“Sorry, Jonny, I know it’s Charlie’s birthday but we’ve got a situation.” It was Will Curry, his second-in-command and the best pair of hands to leave anything in. He was also a new member of the search and rescue team having worked over in the States as a hotshot, taming the wild fires that kicked off there each summer.
“What is it?”
“The moor’s alight and the wind’s picking up. We’re over near Langston Reservoir. I’ve got everything set up to use the water from there if needs be, but we’ve got one firefighter down and on the way to hospital.” Will sounded calm, his usual state. Very little phased him.
“Do you need me there?” Jonny felt Rayah’s eyes on him, waiting to find out what he needed her to do. No judgement, no scolding because his job would yet again interfere with his kids. Just there.
“Not for now. I’ve checked the forecast and the wind should turn in less than an hour. We’ve dug trenches down and filled them with water – it’s going to be under control. Be warned, this was arson in my opinion. Statham’s being taken to the general for burns. I know you’d want to check on him.”
“I’m on it. Then I’m coming up there.”
“We’re good, Jonny.”
“I know you’ve got this, but…”
“I know. Check on Stathes first.”
“Will do.” He hung up and looked at Rayah. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “It’s what you do. Let Charlie know. I’ll finish up here.”
“I’ll give you a hand.”
He’d forgotten Robyn was there.
“Thank you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Jonny pickedup on the smell of smoke more than three miles before he reached his destination. His reaction to it had never changed: accelerated heart rate, a rush of adrenaline and a buzz that he received from nothing else. He didn’t want any fire to be a negative part of someone’s life: house fires were the worst – lives were lost, people’s homes destroyed and treasured possessions made into cinders by the fiery lick of a flame. Moor fires – fires that could rampage across the grassy plains and rocky valleys of the district – ate up wildlife and fauna that was irreplaceable. They didn’t occur too often, not like in Australia with the bush fires or America, or with the same intensity, but the dry summer meant the peat was ripe for burning.
He drove into dense smoke, bypassing the police who’d been called out to help by stopping any rubberneckers who would put themselves – and the emergency services – at risk by trying to get the perfect video.
Fire fascinated him like it did so many. Rayah hadn’t been wrong when she’d described him as being a pyromaniac when he was a kid. He’d set fires, small ones, watched how they’d grown, looked at how different materials combusted, what accelerants were best in different situations and then put them out. Because he wanted to master fire.
Will was silhouetted against a fiery sky that was splattered with dark plumes of smoke from the smouldering peat. The fire was dying, its battle lost this time.
“Good work.”
There was a discreet nod.
“This could’ve gotten out of hand.”
The conditions were such that itshould’vegotten out of hand. With a less experienced crew, they’d have been looking at the flames devouring land quickly, spilling across the moors.
“We were lucky with the wind. Had the fire been started four hours earlier, it’d have headed towards Rowham and the farms, through the woods. Then we’d have been screwed. I’ve stood down the planes.” Will’s expression was grim.
“Until next time.” Because they both knew there would be a next time. The media had been out in full force. The publicity in the last few hours had been ferocious and would no doubt inspire some shitty little firebug to start their own fire, maybe on these moors or maybe somewhere else. One fire would lead to at least a couple more and Jonny knew that Will was thinking the same.
“This wasn’t a freak of nature. Or carelessness.” Will’s expression was dark, his forehead creased.
“Arson.”
“Point of origin is the abandoned farmhouse on Rose Heath.”
“You’ve worked that out already?” Jonny knew Will was the one person more obsessed with fire than him. When he had lived in America, he’d been an expert witness in arson cases. The bloke knew his stuff.
“One of the drones sent back clear images. I suspect the accelerant will be petrol. I wouldn’t be surprised if there had been an explosion.”
Jonny squinted. “Is the farmhouse clear?”
