Читать книгу One Night To Wed - Алисон Робертс - Страница 8

EVEN important decisions could sometimes be made purely by default.

Fliss knew she couldn’t, in all conscience, choose to stay safely hidden but the sporadic sound of continuing gunfire made her postpone any move from the relative safety of Jack’s now darkened kitchen.

She sat on the floor near the interior door and Jack sat beside her just under the telephone. Waiting for the next, still shocking, evidence of what was going on outside, they strained to hear anything that might warn of danger getting too close.

And in the eerie, waiting silence between gunshots, Fliss was all too aware of the sound of Jack’s breathing. It sounded worse than it had when she had arrived for her home visit but that was hardly surprising, given the level of stress they had both been plunged into.

‘Where are your pills, Jack?’

‘On the window-sill. Just above the electric kettle. That way I remember to take them when I make a cuppa, first thing.’

‘Did you take one this morning?’

‘Yep.’

‘I want you to take another one now,’ Fliss instructed. ‘I’ll get it for you.’ But she found a hand on her elbow, dragging her back to the floor as soon as she tried to get to her feet.

‘You stay right where you are, lass. I’ll get it for myself.’

With a grunt that revealed the effort involved, Jack pushed himself slowly upright. With the ease of familiarity, he negotiated a route past the spindle-backed chairs towards the bench more successfully than Fliss would have managed, but a chair got nudged and scraped on the wooden floorboards all the same. Fliss felt her heart skip a beat and then start to race alarmingly.

She forced herself to take a deep breath in through her nose. And then she let it out slowly.

There was no avoiding the situation they were in. Somehow she had to get a grip on herself and deal with it or she would be no use to anyone, including herself. The notion that she might be paralysed by a panic attack was almost as abhorrent as the violence going on in Morriston.

She was not like her mother. She was not about to choose to become a victim—of her own emotions or anyone else’s behaviour.

‘Jack?’

‘Yep?’

‘Do you keep your spray with your pills?’

‘You mean that stuff for if I get chest pain?’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t need it.’

‘It’s not just for angina, Jack. It might help quite a bit with that breathlessness you’ve got at the moment.’ Jack’s blood pressure had been high enough to tolerate the potential lowering effect nitrates could have. ‘I want you to take two sprays under your tongue.’

‘Hmmph!’ She could hear Jack shaking a container of tablets. ‘I’ll take the extra pill and see how I go.’

‘No. Take the spray.’ Fliss scrambled upright. ‘I’m going to have to go down to my surgery, Jack. I don’t want to be worrying about you getting worse while I’m gone.’

The lid of the plastic container hit the bench with a rattle. ‘You’re not going out there!’

‘I have to, Jack!’ Fliss straightened her back to reinforce the determination in her tone. ‘You know how we saw one of the Johnston twins hiding under that bush? What if he’s not hiding?’ Concern tightened her voice. ‘What if he’s hurt and needs help but he’s too scared to go looking for someone?’

Fliss gulped in some air. ‘And where’s his brother? And what if Maria’s waiting for me and she’s terrified and she goes into labour? And what about Mr—?’

Jack held up his hand. ‘All right, pet, I get the message.’ He stared at Fliss through the gloom of the unlit room. ‘But there’s no way I’m going to let you go by yourself. I’m coming with you.’

An eighty-six-year-old with one arm and heart failure as her protector? Fliss almost smiled but had to blink back tears instead. This old man really cared about her safety and she’d almost forgotten what it was like to have someone really care about her. Maybe she couldn’t have the man she really needed by her side right now but Jack was better than nothing. A whole lot better than nothing.

‘Let’s go, then,’ Fliss urged. Now, she added silently, while she had enough courage gathered to turn her back on personal safety.

‘Wait.’ Jack scratched his beard thoughtfully. ‘You can’t go outside like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘All white and…kind of glowing. That pretty hair of yours would catch anybody’s eye.’

Fliss did smile now. ‘Is that a compliment, Jack? Why, thank you!’

Jack made a dismissive growling sound. ‘If you’re mad enough to want to go out there I can’t stop you, but you need to cover up. I’ve got a black hat somewhere. And maybe a jersey or two.’

‘You’ll need a hat yourself. Your hair’s paler than mine.’

‘What’s left of it.’ Jack ran his hand over his balding scalp. Then he smiled at Fliss. ‘Guess I’ve compensated by growing fluff on my chin instead, haven’t I?’ He didn’t wait for a response. ‘I’ve got some old fishing gear out the back. I’ll see what I can find.’

