‘It’s Charles.’ Charles Wetherby was curt at the best of times and he was brief now. ‘You two OK?’
‘We’re in the bus. There’s no one here.’
‘We’ve been thinking. If it’s Max, there has to be a reason why he’d run, right?’ Charles snapped. ‘He’s a sensible kid.’
‘Yes,’ Alistair said cautiously. The radio was powerful—he didn’t have to hold it to his ear and they could both listen.
‘We’ve been talking to patients from the bus. Most of them seem to have been asleep when it crashed and there were a few stops along the way, so trying to figure who was on the thing is impossible. And the driver’s dead. But there’s an old lady who says she was sure there was a boy sitting up the back on his own. And there was another child with one of the women, though she can’t remember who. But she said the two kids were playing with a dog. Harry found a dog lead in the pile of belongings. He’s checked all the baggage now and he’s saying there’s a smaller child’s clothing. So we treat it as confirmed. We have two kids missing, and it’s too late to send in more searchers. But it’s the dog I want to talk about. I’m guessing here, but if the bus crashed and the dog took off in fright, maybe the kids went looking for it. It’s a long shot but it’s all we have. If we’d known this earlier, I would have sent in a team regardless. Two kids in the bush in a cyclone doesn’t bear thinking of, but you’re on your own.’
‘The woman who phoned,’ Alistair said, thinking it through. ‘She mentioned a dog. It fits.’
‘Max doesn’t have a dog,’ Georgie said.
‘We assume he has one now,’ Alistair said. ‘It’s odd to think he’d have run away for any other reason, and the only other option is that somehow he’s buried somewhere underneath the bus. We’ll go with the dog option. Thanks, Charles.’
‘Keep me informed and move fast,’ Charles said bluntly. ‘They’re saying three hours before the worst of this hits, but it may be less, and I want you out well before that. With or without kids. I know it’s hard but look after your own skins first. Georgie, I know you can’t make that call so, Alistair, I depend on you to make it for her.’
And the radio went dead.
‘OK,’ Alistair said. ‘Where do we start?’ But it was a rhetorical question. He was already moving back the way they’d come in—the smashed front window. The normal entrance to the bus was somewhere under their feet. Useless.
‘Hurry,’ he said, and she didn’t need to be told.
Then they were outside the bus. Even in the time they’d been inside the wind had worsened. The cliff was protecting them from the worst of its force but the treetops were being blasted. Within two minutes of emerging, they heard the splintering of branches.
‘This is crazy,’ Alistair yelled. ‘Surely they’d have returned to the bus. They must be lost.’
Georgie was shining her torch around the scene, taking her time now, knowing she had to be careful. It was so dark. To find anything before morning seemed impossible
They had to try. ‘If I were a dog …’ she muttered, thinking it through.
‘What?’
‘I was thinking … If they were up the back of the bus, chances are they’d get out through the smashed rear window. So let’s check the rear.’
They did. Nothing there. But …
‘The land up to the road is really steep here,’ Alistair said, shining his torch around. The bush seemed impenetrable. ‘If I were a terrified dog, I’d head for the nearest exit.’ His torch swung slowly, searching, and Georgie joined hers with his. Then …
‘There,’ he said.
It looked like a creek bed. Or some sort of basic waterway. There were rocks along its base and there was a trickle of water under the stones. But the stones were big and packed close together, making it almost a track.
‘If I wanted to get away in a hurry, that’s the way I’d go,’ Alistair said, and grabbed her hand and tugged her.
She went willingly.
But not as swiftly. Alistair was surefooted and fast. She’d thought he was a swank city surgeon, with his gorgeous suits and carefully groomed hair. But now … in his borrowed leathers and heavy boots he was as fast and as fit as any of the emergency service personnel Georgie knew in Crocodile Creek. He’d ridden the bike like an expert.
‘Where did you learn this?’ she demanded as they climbed swiftly from rock to rock. Every few feet Alistair stopped, shone his torch in all directions and yelled. Georgie tried it once but her voice was about a hundred decibels lower than Alistair’s roar.
