And Jack had been right. Caleb did feel better about himself when he joined. He kitted himself in yellow high-vis overalls; the helmet, goggles hid more than his face. They completely concealed who he was. The uniforms were labelled, but as soon as someone was absent, Caleb borrowed theirs, and hid the one labelled Caleb Wharton. No one deserved that name. Part of a well-functioning machine, he blended in. Ironically, high-vis made him invisible. Tough leather gloves concealed even his fingerprints. In uniform, he could have been anyone. He could die and no one could identify him. He wasn’t the boy who… If only he deserved to feel better about himself. Mum was right about ghosts. The town was haunted. Massacres had happened that no one felt responsible for. The whole world was being vandalised but that was always someone else’s fault. The whole system was fucked.

The day of the fire had begun, hot and still. Caleb’s bed felt sweaty, wet as a bath he’d been in too long. His window revealed a disappointed world, heat washed a fading tint over the entire view, all the way to Damper Creek. Before the day was old, it was already hot as a dog exhausted by a summer run, rancid breath panting into corners, licking away any hint of perspiration that might have sent salt into Caleb’s new lip piercings. He drew the day like that, a huge, pale mongrel stretched out against the horizon, torn between sleep and destruction. His lip hurt and he drew the dog with a sore mouth too, bloody with damage from its own canines. Those piercings were called a snakebite. He drew the day again, this time reptilian.

Longing for a breeze, he walked outside. The creek bed was dry, and when the wind came, it was a harsh, dry northerly. It prickled through dehydrated leaves treetop first, as if teasing the oily eucalypts it would return for later. It whistled around window panes like a rude schoolboy and played with Caleb’s hair, running harsh fingers down the back of his neck. He returned to his room, drawing until Mum told him it was time to go to the CFA. ‘If you’re sure you want to go.’

He grunted. Of course he was sure. She should know.

Cars sped through town followed by a trail of dust, a ghost of smoke and dust. Boys who had laughed at Caleb for not having his licence were ferried into the city, where it was safe, driven by those women who complained the most about how he’d driven. That one time.