‘Have you taken that pill yet?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the spray?’

Grumbling, Jack reached for the small red GTN cannister. ‘Bossy, aren’t you?’

‘I can be.’ Fliss nodded. ‘But only when I care about what happens to the people I’m bossing.’

She should use any skills in that department to try and make her patient heed police advice and stay in his own home, Fliss decided in Jack’s absence. Justifying the danger he was prepared to face with the rationale that she would be able to take better care of his current condition by having him with her at the surgery wasn’t good enough.

When Jack returned with an armload of dark clothing, Fliss was ready with her sternest tone.

‘I can go by myself, Jack. I’d much rather you stayed here.’

‘Not on your nelly.’ Jack sounded affronted. ‘I’ll make my own decisions about some things, missy. You can’t always get what you want by being bossy, you know.’

Too true.

Jack’s reprimand hit a nerve. Angus had considered Fliss to be bossy as well. Stubborn. Uncompromising. The expression ‘control freak’ had surfaced more than once in the escalating arguments that had marred their last few weeks together.

Did she try and use a position of authority for selfish motives? Had her bossiness really been due to the degree to which she had cared about Angus or had she been more concerned about her personal welfare? Getting what she wanted? Had her training as a doctor, in fact, given her a mistaken belief that she could make choices for others that went beyond medical assistance?

Fliss was silent, mulling over what she suspected might be an unpleasant home truth as she pulled on a well-worn woollen pullover in a navy-blue fisherman’s rib. Jack was struggling into a similar garment and he rolled up the surplus sleeve and tucked it inside the armhole.

‘Blessed nuisance, having two sleeves on everything,’ he muttered. ‘Nobody caters for the minorities.’

Fliss smiled briefly at the joke as she took the black knitted beanie Jack handed her. These clothes had to be more than thirty years old—relics from Jack’s career as a fisherman—and she could almost smell salt-laden air and the tang of fish.

Jack scrutinised the finished result but shook his head sadly. ‘It’s no good,’ he announced.

‘Why not?’ Fliss jammed the last strands of her shoulder-length, wavy hair under the hat. Then she rolled up the sleeves of the oversized jersey so that her hands were free. ‘I think it’s great. We’re both going to be hard to see if we stick to the shadows.’

‘Your face is too pale. Let me think…’ Jack actually seemed to be enjoying himself, Fliss realised with astonishment. His breathing sounded less laboured and he moved more quickly than she had ever seen him when he turned and headed for his pantry. ‘I’ve got just the thing,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘You wait right here.’

Fliss peered at the small, round tin in his hand when he reappeared moments later.

‘Boot polish?’

‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. It’s what those top-notch police fellows use when they go out on dangerous missions.’

‘They don’t use boot polish, Jack.’

‘How would you know?’

‘Because I just do. I…used to know some of those police fellows.’

‘Hmmph.’ Jack held out the tin. ‘Same difference, in any case. Take the lid off this so I can smear a bit on your face.’

Fliss couldn’t resist muttering something about her not being the only bossy one but then she stood still as Jack wiped polish on her face. She returned the favour, blackening Jack’s beard as well as his cheeks. The task suddenly struck her as being ridiculous. Here they were, dressing up like small boys preparing to go and play some kind of war game. What would Angus say if he could see her now?

He’d probably laugh. And say something like ‘Can’t beat ’em so you’re going to join ’em, huh? Cool. Come out and play with us, then.’

Except this wasn’t any kind of a game. It was real.

And deadly.

And Angus, if he was in any way involved tonight, would be even more effectively camouflaged. And Fliss could be quite certain that he wouldn’t be laughing.

‘We’ll go out the back way,’ Jack decided. ‘If we go to the top of the hill and then cut back through the Bennies’ orchard, go through the back of the cemetery and then over the Carsons’ fence, we’ll be just about at your place.’

‘But if we go that way, we won’t go past the Treffers’ place. I need to know whether it’s Callum or Cody under that bush, Jack. And whether they’re OK.’

Jack shook his head. ‘It’s too exposed. Too risky. If we go my way, we’ve got more chance of staying hidden.’

By tacit consent, they both edged towards the glass doors to see if staring into the dark street could help finalise their plan of action.

‘Look.’ For the second time that evening, Fliss pointed towards the river mouth.

