Men were appearing then disappearing in swirling smoke. Burning debris fluttered or flew in the air. The hose continued its steady play on the roof of the foremost bothies, the water jet bending upwards into opaqueness.
Red eyes glaring in blackened faces, men began to gather on the roadway below the houses. Many had knotted handkerchiefs or scarves over their nose and mouth. Of those wearing hard hats only a thin strip of face was visible where eyes showed underneath eyebrows. Beyond the bothies the dense forest roared in fire.
Robbie was anxiously peering into faces, identifying the members of his squad… “Where are Guy and Roland? You seen Guy and Roland?”
“I think they went into No1 to get something, or maybe take a last look around” George said, face close to the ganger’s to make himself heard. “They’ll be here in a minute…that’s them now…” as two figures came through a gust of smoke.
“Right, stay together,” Robbie shouted. “Hey, Silas, where do you think you’re going?”
Silas pulled down the scarf covering his nose and mouth. “I’ve got to get my bike away from the bothies. It’s full of petrol for fuck’s sake.”
He hurried off. The ganger shook his head. “What was he thinking about? He waits until now?”
Hair lank with sweat, Mackinnon loomed out of the smoke and grasped the ganger’s upper arm. The heat was palpable, inescapable, a presence as physical as the forester himself.
“We’ll keep trying to save the bothies. It’s all we can do. Are your boys in place?”
“They are all ok. All here except Silas. He’s gone to get his bike. Full of petrol.”
“Christ!” Mackinnon shook his head. “How can you stick it? Get your squad to beat out any flare-ups near No1 or No2 – when the bothies themselves catch alight, let them burn. Too dangerous to go inside. Be a lost cause anyway. The others are looking after the houses further down. Main thing is that Polloch can’t survive this.”