called. It wasn’t even three o’clock yet it could have been dusk. The smoke had completely blocked out the sun. Helicopters overhead were carting water to the fire front and dumping their loads. The sound of sirens filled the air along with a dull, frightening roar—the fire itself. E.D. scrambled up the ladder and started hauling small clumps of leaves from the gutter. There was a strong smell of burning in the air, and although there was no visible smoke in the immediate area around E.D.’s house, he had to continually wipe the tears from his eyes. He was hot in his jeans and woollen jumper but their father had insisted on them putting on protective clothing, even down to caps on their heads to keep the radiant heat at bay. Below him, Mario was showering the side of the house with water while Mr De Lugio worked furiously with a metal rake, dragging dry sticks and leaves into a pile. ‘What about the wood pile?’ E.D. shouted. ‘I’ll do it as soon as I’ve watered the whole house,’ Mario called up to him.