‘College choir,’ he said, shining his torch into the bush again. ‘First baritone.’
‘I meant the hiking. And the riding.’
‘Abseiling’s a hobby,’ he told her. ‘And there’s not a lot of places you can abseil for joy without a bike.’
‘Abseil for joy?’
‘Abseil where you don’t have half the enthusiastic amateurs of the country waiting for you as you haul yourself over the top.’
‘You abseil alone?’
‘I’m not an idiot. I do it with friends.’ Her foot slipped a bit and he caught her before she hit the water. ‘Careful.’
She didn’t have to be careful when this man was here, she thought. He just took control. He just …
‘But you do karate,’ Alistair said. He tugged her up and her body met his momentarily as he steadied her. ‘We’re birds of a feather, Georg.’
‘I’m not,’ she said instinctively, and she felt rather than saw him grin.
‘Deny it all you like,’ he said. ‘But it’s there for all that. Damn.’
He stopped. She was slightly behind him. He still held her hand, and he tugged her absently against him as he shone his torch ahead. ‘OK. Path ends here. What now?’
Maybe they ought to go back. The wind was screaming so hard that if they hadn’t been in the comparative shelter of the forest floor they wouldn’t have been able to hear themselves speak.
Up until then the creek bed had formed what seemed almost a natural footpath. But now the stones stopped abruptly and the ground rose again. Alistair’s torch picked out the flow of water and followed it. There was a natural cleft in the rising ground, and stones and water disappeared, almost buried.
‘The water goes underground,’ Alistair said, and raised his torch to shine it round. ‘They must have left the path here.’
It seemed Alistair wasn’t thinking of giving up yet, and neither was she.
‘Surely they wouldn’t have come this far.’
‘If the dog got frightened and they were following it … like us, they’d have thought if they’d come this far they couldn’t go back without trying to find him.’
‘But where …?’ Her torch joined his.
‘There,’ Alistair said, aiming the torch behind them and up a bit. There was a small break in the timber. ‘We go in until it’s blocked again and then we stop. Agreed?’
‘OK.’
‘You’re worried about going in?’
‘I’m worried about stopping,’ she said, and tugged him forward.
Twenty yards. Thirty. The way was possibly the path of animals coming to drink—small animals. The path was clear to almost waist height but no higher. Alistair was using his hands to bush-bash, shoving the undergrowth aside to let her through. Georgie was holding both torches.
There was a crack like a shot from a rifle and a branch broke off above their heads, crashing its way down through the rainforest canopy to land ten feet ahead of them.
A cry.
Not theirs.
Georgie stopped as if struck.
Alistair had heard it, too. They stood frozen, almost afraid to move.
Nothing. Nothing but wind screaming above their heads and the driving rain.
Maybe it was an animal.
‘It was a child,’ Georgie said. ‘I swear.’
‘Wait,’ Alistair said. He took his torch back from her and gripped her hand.
She waited. She was learning to trust
him.
She’d come a long way in two days.
The wind was shrieking, making it impossible for them to hear anything else. Nothing. Nothing. But then came what Alistair had been waiting for. A tiny gap in the wind blasts, as if the wind was catching its breath to blast again.
‘Max,’ he roared into the night. ‘Georgie’s here. Yell back.’ It was a yell to wake the dead and Georgie jumped almost a foot.
‘Sorry,’ Alistair said as the wind took up its screaming again. ‘I should have warned you.’ He gripped her hand again, warning her to stay silent.
She needed no second bidding. They stood hand in hand, waiting for another break in the wind. Alistair’s arm came round her waist and he tugged her against him. Holding her steady.
No. Just holding her.
Waiting. Waiting.
The wind caught its breath …
And there it was. A yell, high and shrill, screaming through the bush.
‘Georgie, Georgie, Georgie.’
Max. Dear God, it was Max.
The wind took over again but they’d heard enough. Close. To the right and up a bit. Past a break in the path …
Alistair was inching forward and Georgie was pushing him.
‘Don’t,’ he growled, and his body formed a barrier so she couldn’t go past him. She couldn’t go faster.
