Always the Hero. Alison Roberts

      How ironic was that?

      At least they had an urgent mission to focus on. No time for anything personal to interfere with the job that needed to be done.

      No time to herself to try and think things through.

      To try and deal with the awful dread that she had, in fact, done a terrible thing by not making more of an effort to tell Tom about Jack a long time ago.

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE CHOPPING BEAT of a hovering helicopter was loud enough to preclude the need for any conversation as Tom and Abby stepped out of the information centre, which had now morphed into the island’s incident control headquarters.

      Abby was shading her eyes against the lowering sun to peer upwards.

      Tom raised his voice, although the chopper was moving again, now. ‘That’ll be the extra doctors arriving. And maybe the first USAR team members. Hopefully with a search dog.’

      He saw Abby close her eyes for a moment and take a deep breath, as though summoning a fresh burst of courage. He had to fight the urge to touch her. To offer her some of his strength.

      ‘Who else will come, do you think?’

      Tom didn’t have to raise his voice any longer. ‘I imagine the army will be involved by now. If they’ve got an Iroquois helicopter available they can dispatch a few troops, which will be useful. It would be good to have more space available for evacuating any serious trauma, too.’ He glanced down at the map in his hand. ‘Let’s get going. Where’s Hickory Lane? That’s the southern border for our search area.’

      ‘A few blocks up this way.’ Abby set off. ‘It’s got a bakery on one side called The Breadbin and the Fat Duck café on the other side. There’s a big metal duck sculpture that hangs off the side of the café. You can’t miss it.’

      Except the quirky café icon was no longer hanging off the brick wall. It was buried somewhere beneath the rubble. There were several local men standing in the middle of Hickory Lane, where it branched off the main street.

      ‘Hey, Abby,’ one of them called. ‘You okay?’

      ‘That’s Jim,’ Abby told Tom. ‘He’s our butcher. His shop’s a bit further down.’

      She stepped closer to the men. ‘I’m fine, Jim. What about you? Oh, help … look at your hands.’

      The middle-aged butcher was still wearing his blue-and-white-striped apron but it was filthy. His arms were just as grimy but they were also scratched and bruised-looking. His hands were a mess, his knuckles ripped and bleeding.

      Tom saw them cupped in Abby’s much smaller hands. He saw the expression on Abby’s face. This man wasn’t just the local butcher. He was someone Abby cared about. Part of a community she cared about. A place and a way of life that made him an outsider.

      He didn’t like that feeling.

      ‘It’s nothing.’ Jim dismissed Abby’s concern but his smile was grateful. ‘I’ve just been shifting a few bricks.’

      ‘A few!’ One of the other men gave Jim a friendly thump on his shoulder. ‘This man’s been a right hero. Single-handedly dug at least three people out from under where they got buried here.’ He pointed at the Fat Duck.

      ‘Everybody inside got out in time,’ Jim told them. ‘But poor Miriam got hit in the head by a brick or something. And some others got under the picnic table. They got buried good and proper.’

      ‘Where’s this Miriam?’ Tom asked.

      ‘We just sent her up to the hospital. Used the back of Johnno’s ute. She should be there by now.’

      ‘And the others?’

      ‘Not too bad. We sent them all off to get checked, though.’

      ‘So the café’s clear of people?’ Tom had his can of spray paint ready. ‘Are you sure about that?’

      Jim nodded. ‘Business was pretty quiet. Miriam was last out. She was making sure all her customers were safe first, bless her.’

      ‘Right.’ Tom sprayed the word ‘Clear’ and the time on a window that was still intact. He could see inside the café. There were tables with plates of uneaten food on them. Toppled chairs and an abandoned handbag that was spilling its contents into the puddle created by an overturned water cooler. They needed to move on.

      ‘Let’s go, Abby. Next building. We’ll do the rest of Hickory Lane and then come back to the main street.’

      ‘What can we do to help?’ Jim asked.

      ‘Best thing you can do is head for the information centre. They’ll be organising teams and giving out some safety gear and radios and things. We don’t want you just off on your own. It’s too dangerous.’

      ‘I don’t think there’s anybody up Hickory Lane,’ another of the men said. ‘My wife and kids were along there and they got out fast. Everyone panicked and ran when they heard the siren go off. Someone said they should all go to the community centre in the new school hall.’

      ‘We’ll check anyway,’ Tom said. ‘But thanks.’

      They moved swiftly along the narrow lane, climbing over rubble to peer into buildings. Yelling as loudly as they could.

      ‘Is anyone here? Can you hear me?’

      There could be people buried or too injured to respond but they would be found later by the urban search and rescue teams and the dogs in a second sweep. Right now, the priority was to try and get an idea of the big picture and find anything urgent that could be dealt with fast.

      Back on the main street they came across another knot of people, these ones in front of the hardware store. They spotted the overalls and helmets Tom and Abby were wearing and backed out to make room amongst the rubble.

      ‘We can hear someone,’ a man said, clearly distressed. ‘Groaning.’

      Sheets of corrugated iron from the veranda roof along with timber beams were making it impossible to get any further. As they stood there, something rolled from higher up, bounced and narrowly missed Abby as it fell with a crash.