Kirsten climbed in. The rain had settled into drizzle, suffocatingly wet, turning the day a uniform and depressing grey. The scene at the council chambers was brighter, generator-powered arc lights beaming into the building, men throwing roof tiles aside as they dug down from the top.
James, perhaps correctly interpreting a look from his superior, suggested he leave Kirsten and return to the convent, and she thanked him for the lift and got out.
‘I assume you’re down here to collect your car,’ the major greeted her, stepping forward as if to block her way if she dared go near the building.
‘You might need help when you reach those two men,’ Kirsten told him.
‘I have help,’ he said curtly. ‘How’s Woulfe?’
‘I’ve set his leg. He’s resting.’
She didn’t add the usual ‘comfortably’ as she was reasonably certain the captain was anything but comfortable. And she made sure her words were every bit as curt as Harry Graham’s had been.
‘Have you had any contact with the men, any signals they might be alive?’
He shook his head and the bleak look in his eyes made Kirsten feel almost sorry for him.
‘The floor was concrete, and the walls and ceiling that collapsed in are solid plaster. I don’t know that we’d hear someone knocking.’
Kirsten nodded. ‘It was a solid old building,’ she agreed. ‘Which makes its collapse even harder to understand.’
‘I think the previous floods have been scouring away underneath it. Perhaps a new watercourse formed and, with this next inundation coming down, more earth was washed away—undermining the foundations at the front corner and causing the collapse. It’s imploded inward, not gone outward.’
‘Like a house of cards,’ Kirsten muttered, remembering the rainy-day occupation of her childhood and her frustration when a delicately balanced structure collapsed.
‘We’ve got props in place internally, sir, and men working from the top down, but it will take hours to get through that way because we’re not sure where to concentrate.’
The young soldier who made the report nodded to Kirsten, but it was no more than automatic politeness. The major had all his attention.
‘Can you reach the trapped men?’ Harry demanded, and Kirsten watched the man shake his head.
‘Private Forde tried, sir. He’s our smallest man, but even he can’t get a jack in far enough to enlarge the hole. The men are working on it—digging at it by hand, not wanting to use too much force in case it collapses altogether. As it is, he says he saw light and what appears to be a bigger space beyond the passageway.’
‘What good would it do, getting the jack further in?’ Kirsten asked, knowing any further delay could mean the difference between life or death for the two trapped men.
‘We could attach a hose to the jack, and use air pressure to raise the collapsed wall enough to get help to the men.’
‘I’ll take the jack in,’ Kirsten told him. ‘Once I’ve set it up, I might be able to get right through.’
‘I won’t allow it!’ the major snapped.
‘You’ve no alternative!’ Kirsten snapped right back. ‘I’m the smallest person here, and I’m also the best equipped to provide help to the trapped men. Just give me a minute to get some gear from my bag.’
She hurried away before he could argue, found her bag and extracted what she might need, tucking the drugs and bandages into pockets then making up a sealed plastic bag of secondary requirements which the army could send through to her later if she needed them.
‘If I tie a bit of that to my waist,’ she told the major, pointing to some of the fine rope coiled on the ground, ‘I can let you know what else I need—this bag of stuff, the small oxygen tank, whatever. You can tie it on and I can pull it through.’
The brown eyes were bemused, then they darkened—she guessed, with anger.
‘You’re not going in there,’ he said, and Kirsten sighed.
‘Let’s not do this,’ she pleaded. ‘We’re wasting time. You have the place propped. It’s quite safe and someone has to go. Give me this jack, tell me what you want done and let’s get on with it.’
He hesitated, then looked around, finally nodding abruptly, although Kirsten knew from the grim set of his lips that he was far from happy about it.
Rather than push him further, she crossed to the rope, but he strode ahead and bent down, lifting the coil and hefting it in his hand before turning to a soldier with a curt order.
Another man appeared with a harness and a coil of what looked like bright orange twine.
‘This is strong, but lighter,’ the major said to her, stepping towards her and fitting the harness over her shoulders, snapping it shut in front then fixing the twine to a loop at the back.
His closeness unnerved her, so she stuttered when she said, ‘A-afraid my knots will c-come undone?’
‘Afraid this whole mad scheme will come undone,’ he growled, his lips so close to her ear she could almost feel them move. The quiver returned but she put it down to apprehension of what lay ahead of her.
He stepped back and looked down into her eyes.
‘We’ve pushed metal props like long thin triangles along the corridor. They should hold, but if you hear any noise, any creaking, get out of there.’
Kirsten nodded, and hoped she looked braver than she felt.
‘And don’t attempt to reach the room. Position the jack just beyond the props, then back straight out again. We’ll enlarge the crawl space and prop it as we go. Once it’s safe you can do your rescue thing.’
Kirsten glared at him. Instinct told her the trapped men would need help and the delay in getting to them was intolerable. But if she went in and brought the shattered building down on top of the three of them…
‘I’ll come back,’ she agreed reluctantly, and was surprised when he grinned at her.
‘You bet you will, Dr McPherson. I’ll be holding your lead!’