On the other side of the bridge, flashing lights could be seen. The red, blue and white lights on the different emergency services vehicles looked like a strobe lighting effect for a large outdoor party.

‘The cavalry’s arriving.’ Jack sounded relieved. ‘And it’s been less than an hour since all this started. Not bad.’

‘But they’re not moving. They’re miles away.’

‘They’re not going to let anyone come in until they know it’s safe. And they won’t want anyone escaping, either. I’ll bet they’ve blocked the road on the north side as well.’

They may as well still be as far away as they had been in the larger towns they had rushed here from, Fliss thought in despair. Relief at knowing help was close was minimised by the frustration of knowing they were still alone on this side of the river.

More lights could now be seen flashing in the sky above the position that had clearly been chosen as a safe rendezvous point. A helicopter was hovering over what had to be Morriston’s Domain—a rather grand name for what was little more than a paddock ringed with some lovely old oak trees and used more as a venue for the local pony club to meet than anything else.

Reinforcements from Christchurch?

Would Angus be amongst them?

And if so, how long would he have to wait, cut off by the wide stretch of the Morris River, before he could come to help any of the residents?

To help her.

Fliss pushed the selfish thought aside and turned to look away from the tantalising sight of the gathering rescue forces.

The northern boundary of Morriston was hidden from view by the hill Jack’s house was on but Fliss looked in that direction anyway. Was the old man right? Had the first priority been to try and seal them off from the outside world to prevent anyone creating mayhem somewhere else? And what about the native bush on the eastern boundary? It would be easy for someone to hide in there for as long as they wanted and then return if they didn’t consider the job finished.

An explosion too loud to be gunfire sounded as though it came from just beyond Jack’s front doorstep. Fliss instinctively crouched, just as a shower of bright sparks appeared in the inky blackness outside.

Jack remained standing.

‘What’s happening?’ Fliss queried shakily.

‘There’s a fire.’ Jack sounded shocked. ‘A big one. I think it might be Darren’s house.’

Fliss inched back up to where she could see the first lick of tall flames dividing the sparks. Thick smoke roiled into the night, illuminated by the flames.

Would the volunteer fire brigade dare to respond? Fliss had seen them in action once in her time here, when Mrs McKay’s bonfire had spread to a stand of gum trees at the back of her section. A siren had summoned the volunteers and the ancient vehicle they used had been in place in a commendably short space of time. Rural communities had to look after themselves in that sort of crisis and deal with any type of fire as quickly as possible. Back-up would be a long way away if an uncontrolled fire began spreading from tree to tree and then house to house.

But no siren sounded now. If it was Darren’s house going up in smoke, it was being left to suffer its fate.

‘Whoever lit that fire can’t be far away.’

‘No.’

‘What’s going to happen next?’

As if to answer her frightened question, Fliss heard a faint scream from somewhere down the hill.

And then the sound of yet another gunshot.

And then silence.

She looked at Jack.

‘I’m going now,’ she said quietly. ‘I can’t just sit here and let this happen.’

‘No.’ Jack moved, heading for the passage that led to his back door. He opened the back door, stared for a long moment into the dark section and then jerked his head sideways. ‘Right, then. Let’s go.’

Fliss followed close behind, crouching as she ran. They stopped when they reached the henhouse and huddled into the darkness between the corrugated-iron shed and an overhanging apple tree.

‘You go the way I told you, Fliss, and, for God’s sake, keep a careful lookout and your head down.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Fliss didn’t want to set off alone. Jack might be eighty-six and in no shape for physical exertion but doing this alone was a terrifying prospect.

‘I’m going past the Treffers’ place. I’ll check on Callum. Or Cody.’ Jack’s teeth gleamed oddly in the frame of his blackened beard as he grinned at Fliss. ‘Not that I’ve ever been able to tell those rascals apart. They never get close enough.’

There was an unmistakable undertone of sadness and Fliss knew why it was there. It had taken time, but she had learned that Jack was something of an outsider in this village despite having lived here for most of his adult life. She didn’t think he had been a loner by choice, however. While making notes in that very first interview, Fliss, had casually queried Jack’s marital status. Avoiding her gaze, Jack had been brusque.

‘I was always a bit shy when it came to the lassies. And it’s a bit late now.’

Perhaps his disfigurement, added to too many years of living alone, had combined to push him further away from the community as he had started to look more disreputable, and the only place he went to socially was the local pub. He didn’t have to be alone right now, however. Fliss leaned closer.

