Too Long

We stayed and fought too long. Bill gripped the microphone, took a deep breath as he regarded the see of faces staring up at him.

We fought with our garden hoses. Every brick was wet, our gutters filled. Our car was ready for escape. But it happened too fast. Our driveway and the cars were engulfed seconds after the flames jumped the road. There was no chance for the house. There was nothing for it but to run.

Have you ever tried running faster than wildfire? We were sitting ducks. The inferno behind us was a roaring beast, ready to swallow us alive. Sarah lost it and kept trying to run uphill. That is the worst thing you can do. I was like some sort of demented shepherd; heading her off, grabbing her hand to make her run with me, only to have her pull away again.

It was the water pipe that did us in. Chest high ... completely smooth ... no footholds. The heat behind us was indescribable. I grabbed Sarah around her waist and pushed her up and over. She was sobbing, her eyes too dry for tears - I can still hear her. I was praying, I am not religious, but I was praying. I needed her to be rational, I was yelling, I was yelling at her: "you need to pull me over from the other side, get it, you need to pull me over!"

And then she was gone. She was over and she was gone. I never saw her again. The flames came for her and spared me, I don't know why. Every day I wonder why. I was rescued by the fire fighters - heroes in high-viz. Sometimes I wish I wasn't.

We stayed and fought too long.

Bill wiped tears from his cheeks as applause erupted, as every person in the room stood. He nodded, satisfied. If even one life was saved by one person in the audience evacuating early, as he had not, then some small piece of good would come from Sarah's death.