He tugged at the orange rope and Kirsten felt it jerk her harness, then he put his hand on her back and guided her into the building.
‘Hard hat,’ he said, and slapped a miner’s helmet, complete with light, on her head. ‘You should be able to see but the light might pick out something you’d otherwise miss. Now, in and out—understand?’
Kirsten nodded. The space looked far smaller than it had earlier when she’d found the captain. And the ‘props’ seemed far too flimsy.
She took a deep breath, grasped the jack a soldier handed her and crawled into the tunnel. It wasn’t too bad until crawling became impossible and she had to lie on her stomach, pushing the jack, with its air hose attached, along in front of her and squiggling inch by inch through the debris.
It was dark now and she was glad of the little lamp, glad it picked out the metal frames that ran along each side of her. Ahead, perhaps about ten feet but impossible to reach, was the lessening of the darkness which suggested open space and gave her hope.
‘Jim, can you hear me? Are you guys all right in there?’
No answer, no knocking—only silence and darkness.
Hope wavered.
‘Set the jack in position and get out,’ the major called to her, and Kirsten, who’d considered disobeying, realised she couldn’t physically go any further.
She opened the arms on the top of the jack then set it upright, wiggling it to make sure it was stable. She checked that the hose was still attached to the fitting and the connection was tight, then she began to worm her way backwards, pleased to find a steady pressure on her harness which made this easier, though to have her heels seized and be unceremoniously hauled out the final few feet wasn’t what she’d have chosen.
‘Come outside while they lift and prop some more.’ Harry helped her to her feet and hustled her out before she could argue. ‘The men will only raise it an inch at a time, pushing the props forward at the same time. Could you see how much further the tunnel stretches? Were you nearly to the end of it?’
Kirsten
was about to explain when her knees began to tremble and she’d have slumped to the ground if he hadn’t caught her.
‘Reaction!’ she said shakily. ‘Boy! I’ve never believed that really happened. Talk about adrenalin depletion.’
Then, realising she was being held in the major’s arms and his brown eyes were looking worriedly into hers, she stiffened and said, ‘I’m OK now. You can put me down. I won’t keel over.’
He lowered her back to her feet, but continued to hold her until a shout from his men diverted his attention back to the rescue mission.
‘Sit!’ he said, pointing to the passenger seat of the army vehicle behind them.
‘Do I bark or salute?’ Kirsten asked, but she sat anyway, pleased to get some neutral support under her, though why she should feel more shaken by the major holding her than she’d been by her crawl in the tunnel she’d consider later.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT WAS another hour before the narrow corridor into the room where the men were trapped was propped securely. Kirsten, who’d recovered her equilibrium, heard the sounds of success and got out of the vehicle, hurrying back to the building.
Several civilians had joined the soldiers, including a man Kirsten recognised as the town engineer. One name she could cross off the list of possible victims trapped inside.
‘I’ll go in,’ she offered, meeting a dusty-looking Harry at the entrance to the narrowed tunnel.
He looked doubtfully at her.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he demanded. ‘I wouldn’t consider it, but my qualified men are too big to get through.’
She had to smile at his reluctance to allow her to put herself in even minimal danger.
‘I’ll be safe with the props in place,’ she assured him.
‘I’ll rope you up again, and give you a walkie-talkie so we can communicate.’
Kirsten felt her smile fade from her lips. So she could tell him the bad news—that was another interpretation which could be put on his words. The silence from the two missing men wasn’t a good sign.
She stood still while he fitted the vest and attached her to the orange twine. He demonstrated how to work the walkie-talkie and tucked it into a pocket of the vest.
‘Now, this,’ he said, handing her a thin metal pointer, ‘is an aluminium probe. It’s telescopic and will stretch out to about four metres so you can test your footing before you move.’
He buttoned the probe into another pocket then fitted the miner’s helmet on her head and did up the strap beneath her chin.
He was so close she could see the dark shadow of his beard beneath the tanned skin on his chin. His eyes were intent on his task and he was oblivious to her tremor of reaction as his fingers brushed her overly receptive skin.
‘Don’t do anything foolish!’ he growled, holding her captive in front of him with one hand clamped to the top of the helmet. ‘If the space beyond the tunnel looks at all unsafe, get straight out of there. Don’t even venture into it if you think there’s an element of risk. We’re still lifting stuff from the top and eventually we’ll get down to where the men are.’
She nodded, because it was difficult to speak. It must be nerves making her chest so tight, her skin so prickly.
He looked at her for a moment longer, as if there was something else he meant to say, then he, too, nodded and he released her. She turned away, knelt down and first crawled, then wriggled along the now familiar tunnel.
The jack had done its work, raising the roof enough for longer props to be slid into place. Ahead was the less dense darkness she’d seen earlier—the room from which Captain Woulfe had crawled.
The floor dropped away from beneath her searching hands and she realised she’d reached the end. She turned her head so the light would illuminate the room, and saw the wall that had fallen on the soldier, the solid slab of it resting at a crazy angle against the old oak desk Jim had deemed suitable mayoral furniture.
‘Jim, can you hear me? Can anyone hear me?’
