They slept in a school hall. Stood in exhausted lines waiting for food. They shuffled forward. Smiled grimly at the volunteers.
“Was worse in 2019. Those fires. Like your lungs filled with ash.” The voice came further back in the queue. Alec couldn’t see who spoke but glimpsed the collective nods behind him. Alison and he would’ve eaten in silence but another couple joined them.
“The kids were scared,” a woman said. “Their little faces. I’ll never forget it.”
“Rescued us in a tinnie,” a man with her added. “Out catching barramundi the week before. Then using it to save lives.”
“Couldn’t afford insurance,” the woman added. “At least won’t have to sit around for six months before being told our claims denied.”
“Stoic,” Alec said later to Alison.
“I blame you,” she said. She spoke without eye contact. Loud enough for others nearby to glance up, then away. Her thin arms bunched.
“Not here. Please.”
They trudged to the sinks. She washed, passing dripping plates to a man who thanked her each time. He dried three sinks along, his tea towel quickly wet, watery patterns smearing on plates.
She slid into a sleeping bag, her body fluid, turning and bending to fit inside. He sat, watching the back of her head. It wasn’t his fault. Blame the bursting brown waters, the thick straight lines of rain, that bloody far away government out of touch with communities like this.
Sunshine glowed against stained glass windows. They hurriedly ate cereal and waited to be shuttled to their home. While thudding through pot holes houses bounced by. Maybe the bees survived. Alec had read air pockets could form underground.
When they arrived someone living across the road approached them. Warned looters had gone through a couple of houses nearby. Promised to shoot the bastards if he spotted them. That he might need Alec’s help if it came to that. Could take two to throw a body into where the river still ran at a torrent, tumbling them to three towns away. He stepped back smirking.
