A walk through hell, a journey into hell.

Nobody fully realises love until it is lost.

Father was an ordinary man who lived to serve and cared deeply. He attended his own needs
privately – until he was able to share his joys to others. In secret – he harboured intense passion and
worked on wonderful projects.
The Outback Shed was his paradise. Built with a friend in 1973 it had become where he
crafted, painted and composed. Between ‘75 and ‘81 he and the same mate built a piano, a sturdy
upright success that was well tuned until the end.
Oh… the end, that terrible thing.
Ganthor Grey loved us all very much, perhaps we were not as close as we could have been
however, I’d drifted a little through life, had not accomplished a lot and had no dream to motivate me
toward something greater so there was little success for me to bring home, to share. Not a lot for him
to be genuinely proud of so for some years I’d become distant. Nearer to his time, my play made him
applaud with a standing ovation, prompting a chain reaction; that was pretty cool.
When he died, life at home was different. Mum went back to her family in Tasmania for a
few months. Sister and brother are in talks to buy the house from mum.
My little success earned me a little outback hut that’s about two kilometres north east of
Nairne, South Australia. With adequate utilities it functioned as a little home.
Recently done with managerial work in hospitality – I took my leave. Decided, I would leave
and be back for the family memorial at Christmas. So I packed the car and drove the hour drive up to
the hut to live alone. Felt like I was one with nature there, one with God – with that almighty where
father has returned – so I am with father.
Comfort rarely makes sense.
Time at hut was beautiful, Spring had sprung and the wild had awoken; kangaroos, wallabies’
koalas and wombats roamed. There’s a lake up north that expanded tenfold in the past five years, even
connected to little streams, that had some traffic in and out of the Torrens River on wet winters – I
think – so it had some fish to fish and was very deep, the piano against infinite silence was wonderous
– and I’d found some wild berries and porcini mushrooms to forage.
Although I did notice a weird build up of fallen foliage. On my way in there were crews
clearing a section of it. Found out much later that certain climate activists protested controlled burning
because ‘our ozone is damaged enough’ and ‘wildlife has been traumatised enough.’
Such absurd stupidity tended to fail. Could not have predicted the militant passion behind the
movement, so I didn’t.
I spent four peaceful weeks making small improvements to the hut and its surrounds.
That final day was pretty ordinary. Had rained for two weeks; flood warnings were broadcast
on all news stations – but the last week was pretty hot and jarringly dry. South Aussie weather can be
peculiar. Anyway, I was going back forth from Adelaide to work that last week and after being a
functional and contributing member of society, I thought it wise to go night fishing that Friday
evening – and its very good thing I did.
Should have been more thoughtful but the night was so ordinary.
Some drinks and some smoke lagged me a bit, but I left the hut around 8pm and set up my
chair, made a fire and watched the stars.
Got a few nibbles but only one tiny catch.
The smell of smoke was grotesquely strong. Somewhere south I saw an orange glow, that
quickly morphed into a crimson flame.
The wildfire began at midnight; its heat blazed against the night as it spread through the
bushland. Black smoke choked the air and blocked out the moon. Smoke filled the air and blocked out
the moon.
 Before I could realise the danger, fire tumbled downhill. Trapped by the river – the world
closed in. Crawled into the water and made a smoke mask with my shirt. Wind blew, smoke cleared
and I could only watch as the last of dad’s hut burned. Wrath overwhelmed me as the last of his
personality smouldered.

Heat rose around the lake; the air burned.

Fearful – I slipped into the water and hoped that it would protect me from the fire.
Oh the water warmed and the fish died.
I sat alone and watched crimson flame burn across the outback, more ferocious than I’d ever
seen any fire before. Bewildered, my emotions froze and survival instinct kept me away from flame
and smoke until the noxious fumes died away.
Then there was light. Sunrise pinked the east sky.
Birds chirped and tried to find their homes among the ash.
Exhausted and broken, I saw the burned earth.
Ash blew in the wind.
No tree stood.
Down the lane was a square of blackened coals and charred twisted metal.
Smoke choked the atmosphere. Fires continued to burn deep into the ground.
Prayers to the heavens for a guide was heeded – I remembered there was a zoomed out paper
fold-out map of the area lodged my ‘book of local fish.’
Pulled that out of my bag and traced a path to the nearest town – Brukunga.
My journey across the wasteland began.
Without supplies – the struggle was real.
Sun as my compass I began to trek north east.
It was a proper stumble through hell. Scorched earth had loosened the soil, what remained of
tree-trunks spiked dangerously and fires still burned.
Fumes were most problematic, but - If I did not arrive to the town I would surely die.
As morning lengthened the ferocious sun was unbearably hot.
I heard animal screams wail in the distance.
A house blazed.
I stumbled toward it and watched as the structure slowly blackened and broke.
Sudden silence cut through the smog.
By the time I’d got to the house the fire had died.
The family had gotten out only to die together on the porch, their charring corpses melted
together.
Horror did not affect me, could not. They were beyond help – so I continued on my way.
Over the rook was a filthy, bloody boy sat, leaned against a rock. Thought he was dead too –
but heard him gurgle. The first terror sept into me then – but I just continued to move – action was
more important than thought.
“Are you here to save me?” His dry voice bled, his arms reached out.
“Yes.” Without thought reached for my second water bottle and gave it to him.
After a long drink, the boy looked at me. “What happened? Are my family good?”
A coldness swept through me, then.
We had to survive together now. A boy tormented by grief would be problematic. “The guys
from the house? Yeah – saw them a way off – also headed to town. Was trying to get to them before I
found you, actually. I’m sure they’ll be there when we get there.” I had to convince him. “Here, take
this.” I knelt and took the muesli bar from my bag and threw it to him. “What’s your name?”
“Jerome.”
“Well Jerome, I’m Zane – good to meet you – think it’s time to get the fuck out of here
though – who knows what God will do next.”
“That wasn’t God.”
 “What?”
“Girls at my school. They’ve been on about an end to all fires for such a long time. Fergus got
sick of their attitudes and said he would show them why they were so stupid.”
“Either way – let’s go – we can beat him up later.”
Jerome snapped from the gloomy trance, nodded and stood steady.
By the time we arrived – dusk had set. Firefighters swarmed and by now had the area under
control. It had only been eighteen hours.
News of the damage was devastating.
Thirty-eight had perished along with fifty homes.
Soil that burned could not easily regrow trees – it would be a decade long effort.
None of the protestors were punished – the initial cause of the fire was ‘proven’ to be an
accident.

Mother summoned all her children – and with gladness – I went home.
“Does she want a funeral for the house?”
“It was dad’s last holdout. I preserved it as best as I could.”
“Are you homeless now?”
“Don’t make this about me.”
“Where will you go?”
“Maybe to Tasmania.”

Footsteps descended the stair – mother walked to the table.

“You’re all tech savvy – I’ve compiled the information of all those who protested fire –
you’re to ruin them.”
“What – why do you want revenge?”
“Because they deserve to die, but the law does not see that.”

Seven days later we were sat at the table again.

Seven were arrested.
“Those brats aren’t finished with.” Mother put down the papers to sue for damages.
“They’ve been punished enough!” Sister cried.
“They burned down my home!” I slammed my fist down and that’s all the convincing it took.
Vengeance and hatred burned within me and I vowed to see them ruined.

***