A Father Beyond Compare. Alison Roberts

van was a window-like gap in the wall that separated the seats from the back compartment. