58
The building evaporated into darkness.
The shock wave lifted me off my feet and flung me against the remaining wall. Lying on my side, more or less conscious, winded, but calm. Someone was screaming. One of the police officers.
I struggled to sit upright. The room was dark. Particles of pulverised stone and apples swirled in the shaft of starlight from the hole in the roof. Unfamiliar shapes shadowed and asymmetrical. A jagged crack ran from floor to ceiling near where the barrels once stood.
Taking a deep breath to gather my strength, I sucked in dust.
Coughing, I hauled myself to my feet and stumbled through the debris.
A beam landed one of the undressed police officers.
Dull, staring eyes told me he did not survive.
It scattered large chunks of the ceiling across Constable Smee. Using both hands to throw them aside, I uncovered the shape of her upper body. Head tilted away from me. It drenched her uniform in something bright red. Thought it was blood. But, when I brushed, it turned out to be a dust and cider combination.
"Susan?" touched the neck for a pulse. At once, as if she had been playing dumb, shifted to look at me, the face white, the dark eyes wide. "Are you hurt? Can you move?"
"Don't think so. Are you okay?"
"Fine. Just try? Ought to get out."
Putting a hand under her arm, I gripped the feminine flesh, and pulled. Twisting her shoulders back and forth to escape, her face contorted in pain. "There's something on my legs."
Went to the beam on her limbs and wrapped my arms around it. Each moment I shifted it, she groaned through clenched teeth. "Stop it!"
"Sorry." sounded helpless.
"Leave me. Check on the others. See if you can support them."
I could hear the panic in her voice.
"They're beyond help, I'm afraid."
The siren of a fire engine echoed nearby.
"I'll fetch help."
By the time I reached the oak door, the crew were unloading ladders. There were rolling hoses in the middle of the road. Bloodied, dust-covered victims lay full length in the debris, and were not in one piece.
A strange, short, gaunt fellow in his fifties, wearing a black overcoat, squeezed between the wreckage. A local physician related to the owner of the farm and volunteered to climb into the unstable ruin. He was the man who, after five minutes of my frantic appeals, followed me into the building.
As we walked towards the policewoman, he asked in a soft Scottish accent, "What's her name?"
"Susan."
He stepped closer. "Right, young lady, can you detect your legs?"
One rescuer declared, "You should get out now. We'll take it from here."
"I'd prefer to stay."
"No chance. You've done your bit."
Another firefighter led me away. "Come on, don't argue. This place could collapse."
"It's fine." She called out. "Do as they say."
The doctor turned. "I'll see she's okay, Mr Smee."
A sudden overwhelming ambition to laugh overwhelmed me.
Never been mistaken as somebody's husband.
"Of course."
The officer yelled to me when I was halfway to the door. "You'd better get back to work."
I knew what she meant, but paramedics, who wished to give me the once over, stopped me.
They placed two more ladders against the bombed-out building.
The three men wearing helmets. Steadying a gurney lowered by half a dozen firefighters.
The paramedic followed my gaze. "Is that one yours?"
"I think so."
"Come on, then."
Held out a hand and helped me to my feet. Put an arm around my shoulder as they lingered at the foot of the ladder.
The stretcher descended; the men yelling to each other to keep it steady. I recognised her by the hair. Wrapped her in a blanket. As she reached the ground, she turned and saw me. The face remained drawn with pain, but manoeuvred a hand out from under the cover and gave a wave. Took her palm in mind.
"Kill them," she whispered.
I nodded and then glanced at the paramedic. "Where are you taking her?"
"Ipswich Hospital. You can go with her."
I tugged my hand away.
"Better not." I said, "I have things to do."