gently pushing balls of cotton wool into the gaps in his teeth.
‘No photo shoots for you for a while,’ he said. He inspected Bryce’s leg, then carefully shuffled along on his knees, testing the weight of the timbers, straining to move them. He produced a torch from his rucksack, waving it beneath the pile of debris, scanning the limb. ‘Can’t move it, but I don’t think you’ve suffered any major damage. Wiggle your toes for me.’
Bryce did as he was told, feeling the digits moving in his shoe. ‘I can move them. That’s good, right?’
Mac nodded. ‘Yep.’ He stared up at the ceiling, the sky above. Bryce followed his gaze and the sound of a helicopter filled the air. It buzzed into view, not far above the roof, the noise of the rotors hammering the walls, churning up a dust storm that whipped debris around the remains of the room. Dangling cables twisted violently and paper funnelled into the air. The searing shafts of a search light lanced through the building at crazy angles, slicing through a sandstorm of dust and debris. Mac leaned over, shielding Bryce with his body until the sound of the rotors receded.
‘Fucking morons,’ Mac cursed, spitting dust from his mouth. ‘Probably a news crew. Could have brought the building down.’ As if to punctuate Mac’s words, a sudden avalanche of debris thundered close by and dust billowed up from the remains of the lobby, filling the room with choking black filth.
‘Got to get you out of here,’ coughed Mac. ‘I need help, though. That leg won’t move and neither will those timbers.’ He swivelled around, his neck craning above the rubble. ‘Where the hell is everyone?’
‘I thought – aren’t you part of the emergency services?’ Bryce stuttered. ‘A doctor perhaps?’
Mac shook his head. ‘No, I’m just a civvy. I was in the tube station at Westminster when the bomb went off. Ran over, to see if I could help. Everyone else ran the other way, police included. They must know something we don’t.’
Bryce lifted his head off the floorboards. ‘Bomb?’
‘Definitely,’ Mac said. ‘I had to skirt the crater to get in here. Bloody massive. Car bomb, no doubt.’
‘But I can smell gas.’
‘Probably a cracked main somewhere. It also explains the lack of emergency response. There must be a secondary device.’
Bryce stared again at his saviour. ‘You sound like you’ve got experience in all this.’
Mac pulled his own cell from his trouser pocket. ‘Ex-Royal Marine. Two tours in Afghan, one of them with the UN during the Kabul uprising. Car bombs were two a penny back then.’ He held up his phone. ‘See, no signal. They’ve cut comms, as a precaution.’ He tucked the device back into his pocket then stood up, taking a careful step towards what was left of the landing.
Bryce panicked. ‘Where are you going?’ His eyes caught a movement above, something bright drifting past the shattered roof, darting beneath the blackened rafters. A burning ember floating on an updraft, soon joined by another, then several more. A plume of smoke funnelled past the jagged breach. Something was on fire. Bryce stared in horror at the mountain of dry timbers, the piles of books that surrounded him. ‘Listen Mac, I don’t care what you have to do, just get me out of here.’
Mac saw the embers too, sniffed the air. He didn’t say a word, just stepped over Bryce and tried again to shift the timbers that pinned him. He strained and struggled, teeth clenched, the veins in his neck bulging, sweat glistening on his face. Nothing moved.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he panted, slapping the dirt from his hands. ‘I can’t shift it. The floor’s partially collapsed beneath your leg. I think that’s what saved it, but all this shit on top has got it trapped.’ His head swivelled this way and that, searching. He picked up a thick piece of timber, inserted it next to Bryce’s trapped limb and braced his hands along its length, like a power lifter about to
‘No photo shoots for you for a while,’ he said. He inspected Bryce’s leg, then carefully shuffled along on his knees, testing the weight of the timbers, straining to move them. He produced a torch from his rucksack, waving it beneath the pile of debris, scanning the limb. ‘Can’t move it, but I don’t think you’ve suffered any major damage. Wiggle your toes for me.’
Bryce did as he was told, feeling the digits moving in his shoe. ‘I can move them. That’s good, right?’
Mac nodded. ‘Yep.’ He stared up at the ceiling, the sky above. Bryce followed his gaze and the sound of a helicopter filled the air. It buzzed into view, not far above the roof, the noise of the rotors hammering the walls, churning up a dust storm that whipped debris around the remains of the room. Dangling cables twisted violently and paper funnelled into the air. The searing shafts of a search light lanced through the building at crazy angles, slicing through a sandstorm of dust and debris. Mac leaned over, shielding Bryce with his body until the sound of the rotors receded.
‘Fucking morons,’ Mac cursed, spitting dust from his mouth. ‘Probably a news crew. Could have brought the building down.’ As if to punctuate Mac’s words, a sudden avalanche of debris thundered close by and dust billowed up from the remains of the lobby, filling the room with choking black filth.
‘Got to get you out of here,’ coughed Mac. ‘I need help, though. That leg won’t move and neither will those timbers.’ He swivelled around, his neck craning above the rubble. ‘Where the hell is everyone?’
‘I thought – aren’t you part of the emergency services?’ Bryce stuttered. ‘A doctor perhaps?’
Mac shook his head. ‘No, I’m just a civvy. I was in the tube station at Westminster when the bomb went off. Ran over, to see if I could help. Everyone else ran the other way, police included. They must know something we don’t.’
Bryce lifted his head off the floorboards. ‘Bomb?’
‘Definitely,’ Mac said. ‘I had to skirt the crater to get in here. Bloody massive. Car bomb, no doubt.’
‘But I can smell gas.’
‘Probably a cracked main somewhere. It also explains the lack of emergency response. There must be a secondary device.’
Bryce stared again at his saviour. ‘You sound like you’ve got experience in all this.’
Mac pulled his own cell from his trouser pocket. ‘Ex-Royal Marine. Two tours in Afghan, one of them with the UN during the Kabul uprising. Car bombs were two a penny back then.’ He held up his phone. ‘See, no signal. They’ve cut comms, as a precaution.’ He tucked the device back into his pocket then stood up, taking a careful step towards what was left of the landing.
Bryce panicked. ‘Where are you going?’ His eyes caught a movement above, something bright drifting past the shattered roof, darting beneath the blackened rafters. A burning ember floating on an updraft, soon joined by another, then several more. A plume of smoke funnelled past the jagged breach. Something was on fire. Bryce stared in horror at the mountain of dry timbers, the piles of books that surrounded him. ‘Listen Mac, I don’t care what you have to do, just get me out of here.’
Mac saw the embers too, sniffed the air. He didn’t say a word, just stepped over Bryce and tried again to shift the timbers that pinned him. He strained and struggled, teeth clenched, the veins in his neck bulging, sweat glistening on his face. Nothing moved.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he panted, slapping the dirt from his hands. ‘I can’t shift it. The floor’s partially collapsed beneath your leg. I think that’s what saved it, but all this shit on top has got it trapped.’ His head swivelled this way and that, searching. He picked up a thick piece of timber, inserted it next to Bryce’s trapped limb and braced his hands along its length, like a power lifter about to
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