations on known wombat burrows from seven years ago, and they recently secured funding for a project to do another survey of the national park’s wombat burrows and update GPS locations. You may have an opportunity as a neighbouring property, like Tom Turner here, to join the survey and have wombat burrows on your property included in the records.
“And this is especially for bushfire safety in case you’re defending a property border along a firebreak; I think it would be good to know in case you have to abandon a truck or vehicle and find shelter in the bush. Which, I would like to acknowledge my niece Stacey did extremely well in the mud and leaves of the creek bed a month ago. Well done, Stacey, you are a superstar.”
Everyone clapped and hollered, and Stacey blushed from the attention. Harry put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a kiss on the top of her head.
“Who’d they get to stomp around in the bush recording wombat burrows?” I snorted as I picked up a bundle of pamphlets from the national park with more information about the project.
“Me.”
I turned, the pamphlets falling to the ground, and I half stumbled into the table.
Rosie.
* * *
Training passed slowly. It was both heaven and hell. An opportunity to watch Rosie in action on a topic she’s been researching at university? Yes, please. And also, no thanks.
Rosie detailed her upcoming wombat survey, and the crew watched slides on her research data, but it wasn’t long before their heads slumped and eyelids fell heavy. We were all feeling the effects of my party the night before.
At the end of her presentation, Ryan asked questions about the survey, and I stalked off to the farm ute where Reggie and Rusty napped on the tray in the shade. Avoidance was my best option. I stared at dark clouds gathering over the hills, focusing on the weather and trying not to think about Rosie.
Andwombat research?Last I’d heard she’d been studying sustainable viticulture practices and yet, here she was with a part-time job surveying the wombat population for the national parks team and collecting research data for her university.
I shook myself and scrutinised the rolling grey clouds. Rain was unusual for winter. We relied on summer rains to fill our dams. The clouds were building up, making a pretty sunset tonight. Usually, Ballydoon winter days were clear followed by freezing cold nights with a frost in the morning.
But today had been warm, seven degrees above average. I was in a tee shirt when I should be in a woollen jumper and beanie.
Ryan and Rosie came running out of the fire brigade shed, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Smoke up at the national park on our boundary,” Rosie panted.
“Just got a call over the radio inside.” Ryan hooked a thumb behind him. “The fire break is lit. Bring your drone. We can take one fire truck up.”
Ryan pulled on his fire jacket. “Rosie, you good to follow us?”
She nodded. “I’ll take my ute. What channel for the radio?”
“Channel forty.”
I hightailed it back inside to grab the drone and then suit up in my protective gear.
Back outside, Ryan threw the fire truck keys to me. “You drive. Get your logbook hours up.”
Settling the drone between Ryan and me in the cabin, I buckled in and revved the engine with Rosie in my rear view mirror following behind in the winery ute.
As I switched on the sirens and floored the truck along Turner’s Creek Road, thoughts of Dad filled my mind.
‘Smoke is a beautiful, elegant assassin,’ my father used to say. ‘Chokes you and leaves no bruises.’
