were road cones. Orange witches’ hats were stretched across the main street, forcing them to stop.
The light was fading but they could see the outlines of the buildings. They could see devastation.
Porches of old, heritage-style shopfronts had come crashing down. A car parked at the kerbside was half-buried under bricks and stones—and maybe it was more than one car, Ginny thought, gazing further along the road.
Right near where they’d been forced to stop, the front of Wilkinson’s General Store had fallen away. So had the front of Miss Wilkinson’s apartment upstairs. The elderly spinster’s bedroom lay ripped open as if a can opener had zipped along the edge. Her bedroom, with chenille bedspread, her dressing gown hanging on the internal door, her teddy bears spread across the bed, was on view for all to see.
She’d be mortified, Ginny thought, appalled for the gentile old lady. And then she thought, Please, God, that she’s safe enough to feel mortified.
There were no lights. At this time of day the streetlights should be flickering on, but instead the scene was descending into darkness.
A soldier was approaching them from the other side of the road block. A soldier?
Ben had the Jeep’s window down, staring at this uniformed stranger in dismay. For heaven’s sake, the man even had a gun!
‘The main street’s been declared a red zone,’ the soldier stated. ‘It’s too dangerous to proceed. My orders are to keep everyone out.’
‘I’m needed at the hospital on the other side of town,’ Ben said with icy calm, and Ginny felt like reaching out from the back seat, touching him, reassuring him—but there was no reassurance to be had. ‘I’m a doctor,’ he said. ‘I have people here who need treatment.’
‘Sorry, sir, you still need to follow protocol,’ the soldier said. ‘You can pull the car to the side of the road—as far away from the rubble as you can, sir, and report to Incident Control Headquarters.’
‘Incident Control Headquarters?’ Ginny demanded, because Ben seemed almost speechless. She could see where his head was. Soldiers coming in and taking control of his island? ‘Where exactly is Incident Control Headquarters?’
‘Um...it’s the tourist information centre,’ the soldier said, unbending a little.
‘Thank you,’ Ben said tightly, and parked the Jeep, and he and Ginny ushered his tight little group of frightened citizens round the back of the shattered buildings towards the sounds and bustle and lights of...Incident Control Headquarters?
Here there were people everywhere. Floodlights lit the outside of what was normally tourist central. Serious men and women Ginny didn’t recognise, wearing hard hats and bright orange overalls, were spilling in and out.
Ginny was clutching Button and holding Flora’s hand with the hand she had spare. She was feeling ill. Ben was carrying two of the toddlers they’d brought down from the ridge, and he looked as grim as she felt.
It was almost five hours since the quake had hit, and what five hours ago had been a peaceful island setting had now been transformed. These people represented professional disaster management, she thought. They’d have been brought in by the choppers they’d seen.
Kaimotu Island must now be officially a disaster scene.
And then there was Abby, flying down the steps to meet them. Abby was also wearing orange overalls and a hard hat. A grim-faced man came behind her, obviously keeping her in sight, but Abby had eyes only for Ben.
‘Ben—oh, thank God you’re okay,’ the nurse said. ‘I’ve been so worried. Where have you been? We’ve been going out of our minds. Your mum—’
‘She’s okay?’ Ben snapped, and Ginny had a further inkling of what he’d been going through. What he still was going through.
‘She’s fine,’ Abby said hurriedly. ‘As far as I know, all your family is okay. Doug’s out with the searchers. Your house is intact and your mum and Hannah have set it up
The light was fading but they could see the outlines of the buildings. They could see devastation.
Porches of old, heritage-style shopfronts had come crashing down. A car parked at the kerbside was half-buried under bricks and stones—and maybe it was more than one car, Ginny thought, gazing further along the road.
Right near where they’d been forced to stop, the front of Wilkinson’s General Store had fallen away. So had the front of Miss Wilkinson’s apartment upstairs. The elderly spinster’s bedroom lay ripped open as if a can opener had zipped along the edge. Her bedroom, with chenille bedspread, her dressing gown hanging on the internal door, her teddy bears spread across the bed, was on view for all to see.
She’d be mortified, Ginny thought, appalled for the gentile old lady. And then she thought, Please, God, that she’s safe enough to feel mortified.
There were no lights. At this time of day the streetlights should be flickering on, but instead the scene was descending into darkness.
A soldier was approaching them from the other side of the road block. A soldier?
Ben had the Jeep’s window down, staring at this uniformed stranger in dismay. For heaven’s sake, the man even had a gun!
‘The main street’s been declared a red zone,’ the soldier stated. ‘It’s too dangerous to proceed. My orders are to keep everyone out.’
‘I’m needed at the hospital on the other side of town,’ Ben said with icy calm, and Ginny felt like reaching out from the back seat, touching him, reassuring him—but there was no reassurance to be had. ‘I’m a doctor,’ he said. ‘I have people here who need treatment.’
‘Sorry, sir, you still need to follow protocol,’ the soldier said. ‘You can pull the car to the side of the road—as far away from the rubble as you can, sir, and report to Incident Control Headquarters.’
‘Incident Control Headquarters?’ Ginny demanded, because Ben seemed almost speechless. She could see where his head was. Soldiers coming in and taking control of his island? ‘Where exactly is Incident Control Headquarters?’
‘Um...it’s the tourist information centre,’ the soldier said, unbending a little.
‘Thank you,’ Ben said tightly, and parked the Jeep, and he and Ginny ushered his tight little group of frightened citizens round the back of the shattered buildings towards the sounds and bustle and lights of...Incident Control Headquarters?
Here there were people everywhere. Floodlights lit the outside of what was normally tourist central. Serious men and women Ginny didn’t recognise, wearing hard hats and bright orange overalls, were spilling in and out.
Ginny was clutching Button and holding Flora’s hand with the hand she had spare. She was feeling ill. Ben was carrying two of the toddlers they’d brought down from the ridge, and he looked as grim as she felt.
It was almost five hours since the quake had hit, and what five hours ago had been a peaceful island setting had now been transformed. These people represented professional disaster management, she thought. They’d have been brought in by the choppers they’d seen.
Kaimotu Island must now be officially a disaster scene.
And then there was Abby, flying down the steps to meet them. Abby was also wearing orange overalls and a hard hat. A grim-faced man came behind her, obviously keeping her in sight, but Abby had eyes only for Ben.
‘Ben—oh, thank God you’re okay,’ the nurse said. ‘I’ve been so worried. Where have you been? We’ve been going out of our minds. Your mum—’
‘She’s okay?’ Ben snapped, and Ginny had a further inkling of what he’d been going through. What he still was going through.
‘She’s fine,’ Abby said hurriedly. ‘As far as I know, all your family is okay. Doug’s out with the searchers. Your house is intact and your mum and Hannah have set it up
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