was necessary to maintain it. He intended to always be there for her in a way that others hadn’t been.
‘But if you’re going to do this,’ he told her, ‘then you need a long-term plan. You need to make some decisions about the next few months, not just about tonight.’
‘I know,’ she sighed, ‘but right now, tonight is all I can manage.’
‘HOLY CRAP!’
Kitty was signing notes at the nurses’ station in the emergency department when the ED clerk’s exclamation interrupted her concentration. She looked up and saw Lisa’s eyes fixed on the wall-mounted television screen.
In the centre of the screen was a burning bus.
Orange flames leapt into the air from the rear and thick black smoke billowed around the vehicle and over several cars that had stopped haphazardly around it. In the background, Kitty could see a sandstone pylon and the heavy iron framework of the Harbour Bridge.
The time was fixed in the bottom right hand corner of the screen. Eight thirty-four a.m. Morning rush hour. This was happening in the middle of her city, a few kilometres from her hospital, and the images were being broadcast live from one of the news helicopters.
Kitty’s heart was racing. What was going on? Was it a bomb? In the middle of Sydney?
The volume was muted on the television but Kitty could read the words scrolling across the screen under the picture.
Bus goes up in flames.
Harbour Bridge closed.
Morning traffic disrupted.
Use alternative route.
Traffic had come to a standstill but there was no mention of what had caused the bus to catch fire.
Kitty couldn’t tear her eyes from the fiery disaster that was unfolding on the screen in front of her as the helicopter camera zoomed in on the chaos. People were out of their cars, doors left hanging open as they ran. Some ran towards the burning bus, others away. Kitty could see a man with a fire extinguisher aimed futilely at the flames as people stumbled from the bus. He was joined by another half-dozen men, all wearing hi-visibility vests and hard hats, and a couple were carrying additional fire extinguishers, but from what Kitty could see the extra hands were having no impact on the fire.
The live feed widened to show the emergency vehicles, the ambulances and fire engines, their red and blue lights absorbed by the thick cloud of black smoke as they weaved their way through the stationary cars on the bridge.
The images from the helicopter cut out and were replaced by a reporter standing on the bridge, a microphone held up to her mouth and the burning bus behind her. How the hell had she got through the traffic and the chaos? Sitting on the ground around her were several people who looked dazed and shocked. Some were coughing and Kitty wondered if they were passengers from the bus.
Lisa grabbed the remote and pressed a button, increasing the volume until they could hear the reporter’s commentary.
‘...on the Harbour Bridge, where a city-bound commuter bus has gone up in flames near the northern end. Witnesses say twenty to thirty passengers have been evacuated but there may still be people trapped inside the bus...’
Kitty didn’t want to see the reporter. She wanted the camera to go back to the accident—she was looking for Joe. But the reporter continued to talk.
‘There is no word yet on what caused the fire. Commuters say there was a loud explosion, and you can see behind me that the windows of the bus have all been blown out.’
The camera panned to the bus, zooming in on the accident, and Kitty searched the scene.
‘The heat is intense, the sky is thick with black smoke and there is a terrible odour in the air. Paramedics are treating victims for smoke inhalation as firefighters try to get the blaze under control.’
Kitty’s eyes flicked from one paramedic to another, from one blue uniform to the next, but she couldn’t see Joe. She knew he was working this morning and that crews from the station at the North Sydney Hospital would be some of the closest to the scene. Maybe he was on another call-out? As long as he was safe, she thought—just as she saw a familiar shape at the side of the screen. Smoke was obscuring the image, but she recognised the way he moved.
Joe.
He was running straight at the bus. Her eyes followed his path as he came further into view in the centre of the television screen. There was a man standing in the doorway of the bus, his back to Joe. He was bent over, and he looked like he was struggling with something. Kitty realised he was dragging someone from the bus. And then Joe was there, followed by two other paramedics.
The standing man stepped out of the way as the paramedics threw a blanket over the man who lay in the doorway before lifting him from the bus and putting him on a stretcher.
Kitty could see the other man swaying as he stood next to the bus. Just when he looked as if he was about to collapse Joe caught him and laid him on the ground.
The camera panned out again and the reporter was in the foreground of the shot, blocking Kitty’s view. She could see the man lying on the ground but she couldn’t see Joe. He wouldn’t have gone into the bus, would he? Surely not? That would be the firefighters’ job. But was he far enough away? What if there was another explosion?
‘Firefighters are struggling to douse the flames engulfing a city-bound bus on the Harbour Bridge,’ the reporter repeated. ‘All lanes on the bridge are closed until the danger is contained. It appears that the bus has now been evacuated with reports that two men, the driver and a passenger, are being treated for burns, but there are no reports of any fatalities at this stage and still no information as to the cause of the fire.’
There was an increase in activity in the background and finally the camera cut away from the reporter and back to the bus. Kitty could see ambulances, their doors open and lights flashing as the picture showed someone being loaded in through the back doors of one of them.
And there was Joe. Back in view. She couldn’t see his face but she didn’t need to. He was instantly recognisable. It was more than the width of his shoulders and the shape of his head. It was the way he moved. Purposeful, composed. Unflappable, measured. Despite the chaos of his surroundings he projected calmness. He always seemed to know what he was doing. Not like her. So often she felt completely lost unless he was there to anchor her. Joe had been there for her in the toughest of times, but he’d never seemed to need her in the same way.
He was leaning over one of the victims, but he looked awfully close to the burning bus. Too close. Kitty’s heart was still racing. She was trapped in a terrible feeling of helplessness. What if something happened to him?
She tried to push that thought aside as she saw him loading his patient onto the stretcher. She couldn’t bear to think of something happening to Joe. He was a constant, solid, reassuring presence, the calm through so many of her storms, and she couldn’t imagine her life without him in it. She turned away from the television as Joe disappeared from the screen, willing him to hurry before anything else could go wrong.
He would