And then …
‘Hell,’ Alistair said, and stopped dead. Then he was on his knees, on his stomach, lying full length on the ground, inching forward.
Astonished, Georgie followed him with her torch. And saw …
It must have been almost invisible. It still was. There was a mass of branches and leaf litter over the path, but there was a slit in the midst of it.
A yawning hole. It would have been disguised by leaf litter until someone had … someone had …
‘Hold onto my belt,’ Alistair ordered. ‘And find yourself some purchase. I need to find the edge.’
She needed no second bidding. She knelt, grabbed the solid trunk of a sapling with one hand, then reached over and grabbed his belt with the other.
He was feeling with one hand, shining his torch with the other.
‘There,’ he said, tugging away a heap of leaf litter as Georgie helped to pull him back.
He’d exposed the edge.
A mine shaft.
The path they’d followed must indeed have been a path, made maybe fifty years ago when men had mined these mountains.
‘Max,’ she said, and it was a whisper. And then again but this time it was no whisper. ‘Max.’
‘Georgie.’ It was half cry, half sob, and it came from deep within the mine. And then came the fierce yap of a dog.
Max. And dog.
Another blast of wind, so fierce this time that it rocked them, even in this sheltered place. There was another crack of splintering timber.
‘Max, Georgie’s here and I’m Georgie’s friend. I’m Alistair.’ They didn’t need to discuss who was going to do the talking—Georgie’s voice was way too weak. Pathetic, she told herself. She ought to do voice training.
‘Max,’ she yelled, doing her best. ‘Max, I’m here.’
‘Georgie …’ It was a sob of terror.
‘Who’s down there?’ Alistair boomed.
‘Me and Scruffy and another kid.’ Somehow the shaft made Max’s voice echo, enabling it to be heard.
‘Are you hurt?’ Georgie yelled, and Alistair repeated it.
‘Scruffy’s got a sore leg. He keeps yelping. And it’s cold.’
‘The other kid? What’s his name?’
‘I dunno. It’s dark.’
‘Is he OK?’ Alistair yelled. ‘Is he talking?’
‘He doesn’t talk.’
‘Is he asleep?’ Oh, God, what was he asking? But Georgie knew what Alistair was asking, and she thought she didn’t want to hear the answer.
But it seemed she did. ‘He’s hugging Scruffy,’ he called. ‘We … we sort of held hands for a bit when I cried. He’s OK.’
Georgie saw Alistair’s swift intake of breath. ‘When I cried …’
‘Did you fall?’ she yelled. Dear God …
‘Scruffy fell in. The kid fell in after him. I stayed on top for a while and then I got really scared and I got too close and I sort of slid down on top of them. I hurt my knee a bit but it’s not bleeding. But we can’t climb out.’
Slid. Not fell. Georgie’s breath went out in a whoosh. If they’d clear fallen …
‘Max, is there another hole near you?’ Alistair called into the shaft. ‘I know it’s dark but can you feel? Could you fall any further?’
‘The bottom’s made of rock,’ Max yelled back. ‘It’s really hard.’
‘Is there any water in there?’
‘It’s dry.’
She closed her eyes. How lucky had they been? They’d fallen into a shaft that had bottomed on rock and then been dug no further.
But how deep were they? Not so deep that she couldn’t hear Max above the wind. Not so deep … Ten, fifteen feet?
‘So you’re all safe?’ Alistair asked.
‘We’re stuck,’ Max said in childish indignation that Alistair wasn’t seeing the clear picture. ‘And we’re hungry. And Scruffy’s hurt his leg.’
There was another explosive crack of timber. Too close for comfort.
‘I need to get a bit further out so I can look down,’ Alistair said. ‘Can you hold me?’
‘Of course.’ She could have held back a ten-ton truck right now if it meant getting Max to safety.
‘Let’s just check my belt buckle’s tight first,’ Alistair said, and wriggled back a bit to check. ‘This is Harry’s gear and Harry’s a bit wider than me. I don’t fancy plummeting down, leaving you holding onto Harry’s leathers.’
