he swallowed, dragged in a breath, straightened his shoulders. ‘Right. Um—got to get on.’
‘That’s it—run away.’
He stopped, paused, then started walking again, then paused once more with his hand on the doorhandle. ‘I’m not running, Kate,’ he said, defeat in his voice. ‘There’s no point. There’s nowhere to go.’
And, opening the door, he strode out into the waiting room and left her there.
‘Brodie, get out of the way! Come on. Stupid dog—what the hell are you doing?’
Brodie was tugging Mike’s trousers, trying to get him to play, but he wasn’t interested. He’d been clearing up fallen and dead timber all day, and he’d just found an old willow which had snapped halfway up the trunk but stayed attached, the top swinging down to make a ragged arch, but it was still hanging by a thick rope of twisted wood and bark, propped on a lower branch that had dug into the ground and broken its fall.
Under normal circumstances he’d get up the tree and cut it off at the trunk, but it was straddling the river, one end high in the air, the other, in a tangle of broken branches and twigs, sprawled across the ground on this side. There was no way to get to it without crossing the river, and he didn’t have time to keep driving backwards and forwards over the nearest bridge.
And Joe had the forklift with the long reach for bringing in the hay and silage bales, otherwise he could have used that. No, he’d just have to tackle it from this side.
But it was big.
He’d tried levering it off the supporting branch with a smaller branch wedged under it and over another log, but he wasn’t heavy enough to shift it. He couldn’t leave it there, though, because it was unstable and if the wind got up again, it could fall—and the cattle had been grazing down here around it. So he had to shift it now, before the end of the day, so he could let the cows back into the field in safety.
He tried Joe again, but he wasn’t answering his mobile. Probably couldn’t hear it. Damn. And the dog was still begging for a game.
‘Brodie, give it up,’ he said crossly, and, picking up the chainsaw, he cut away a few more branches so he could roll the tree when it fell. But the dog was in the way, and he’d get her with the saw in a minute, so he put her in the cab and told her to stay, then went back to it.
‘Right, you stubborn bloody thing,’ he said, glaring at the tree, and touched the underside with the saw. It creaked, sagged a fraction.
Better.
He touched it again, but the tree was weaker than he’d thought, and the creaking was more ominous.
Too ominous.
He looked up, to where the fallen part of the tree was joined to the trunk on the other side of the river, and watched in horror as, almost in slow motion, the wood started to split away and flip up, freeing the hugely heavy upper section of the tree. It was going to fall, and he was right in its way.
He didn’t have time to think. He didn’t have time to do anything but turn and run, throwing the saw aside, and as he turned, he heard a loud crack and a sound like thunder, then a branch whipped round and felled him at the same time as the trunk rolled down and came to rest across his legs.
The pain was blinding, but the adrenalin was kicking in, his heart racing, and gradually the pain receded to a dull scream.
He lay motionless, waiting, listening, but apart from Brodie’s frantic barking, there was silence. The tree had settled, and he could still feel his feet. And his legs. Hell, he could definitely feel his legs, especially the right one.
Well, the ankle really. The left one was OK, and he could even move it a little. It was in a bit of a hollow, but the right—there was no way he could move that, and no way he was going to try. Just lying there was agony.
So now what?
He was lying there, contemplating his very limited options and trying not to retch with the pain, when he felt the vibration of his phone against his hip. Great. It might be Joe. He’d be able to get him out of this mess. He wriggled around a little, gasping at the pain in his ankle and his ribs, and the tree creaked again and shifted in a little gust of wind, sending pain stabbing through him.
Hell! He’d thought it had settled! He tried again for the phone, and finally managed to get it out of his pocket. ‘One missed call,’ he read, and tapped the keys with a shaking thumb to bring up the number. Not Joe.
Ben Carter.
Well, it was a start. If that tree kept shifting, an emergency consultant might not be a bad man to have around. He called him back. ‘Ben? It’s Mike.’
‘Mike, hi. I was just calling to have that chat—is this a good time?’
Mike gave a strangled laugh, his breath constricted by the branch over his back. ‘Um…I’ve had better. Bit…um… stuck at the moment.’
‘Oh, I’ll call you later—’
‘No! I mean—really stuck. I’m lying under a tree.’
There was a pause. ‘As in lying under a tree on the grass, contemplating the meaning of life, or—?’
‘Lying under a fallen tree that I was cutting up,’ Mike finished for him. ‘Sort of literally stuck. And I think my leg might be broken, and the tree’s not stable.’
Just to underline that fact, the tree groaned again, and he felt sweat break out all over him. ‘I’m down by the river—only a short way from you over the fields, but you’ll need help. I’m trying to get hold of Joe, but maybe we need the fire brigade—they’ve got a few strong lads who could help shift this thing.’
‘Tell me where to come, and I’ll get them on their way, too,’ Ben said, his voice all calm business, and Mike felt his confidence like a soothing hand.
‘Out of your drive, turn left, down the hill to the river, then there’s a track to the right. Follow it—shut the gates behind you—and you’ll find me there. You’ll see the pickup and hear the dog barking.’
‘Right. Are you bleeding?’
He considered that for a second. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘OK. Stay still, don’t move and I’ll be with you.’
‘Like I can move,’ he said, but the line was dead, and he tried Joe again, getting him this time. Joe’s language was colourful, and he could hear the fear in his brother’s voice, but he’d know what to do and how to get him out, and he could use the chainsaw.
They arrived simultaneously, Joe on the tractor, Ben in his BMW, grounding on the track, and Mike felt a stupid, stupid urge to cry with relief.
‘Nice one, guys,’ he said, cracking a grin, and Joe swore and knelt down beside him, reaching through the twigs covering him to squeeze his shoulder hard.
‘Stupid bastard. This tree’s huge, far too big to tackle alone—why didn’t you call me?’
‘I did. Several times. You weren’t answering.’
