A shudder ran right through me. A branch fell from the sky and shattered our windscreen. Its sharp point arrowed towards Jack, stopping just millimetres short of his chest.

Jack jerked backwards then forwards, his hands and arms visibly jarred before he released the steering wheel. Ahead of us, the tanker pulled away from the burning tree and stalled, roadside.

‘We’ve gotta get out of here!’ I screamed.

‘Get to the tanker!’ Jack yelled. ‘It’ll be safest there.’

‘What?’ I yelled. ‘You’re leaving the truck? That’s crazy!’

Jack grabbed my arm. ‘The engine could explode.’

It took huge force to open my door, the wind was so intense. Then the wind ripped it from my hand, luring me into a world I couldn’t survive. The door was nearly torn right off its hinges. Triumph or agony echoed through the firestorm’s fierce shriek. I’d relive this moment again and again, considering all the pressure threatening to pull me apart. We jumped out and ran to the shelter of the tanker.

I felt movement around my knees. Dry leaves and discarded bark – fuel for fire – were pulled against the wind, towards the flames. Beneath his helmet, Craig Silva was wide-eyed, terrified. Radio to his mouth he yelled, frantically, ‘PAN!’

The fire sucked in fuel like the ocean before a tidal wave.

We might drown. Burn. Drown. Die. Agonisingly. ‘PAN?’ I repeated.

Jack pulled me close enough to hear. ‘Possible Assistance Needed.’

‘Possible?’

A distant expression in his eyes. ‘Other tankers are in as much trouble as us.’

The fire created an army of those flaming monsters, shouting back at us. Everything happened so quickly. Jack seized a pair of jerry cans and ran with them for a few steps, throwing them far into the bush. They’d still explode, but in a less dangerous place.

He grabbed his own radio and shouted, ‘PAN. Vicfire. PAN.’ Then, ‘Mayday.’

Craig ran past, holding a chainsaw, also full of petrol. He threw it away too. An explosion shook the air: one of the cans or another eucalypt.

‘It’ll be with us in seconds,’ Jack said. Over the radio he yelled, ‘We’re about to burnover. Mayday!’

‘This isn’t a drill,’ Craig said, shaking. ‘This is real. Dangerous. Happening right now. It’s okay. It’s okay.’

He grabbed my arm, like I was the one who needed reassuring. ‘It’s okay,’ he said again. ‘We know what to do. We’re trained.’

This wasn’t a routine drill. Other PAN and Mayday calls came in over the radio, from other vehicles and other brigades all over the Yarra Valley. Everyone was in trouble.

Caleb was out here somewhere! Maybe on his own, maybe, even worse, willing to try something foolish to impress or save Penelope Gordon…

‘We’ll have to go back to the truck after all,’ Jack said.

‘You said that was dangerous!’

‘It’s safer than staying out here!’

A scream then, behind me. I spun. Joanne Morris was on the ground, grabbing her leg. Tearing her helmet off and staring around with wild eyes, she pointed at a hole in the ground, where she’d evidently tripped and sprained her ankle. I’d met her as a ten-year-old local AFL champ, looking for a sport that older girls were allowed to play. She’d been Caleb’s playmate back then. I didn’t want to see her die.