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.
