She turned her gaze to the sky and could see wisps of grey smoke curling above the treetops. ‘I very much doubt we could get out that way now,’ she said. ‘We’d better get moving before we really get trapped.’

*

‘Becky, there will be casualties coming in soon and I need you to stay strong and positive,’ said Jane as they left the police house. ‘Django will find Danny soon enough – he can’t have got far since this morning, even if he has taken his bike.’

‘I feel so useless, Mum,’ she said with a quavering sigh. ‘Sandra was right. I should have kept a closer eye on him and known where he was and what he was up to – and if anything should happen to him, I … I …’

Jane gripped her firmly by the arms and gave her a gentle shake. ‘There’s worry enough at the moment without you adding to it with talk like that,’ she said firmly. ‘Hugh and Terry are still out there, Sandra’s on the verge of hysterics and I need you to stay strong and help me get through this.’

Becky looked at her mother through her tears, saw the lines of weariness and anguish in her lovely face and realised she was being selfish in her fear – forgetting that her mother was also frantic with worry. ‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ she murmured. ‘Of course I will.’

‘That’s my girl,’ she replied, and softly kissed Becky’s forehead. ‘Come on – let’s get back to the hospital and prepare for the rush. I’ve already got Enid and Louise on standby, and the girls are making up beds on the verandas.’

As they reached the steps to the hospital they were met by Gwyneth and an ashen-faced Frances Baker.

‘Ma,’ said Jane with a sigh, ‘you should be resting.’

‘I can’t sit about doing nothing,’ she said, the tight bandaging beneath her chin making it difficult to speak clearly. ‘And I’ve brought Frances along to help. She’s doing no one any good by moping about,’ she added.

Frances eyed Gwyneth nervously and shuffled back towards the door. ‘I can’t help but worry about my boys,’ she murmured. ‘Wilga’s right next to Carey Downs.’ She fled inside, the screens clattering behind her.

‘Ma, please go back home,’ said Jane. ‘You must rest that leg and—’

‘I’ll have long enough to rest when I’m six foot under,’ she interrupted with a glare. ‘There are always bandages to roll, equipment to sterilise and people to organise. I’m not completely useless, you know.’

Jane was about to reply when the sound of a truck coming up the track from the main road made them all turn. Their sighs of relief were audible, but before they could do or say anything, Sandra came flying down the street screeching like a banshee.