He was smiling. In a situation like this … he was smiling? Maybe he had cause, Georgie thought, letting a little of the tension ooze away. The kids were safe. In this fearful wind the bottom of a mine shaft was probably the safest place for them.
And it seemed Alistair agreed. He wriggled forward while she held on for dear life. He shone the torch down and then he wriggled back again. He’d hauled off his backpack and he reached for hers as well.
‘Provisions,’ he said.
‘Provisions?’
He was hauling out a couple of bottles of drink, high-energy orangeade. A fistful of chocolate bars.
‘Jill’s done us proud,’ he said. He was tugging off his jacket. ‘They can both huddle under this.’
She stared at him. ‘Don’t be stupid. We’ll get them out …’
‘Not for a while. You want to donate your jacket as well?’
‘I … Of course.’ She tugged off her jacket. Damn, she only had a skimpy top on underneath. Alistair had a long-sleeved shirt. Maybe she needed to do a rethink on her clothing.
But Alistair had moved on, shoving the jackets and provisions out to the edge of the shaft. ‘Right, Georg, hold me again.’
She did so. He shone his torch down, carefully assessing.
‘I can see you guys,’ he called. ‘Max, hi. Scruffy, hi. And you …’ He was obviously talking to the second child. ‘What’s your name?’
No answer.
‘He wasn’t talking on the bus either,’ Max said. ‘I don’t think he can.’
‘But you’re OK?’ Alistair asked, and then seemed to relax. ‘Max, I want you guys to push yourselves as far as you can away from my torch beam. I’m tossing you a few things to eat and drink, and two jackets to put on.’
‘We want to get out,’ Max quavered.
‘See, the problem is,’ Alistair called apologetically, ‘that a cyclone’s about to hit. A really nasty storm. Any minute, in fact. That’s why the bus crashed—the storm before the cyclone washed the edge of the road away. Georgie and I had to come in on bikes, which means we haven’t got ropes. We’ll have to get some. But you’re safe where you are. What Georgie and I will do is leave you this food. We’ll go and find somewhere to keep ours
elves safe, but as soon as you hear the storm ease we’ll be back with rope to get you out. We promise. It’ll be a few hours—maybe until daylight—but you have to be brave. There’s no choice.’
‘Don’t go,’ Max called, and it was a sob.
Georgie was still gripping Alistair’s belt as if her life depended on it, but she was appalled. ‘We can’t.’
‘We don’t have any choice,’ Alistair called back to Max, ignoring her protest. ‘Max, this storm is awful. You and your friend and your dog are in the safest place in the country right now. If we could, we’d join you, but you’re pretty squashed as it is, and I’d need rope to lower us down. So we have to leave.’
‘Georgie,’ Max sobbed.
‘I’ll go down to them,’ Georgie said, but Alistair had pulled back. As Georgie pushed forward, he caught her and held her, as one might hold a child.
‘No,’ he said. ‘You and I are going back to the truck near the road block.’
‘The truck? Are you crazy?’ She was pulling away from him but he was holding her with ease. ‘I’m staying with Max.’
Another branch split above their heads.
‘This is bad,’ Alistair said. ‘And it’s going to get worse. It’s mostly branches and litter flying now, but if it’s a real cyclone it’ll be trees.’
‘But the boys …’
‘Help me now,’ he said. He’d moved to the edge of the path, where an ancient log lay rotting. ‘We push this across.’
‘No.’
‘Don’t be stupid, Georg,’ he said. ‘Push.’
She stared at him, blind with fear, but his face was implacable.
‘Push,’ he ordered.
There was no choice. She pushed. Under their combined weight the log slid sideways. ‘There’ll be a few leaves and stuff falling down,’ Alistair yelled to the boys. ‘Stand hard against the side, cover your heads with your hands and push your faces against the sides. Right?’
‘R-right.’ Max sounded terrified but game.
‘One more push,’ Alistair said, and the thing was done. The log was right over the shaft, anchored by ten feet of wood at either end. As it shifted, the rotten under-edge crumbled a bit more, making it sit flat on the ground.
The Australian's Desire (Mills & Boon By Request) Page 14