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No.’ The gleam vanished. ‘It’s a more dangerous way to go, Fliss, and you’re the important one here. As you said, there could well be people waiting at the surgery who need you.’ His hand gripped her shoulder for a second. ‘You’ll be OK. Just go quietly and carefully.’

‘You, too, Jack.’

‘I’ll meet you at your place.’

Fliss simply nodded in response and she couldn’t be sure that Jack had noticed. In another moment he was gone. Swallowed up in the night with any sounds of his shuffling movements covered by the soft scratching and clucking from the hens in the run attached to the shed.

Fliss felt very, very alone.

And very, very frightened.

A wave of longing swept over her, so powerful it was a physical pain that tightened her chest and made it hard to draw the deep breath she needed for courage.

She so badly needed to be held right now. By someone who loved her. Someone she loved.

No. Not just someone.

Angus.

The wait seemed interminable.

They were dressed and ready to go. Angus had been wearing the heavy bullet-proof vest long enough for a familiar knot to be present between his shoulder blades. On top of that was a jacket with pockets everywhere. His police companions used the pockets to carry things like spare ammunition, teargas and stun grenades. Angus had a gas mask in one pocket but the others were bulging with emergency medical supplies. A mini-tracheostomy kit, dressings and bandages to hopefully deal with life-threatening bleeding in the field, some IV gear and drugs.

He wore the headset radio that enabled hands-free communication between all members of the team and he had pulled on a black balaclava and a pair of gloves to complete the uniform. His face was darkened with camouflage crayon and, surrounded by identical figures, the quickest way to spot Tom was to look for the only other man who did not have a revolver on his hip and a larger automatic weapon slung over one shoulder.

Police dogs strained at their leashes and whined softly behind the group but Angus concentrated on what their operation commander was saying, silently willing him to hurry. To deploy them to the other side of the river where he could find out whether Fliss was safe.

‘The offender—or offenders, as we suspect is the case—are not to be shot,’ they were reminded. ‘Unless he has been called on to surrender and has refused to do so or it is clear it won’t be possible to disarm and arrest him without immobilisation and that any delay in apprehending him would endanger others.’

At least that wasn’t a call Angus was going to have to make. His job was to provide medical back-up to his team members, any victims or even the offender. He would have an armed officer by his side, as would Tom, so they were about to be separated. The township and surrounding areas of Morriston had been divided into sections on paper and colour coded. The squad would be sent to try and cover as much of the area as possible and the first priority was to locate any of the offenders and contain them.

They still had no idea where the armed offenders were located or how many there were, despite helpful information from the local police officer, Blair, and a resident who had fled the township at the first sign of trouble.

The woman, a Mrs McKay, was still standing nearby with a blanket draped over her shoulders and an ambulance officer close beside her.

‘I knew something was going to happen,’ Angus had heard her say to his commanding officer just before their briefing. ‘Never seen them before and they came into my shop like they owned it. Said they were mates of Darren Blythe and wanted to know where he lived.’

Darren, according to Blair, was on bail. He’d been arrested and charged with the possession of an illegal substance only days ago and it had become evident that he was selling cannabis on behalf of the Barrett brothers.

Whether the older men were cultivating a commercial supply themselves had been something Blair had intended to investigate but it now seemed likely that they had, in fact, been helping themselves to a crop being carefully nurtured by an out-of-town syndicate using the native bush as cover for a large-scale operation.

‘They’ve all gone too far to be able to back down,’ the police chief inspector reminded the squad. ‘The firing of weapons has been indiscriminate and we have an unknown number of casualties out there. A greater number of residents are still in their own homes and in danger but we can’t start evacuation until we know where the offenders are located.’

And that could be impossible to find out, given the area that needed clearing and the total lack of light. The house fire that had started maybe ten or fifteen minutes ago stood out like a huge beacon and had the effect of making everything else look far darker. No lights showed in any of the dwellings.

It was all ominously black.

And very quiet.

Terrified people were hiding in these scattered houses.

And one of them was Felicity Slade.

It was an enormous relief when the briefing finally finished. A large police van, with no lights, was used to move the squad across the bridge, where it parked with its rear doors close to the side wall of the general store. The location and lack of windows in Mrs McKay’s establishment made it an ideal base for the police operation, and heavy shrubbery that bordered the adjacent small car park afforded cover to those members of the squad who silently melted into the blackness. They dispersed in single units and pairs to make their way to their allocated sectors.