She called in vain, then sniffed the air, but it was too dusty to detect the odour of blood.
Next she shined the light upwards, where she could see roof tiles. The ceiling had certainly come down in this room, perhaps burying the missing men.
Hauling out the walkie-talkie, she reported what she could see.
‘I can slide out of the tunnel into what’s left of the room,’ she told whoever was listening at the other end. ‘There’s no immediate danger where I’ll land—no beams directly above me, only light timber and the roof tiles.’
She peered upward again and saw a gap in the tiles.
‘Once I’m in, I can poke the probe up through the tiles. If you can lift off the ones around that spot you could drop men from your crane into the room.’
She heard Harry say, ‘Well done.’ Then a lower-pitched warning. ‘But don’t do anything stupid!’
Stupider than pitching head first into this room? From the position she was in, prone on the floor above it, there was no alternative. She prayed the floor would hold and wriggled further forward, but in the end there was nothing for it but to let her body drop.
Her light went out as her helmet hit the ground, but when she reached up and fumbled for the switch she was relieved to find it was still working. The dirt and dust, not to mention the spiders, told her she was on top of what had been the ceiling. She edged closer to the wall, hoping Jim and the mystery second man weren’t somewhere under her feet.
Directly above her was the hole in the tiles, which explained the light in the room.
‘I’m raising the probe now,’ she dutifully reported. ‘Could someone yell when they’ve spotted it?’
She pulled out the slim metal tube and tugged until it was fully extended. She held it up and manoeuvred it until she had the point outside the hole.
A shout greeted her efforts and she let her arms drop, grateful to have the strain off them.
‘I’m going to cross to the middle of the room where the desk is,’ she said into the walkie-talkie. ‘Captain Woulfe was sitting there, and as the wall is held up by the desk the men may be trapped beneath it.’
Stepping carefully over broken timber and assorted debris, which suggested that cartons of papers may have been stored in the space between the roof and the ceiling, she reached the desk. She knelt beneath it to shine her light into the angled space under the collapsed wall. No sign of the missing men—or, now she came to think of it, of the filing cabinets Captain Woulfe had mentioned.
‘Can you hear me?’
Harry’s voice came through the walkie-talkie.
‘Yes, go ahead,’ she answered, pressing the button back to receive.
‘We’re about to lift the tiles around the hole. Make sure you’re nowhere near that area. In fact, get as far away as possible in case something falls.’
She told him she was by the desk, and protected by it and the fallen wall, then looked up to see a soldier dangling from the jib of the crane. Not any soldier, she realised as the hole grew bigger, but the boss.
‘Isn’t there a regulation in the army about officers not taking foolhardy risks?’ she asked, when he was eventually lowered into the room and joined her by the desk.
He grinned at her.
‘I found it quite exhilarating and, although it’s not a regulation, the general rule is you don’t ask the men to do something you wouldn’t do yourself!’
Then he sobered and looked around. ‘What a mess. No sign of the men?’
Kirsten shook her head.
‘They could be under that ceiling,’ she said doubtfully, ‘but Jim Thompson was a big man and it looks to me as if it’s lying very flat on the floor. Your man said they were by the filing cabinets which were in that corner.’ She waved her hand to indicate the corner of the room, where the ceiling and part of the wall were lying at floor level.
‘What’s underneath? A cellar?’
Kirsten shrugged.
‘I’ve no idea. The shire engineer was o
utside. Wouldn’t he have mentioned a cellar if there was one?’
Harry unclipped his own walkie-talkie and asked the question, suggesting that someone ask the engineer.
‘No cellar that I know of,’ a man’s voice told him, ‘although quite often civic buildings were built on the site of previous ones. The present structure was erected in 1934, maybe on the site of an older town hall. There could have been a cellar under that.’
Harry signed off and sighed. He looked at Kirsten and frowned.
‘I don’t want people tunnelling in underneath in case more of the structure collapses. And I don’t want too much weight in here in case there is a cellar and our men are alive in it. Let’s take off your trailing rope and I’ll get you lifted out, then one of the men can take your place and we’ll lift the wall and ceiling. See what’s what.’
Kirsten looked around. He was right—there was nothing she could do that a fit young soldier couldn’t do better.
‘I’ll stay on site, though,’ she told Harry. ‘When you do find the men, they could need help.’
He nodded, and she guessed he realised that the longer it took to get to them, the less chance there was of finding them alive.
She stood as still as possible as he unhitched the rope then unbuckled the harness, not wanting to initiate a brush of his fingers against her skin when his closeness and his impersonal movements were already intensifying the strange shivers through her body.
‘There,’ he said when he was done. He spoke into his radio again and the hook on the crane dropped slowly through the hole.
‘You stand on here and hold onto the steel rope. Can you do that?’
Kirsten looked at the ‘here’, a heavy curve of metal, then down at her damp sandshoes.
‘I guess so,’ she told him, trying not to think about the hook rising in the air, with her dangling like a fish from a line.
‘Perhaps we should do it this way,’ Harry said, and he took her arm and led her towards the rope. ‘I’ll stand on the hook and you stand on me. I’ll hold you—I won’t let you fall.’
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