LITMIR.BIZ

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had marred their last few weeks together.

      Did she try and use a position of authority for selfish motives? Had her bossiness really been due to the degree to which she had cared about Angus or had she been more concerned about her personal welfare? Getting what she wanted? Had her training as a doctor, in fact, given her a mistaken belief that she could make choices for others that went beyond medical assistance?

      Fliss was silent, mulling over what she suspected might be an unpleasant home truth as she pulled on a well-worn woollen pullover in a navy-blue fisherman’s rib. Jack was struggling into a similar garment and he rolled up the surplus sleeve and tucked it inside the armhole.

      ‘Blessed nuisance, having two sleeves on everything,’ he muttered. ‘Nobody caters for the minorities.’

      Fliss smiled briefly at the joke as she took the black knitted beanie Jack handed her. These clothes had to be more than thirty years old—relics from Jack’s career as a fisherman—and she could almost smell salt-laden air and the tang of fish.

      Jack scrutinised the finished result but shook his head sadly. ‘It’s no good,’ he announced.

      ‘Why not?’ Fliss jammed the last strands of her shoulder-length, wavy hair under the hat. Then she rolled up the sleeves of the oversized jersey so that her hands were free. ‘I think it’s great. We’re both going to be hard to see if we stick to the shadows.’

      ‘Your face is too pale. Let me think…’ Jack actually seemed to be enjoying himself, Fliss realised with astonishment. His breathing sounded less laboured and he moved more quickly than she had ever seen him when he turned and headed for his pantry. ‘I’ve got just the thing,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘You wait right here.’

      Fliss peered at the small, round tin in his hand when he reappeared moments later.

      ‘Boot polish?’

      ‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. It’s what those top-notch police fellows use when they go out on dangerous missions.’

      ‘They don’t use boot polish, Jack.’

      ‘How would you know?’

      ‘Because I just do. I…used to know some of those police fellows.’

      ‘Hmmph.’ Jack held out the tin. ‘Same difference, in any case. Take the lid off this so I can smear a bit on your face.’

      Fliss couldn’t resist muttering something about her not being the only bossy one but then she stood still as Jack wiped polish on her face. She returned the favour, blackening Jack’s beard as well as his cheeks. The task suddenly struck her as being ridiculous. Here they were, dressing up like small boys preparing to go and play some kind of war game. What would Angus say if he could see her now?

      He’d probably laugh. And say something like ‘Can’t beat ’em so you’re going to join ’em, huh? Cool. Come out and play with us, then.’

      Except this wasn’t any kind of a game. It was real.

      And deadly.

      And Angus, if he was in any way involved tonight, would be even more effectively camouflaged. And Fliss could be quite certain that he wouldn’t be laughing.

      ‘We’ll go out the back way,’ Jack decided. ‘If we go to the top of the hill and then cut back through the Bennies’ orchard, go through the back of the cemetery and then over the Carsons’ fence, we’ll be just about at your place.’

      ‘But if we go that way, we won’t go past the Treffers’ place. I need to know whether it’s Callum or Cody under that bush, Jack. And whether they’re OK.’

      Jack shook his head. ‘It’s too exposed. Too risky. If we go my way, we’ve got more chance of staying hidden.’

      By tacit consent, they both edged towards the glass doors to see if staring into the dark street could help finalise their plan of action.

      ‘Look.’ For the second time that evening, Fliss pointed towards the river mouth.

      On the other side of the bridge, flashing lights could be seen. The red, blue and white lights on the different emergency services vehicles looked like a strobe lighting effect for a large outdoor party.

      ‘The cavalry’s arriving.’ Jack sounded relieved. ‘And it’s been less than an hour since all this started. Not bad.’

      ‘But they’re not moving. They’re miles away.’

      ‘They’re not going to let anyone come in until they know it’s safe. And they won’t want anyone escaping, either. I’ll bet they’ve blocked the road on the north side as well.’

      They may as well still be as far away as they had been in the larger towns they had rushed here from, Fliss thought in despair. Relief at knowing help was close was minimised by the frustration of knowing they were still alone on this side of the river.

      More lights could now be seen flashing in the sky above the position that had clearly been chosen as a safe rendezvous point. A helicopter was hovering over what had to be Morriston’s Domain—a rather grand name for what was little more than a paddock ringed with some lovely old oak trees and used more as a venue for the local pony club to meet than anything else.

      Reinforcements from Christchurch?

      Would Angus be amongst them?

      And if so, how long would he have to wait, cut off by the wide stretch of the Morris River, before he could come to help any of the residents?

      To help her.

      Fliss pushed the selfish thought aside and turned to look away from the tantalising sight of the gathering rescue forces.

      The northern boundary of Morriston was hidden from view by the hill Jack’s house was on but Fliss looked in that direction anyway. Was the old man right? Had the first priority been to try and seal them off from the outside world to prevent anyone creating mayhem somewhere else? And what about the native bush on the eastern boundary? It would be easy for someone to hide in there for as long as they wanted and then return if they didn’t consider the job finished.

      An explosion too loud to be gunfire sounded as though it came from just beyond Jack’s front doorstep. Fliss instinctively crouched, just as a shower of bright sparks appeared in the inky blackness outside.

      Jack remained standing.

      ‘What’s happening?’ Fliss queried shakily.

      ‘There’s a fire.’ Jack sounded shocked. ‘A big one. I think it might be Darren’s house.’

      Fliss inched back up to where she could see the first lick of tall flames dividing the sparks. Thick smoke roiled into the night, illuminated by the flames.

      Would the volunteer fire brigade dare to respond? Fliss had seen them in action once in her time here, when Mrs McKay’s bonfire had spread to a stand of gum trees at the back of her section. A siren had summoned the volunteers and the ancient vehicle they used had been in place in a commendably short space of time. Rural communities had to look after themselves in that sort of crisis and deal with any type of fire as quickly as possible. Back-up would be a long way away if an uncontrolled fire began spreading from tree to tree and then house to house.

      But no siren sounded now. If it was Darren’s house going up in smoke, it was being left to suffer its fate.

      ‘Whoever lit that fire can’t be far away.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘What’s going to happen next?’

      As if to answer her frightened question, Fliss heard a faint scream from somewhere down the hill.

      And then the sound of yet another gunshot.

      And then silence.

      She looked at Jack.

      ‘I’m going now,’ she said quietly. ‘I can’t

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