‘It’s the most fantastic place,’ his father had told him over the phone. ‘There’s three separate bowling greens. Can you believe that?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Now, I know bowling doesn’t interest you, boy, but the beaches are wonderful. You’ll be able to swim, catch lobster right off the beach and sail that new windsurfer of yours. Go on, Joss—give us a few days. Get to know your new stepmother and have a break from your damned high-powered medicine into the bargain.’
He’d needed a break, Joss thought, but five days of rain had been enough to drive him back to Sydney so fast you couldn’t see him for mud. For the whole week his windsurfer had stayed roped to the car roof. The seas had been huge—it would have been suicidal to try windsurfing. His father and Daisy had wanted him to spend every waking minute with them; they’d been blissfully and nauseatingly in love, and medicine was starting to look very, very good in comparison.
So this morning, when the newsreaders were warning of floods and road blockage, his decision to leave had bordered on panic. Now he steered his little sports car carefully through the rain and crossed his fingers that the flooding wasn’t as severe as predicted.
‘Ten minutes and we’re on the highway and out of here,’ he told his dog. His ancient red setter, Bertram the Magnificent, was belted into the passenger seat beside him, staring through the windscreen with an expression that was almost as worried as his master’s. If they were stuck here…
‘We’ll be right.’
They weren’t.
‘Amy, love, we need a fourth at bridge.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Cooper, but I’m busy.’
‘Nonsense, child. We know you always go for a walk on the beach mid-morning. You can’t walk anywhere now, so come and join us.’
‘But I can’t play.’
‘We’ll give you hints as we go along. You’ll be an expert in no time.’
Aargh…
Once they reached the highway it’d be easier.
The road into Iluka from the highway twisted around cliffs along the river. It was a breathtakingly scenic route but it was dangerous at the best of times, and now was the worst possible time to be driving.
Joss’s hands gripped white on the steering-wheel. He leaned forward, trying to see through the driving rain, and his dog leaned forward with him. Bertram’s breath fogged the windscreen and Joss hauled him back.
‘There’s no need for both of us to see.’
It’d be better once they were on the highway, he told himself. Just around this bend and across the bridge and…
His foot slammed hard on the brake.
Luckily he was travelling at a snail’s pace and the car’s brakes responded magnificently. He came to a halt with inches to spare. But inches to what? Joss stared ahead in disbelief. He had to be seeing things.
He wasn’t. Ahead lay the bridge. The water was up over the timbers in a foaming, litter-filled torrent, and the middle pylon was swaying as if it had no base.
And as Joss stared, there was a screech of tortured metal, a splintering of timber and the entire bridge crumbled and buckled into the torrent beneath.
‘I can’t play bridge. I’ve promised to help Cook make scones.’
‘Oh, Amy…’
Beam me up, someone. Please beam me up…
Joss opened the car door with caution. He was safe enough where he was but seeing a bridge disappear like that made a man unsure of his own footing. Thankfully the ground underneath felt good and solid, even if a relentless stream of water began to pour down his neck the minute he opened the door.
Before him was a mess. The entire bridge was gone. In the passenger seat Bertram whimpered the unease of a dog in unfamiliar territory, and Joss leaned in to click the seat belt free.
They weren’t going anywhere fast, Joss thought grimly. Bertram was a water dog at heart, and if Joss was going to drown out here at least he’d have happy company.
‘Stupid dog. You can’t possibly like weather like this.’
He was wrong. Joss even managed a grin as Bertram put his nose skywards, opened his mouth and drank.
But his humour was short-lived. How was he to get back to Sydney now?
First things first, he told himself. Before he started to panic about escape routes, he needed to do something about oncoming traffic. He didn’t want anyone plunging unaware into that torrent.
He bent into the car again and flicked his lights to high beam. The river wasn’t so wide that oncoming cars wouldn’t see his warning. Then he flicked on his hazard lights.
But his warning was too late. A truck came hurtling around the bend behind him and it was travelling far too fast. Above the roar of the river Joss hardly heard it coming, and when he did he barely had time to jump clear.
The smash of tearing metal sounded above the roar of the water. There was a crashing of broken glass, a ripping, tearing metallic hell, and then the sounds of hissing steam.
Joss backed away fast and Bertram came with him.
What the…?
His car had been totalled. Just like that.
He swallowed a few times and laid a hand on his dog’s shaggy head, saying a swift thank you to the powers who looked after stupid doctors who ventured out in sports cars that were far too small. In a world where there were trucks that were far too big. In weather that was far too bad.
Then he took in the damage.
The other vehicle looked like an ancient farm truck—a dilapidated one-tonner. If Joss’s sports car had been bigger it would have fared better, but now… His rear wheels were almost underneath his steering-wheel. The passenger compartment where Joss and his dog had sat not a minute before was a mangled mess.
Hell!
‘Stay,’ he told Bertram, and thanked the heavens that his dog was well trained. He didn’t want him any closer to the wreck than he already was. The smell of petrol was starting to be overpowering…
He had to reach the driver.
Damage aside, it was just as well his car had been where it was, Joss thought grimly. Coming with the speed it had, if Joss’s car hadn’t been blocking the way the truck would now be at the bottom of the river.
If anyone else came…
There was another car now on the other side of the river, and it also had its lights on high beam. Joss’s lights were still working—somehow. The lights merged eerily through the rain and there was someone on the opposite bank, waving wildly.
They’d all been lucky, Joss thought grimly. Except—maybe the driver of the truck.
The smell of petrol was building by the minute and the driver of the truck wasn’t moving. Hell, the truck’s engine was still turning over. It only needed a spark…
The truck door wouldn’t budge.
He hesitated for only a second, then lifted a rock and smashed it down on the driver’s window. Reaching in, he switched off the ignition. The engine died. That’d fix the sparks, he thought. It should prevent a fire. Please…
Were there injuries to cope with? The driver was absolutely still. Joss grabbed the handle of the crumpled door from the inside and tried to wrench it open. As he worked, he lifted his phone and hit the code for emergency.
‘The Iluka bridge is down,’ he said curtly as someone answered, still hauling at the door as he spoke. ‘There’s