The Rebel And Miss Jones. Annie ClaydonЧитать онлайн книгу.
she put Trader’s food down for him on the kitchen floor and made for the sink to fill his water bowl. When she twisted the tap, nothing happened. Sara whirled around and saw that the LED lights on the fridge and the cooker were out too.
‘Dammit!’ No electricity meant that the pump from the water tank wasn’t working. Turning the tap off, she poured some spring water from the refrigerator into Trader’s bowl, then took a swig from the bottle. Maybe the hydration would help her to think.
This must be another fire. Unless the wind had changed and the fire that Simon had gone to was coming this way. Sara had no idea, and it didn’t really matter. It looked as if the situation had changed, and so Simon needed to keep his promise and either come and get her himself or send someone. Any time now would be good.
The phone was dead and even though she knew her mobile was out of range here, she tried it anyway. ‘It’s only a little smoke, Trader. Smoke travels for miles, the fire’s probably nowhere near us.’
Her assertion was born of hope rather than knowledge, but at least Trader’s gentle, intelligent eyes looked convinced. Perhaps that was a good sign. Sara left him to eat, and ran to fetch the binoculars that Simon kept in his home office. Slipping outside, she trained them on the horizon in the direction that the smoke seemed to be coming from.
She could see the source of the black smoke, which billowed out from behind a fold in the landscape. It was impossible to gauge how close the fire was or which way it was headed, but the breeze in her face gave Sara a sickening clue.
‘Oh!’ Her chest and stomach tightened painfully, and she doubled over, trying to breathe. She had to get out of here. Had to get home. She had responsibilities.
Suddenly this whole trip seemed impossibly reckless. Gran had urged her to come here, and had even booked herself into respite care for three weeks, but that was just temporary. She was ninety years old, and completely dependent on Sara. What would she do if she didn’t come back?
Simon would send someone. He had to. Their mother might have labelled her elder brother feckless, irresponsible and not worthy of a moment in their thoughts, but Sara knew that wasn’t true. This time he was going to come through for her.
Self-pity wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Emptying the contents of the kitchen drawers at least secured a battery radio and Sara switched it on, scanning for a local station. Surely they’d be putting out information on some kind of regular basis.
Carrying the radio with her, she quickly filled a couple of bags with what she hoped were Simon’s most valued possessions and put them in the hall. She pulled on a pair of jeans and made her way around the outside of the house, pulling the fire shutters down over the windows and back door as Trader ran back and forth, trying to urge her away from the ever more pungent smell of smoke, which was beginning to hang in the air like a dirty fog.
A tone sounded from the radio, and she held it to her ear, straining to catch every word. It didn’t help much, mentioning places that she’d only half heard of and could be anywhere, and fire alert statuses that could mean anything. She understood the urgency, though. Evacuate. Be safe. Nearest low-risk area.
There was nowhere to go. She was without a car and even if she could remember the way to the nearest town, she knew that trying to walk the twenty or so miles there would be madness. Simon had designed this house himself, and put all his architectural expertise and experience of local building techniques and conditions into it. The shutters were designed to keep burning embers from getting into the house, and the mud-brick walls would afford some protection if the blaze was not too intense. If the worst came to the worst, she and Trader were just going to have to sit it out and hope for the best.
The thought made her feel sick. Gulping back tears, Sara turned to the only living creature that might give her any comfort. ‘He won’t forget us, Trader.’ The animal seemed to sense her anxiety and nosed at her hand. ‘It’s probably not as bad as we think it is. Perhaps the wind will change …’
She stiffened, straining to see, as she caught a glimpse of something that looked like more smoke, this time on the dirt road leading to the front of the house. There was movement, and the flash of something bright in the sunlight. Just as dread began to grip her, squeezing all of the air from her lungs, she made out what it was. A vehicle, moving at speed and kicking up dust as it went. It could only be coming to one place. That track only led here.
Not wanting to leave anything to chance, Sara ran back into the house, pulling the red tablecloth from the table and sending the wooden bowls in the centre of it crashing to the floor behind her. Whoever it was wouldn’t be able to hear her yet, but she shouted anyway, waving the tablecloth over her head.
‘Sit, Trader.’ Sara strained to see any sign that the driver of the SUV had seen her. Nothing. She waved the cloth again and this time, through her tears of frustration, she saw something. Headlights, three short flashes and then a pause, and another three flashes. Just to make sure, she waved again. Another three flashes.
‘Thank you.’ She whispered the words under her breath, to no one in particular, her chest heaving. ‘It’s all right, see, Trader. Someone’s coming.’
By the time the SUV had skidded to a halt outside the house Trader was barking joyfully, pulling her towards the man who swung the door open and got out.
She could have hugged him. If he’d been middle-aged, with a paunch, she might have. But this was the kind of man you didn’t just walk up to and hug without having to accuse yourself of an ulterior motive. Tall, broad and with blue eyes, bright against his tanned skin. Thick blond hair that looked as if it hadn’t been combed in a while, which just added to the general look of a handsome adventurer.
‘Sara? Sara Jones?’ He was striding towards her and she nodded, lost for words. ‘Simon sent me to fetch you.’
This wasn’t the moment to ask why he hadn’t come sooner. Neither was it the time for the normal reservations about getting into strangers’ cars. Trader seemed to know him and at his command gave off trying to lick his hand and trotted to the SUV, jumping in and settling quietly on the back seat.
‘We have to hurry.’ The stranger didn’t seem disposed to stop for questions anyway, and had already taken the steps up to the veranda two at a time, twisting the handle of the front door and turning to her in surprise when it didn’t budge.
‘I’ve got the key here.’ Sara hurried after him, pulling the single key from her pocket. In her agitation it slipped through her fingers, bouncing next to her bare feet on the decking and sliding through a crack between the boards.
At least he didn’t call her stupid, but that didn’t stop Sara from muttering the word under her breath. He shrugged, starting for the back of the house, and Sara ran after him. ‘I locked the doors at the back too. Maybe we could lever one of the boards up. I think I can get my arm through …’
He looked at her in frank disbelief. ‘Yeah, maybe. Stand back.’ Before she could stop him he had shouldered the door and it burst inwards, snapping back against the wall.
‘Did you have to do that?’ The door had smashed into the table in the hallway, sending a glass bowl crashing onto the floor, and broken shards were everywhere. Just because her habit of locking doors was a little over the top for this neck of the woods, it didn’t mean he had to go caveman on her.
He turned, taking her by the shoulders. ‘Sara, we don’t have any time.’ The look on his face was making her tremble.
‘But you can’t even see the fire yet …’
‘If you can see a fire, it’s too late to run. At the moment we have two options, staying here to fight it or getting out. We’re not properly prepared for the first and the second isn’t going to be available for much longer.’ He was focussed, calm, and Sara began to divine that breaking the door down had not been an overreaction. ‘It’s going to be okay, Sara, but if we’re leaving, we need to do it now.’
There was something in his eyes that made her trust him.