Angus and his police companion, Seth, were going to Green Sector which covered a street that contained a church, memorial hall, several houses and the doctor’s surgery. It was neither coincidence nor a personal request that had landed Angus what would have been a chosen destination. As a paramedic and unable to carry anything other than very limited gear, the facility of the community’s medical centre could well be needed.

Only Tom knew the relief Angus experienced at having been handed the opportunity to check on the whereabouts and safety of his ex-partner at such an early stage of an operation that could easily not be resolved until daylight.

It was not something Angus was about to share with anyone else, including Seth. He owed it to his partner to remain as focussed as humanly possible on the immediate task they had.

He followed Seth. Very slowly. Moving from one safely sheltered spot to the next, only after waiting and watching long enough to lessen the risk that they weren’t alone.

It wasn’t just the offenders that they had to worry about, either. The possibility that some residents had been able to arm themselves and were ready to protect their lives and property was very real. A shadowy, black figure moving past their hedge or garden shed would appear terrifying. It could well be too late by the time they could identify themselves as the good guys so they needed to remain hidden from anyone as far as possible. For the same reason, they would have to treat anyone they encountered with the same kind of caution. Staying in one place would have created tension. Moving towards an unknown destination in foreign territory made it almost unbearable.

It was taking forever to get back to what now felt like safety—being within four walls and behind a locked door.

Fliss crept between hiding places and every time she moved just a few metres, she had to crouch and wait until her heart stopped hammering and her breathing slowed so that she could actually hear more than the blood pounding in her head.

Then she would wait, listening intently for anything that might indicate danger. The Bennies’ unkempt orchard, with its long grass and overgrown apple trees whose branches mingled with each other, provided reasonable cover but the black tree trunks and twisted branches looked like stationary figures. It was also a haven for wild creatures and Fliss broke out in a sweat at the rustling a nearby hedgehog made.

Having reached the end of the orchard, there was a far more daunting space to cross. The tiny cemetery with its headstones casting pools of black shadow so dark they looked like deep, water-filled holes. Fliss had never realised how many shades of black existed and they all seemed threatening tonight.

It took a long time to gather her courage for the next step of this journey and in those lonely moments Fliss stared at the gravestones and tried not to think of the times she had attended burial services. Of the desolation she’d experienced as a ten-year-old child, watching her father being laid to rest.

Of the guilt and helplessness when she’d stood at her mother’s graveside only a few years later.

Fliss might never have found the courage she needed to move into the cemetery if she hadn’t heard the faint call.

‘Help…please…Someone help me!’

It was a woman’s voice. A woman who was in pain and terrified. Possibly the one whom Fliss and Jack had heard scream what seemed like hours before.

Fliss couldn’t not respond to the plea for help. The part of her that could forget anything personal and focus totally on the needs of someone else took over, and when she moved this time it was with a confidence and stealth she had been all too aware of lacking up till now.

She almost made it to the crumpled figure lying between a tall headstone and the marble angel that was so old its nose had crumbled off. But by the time she saw the black figure launch itself at her from the shadow of another headstone it was far to late to even turn, let alone try to flee or defend herself.

She landed in the grass, face down, with a jolt that forced any air out of her lungs, and the pain of trying to breathe again almost overwhelmed the fear that came with the knowledge that she was about to die.

It was a male figure pinning her to the ground. No woman could weigh that much and still have the feel of iron-clad muscle and untold strength. Why hadn’t he shot her, like the others? Had he finally run out of ammunition? Was he going to kill her by some much slower and therefore more horrendous method?

Fear kicked in then, and Fliss struggled, ready to fight for her life.

She felt herself turning onto her back but her arms were pinned to the ground on either side of her head and her legs were still crushed by the weight of her attacker.

The struggle was silent and fierce. The paralysing effect on her diaphragm from the initial body blow meant that Fliss couldn’t draw enough breath to scream yet. When she found she could suck in some oxygen, she stopped struggling for a split second to do just that.

And in that moment she focussed on the face hovering so close to her own. She could see the features that were well disguised but not altered by the black substance that covered them.

Could see dark eyes that were staring back at her with an extraordinary expression.

A strangled sound like a sob finally escaped Fliss. A release of terror. The birth of something far more welcome.

Her hoarse whisper was a desperate plea to confirm what she thought she was seeing.

‘Angus?’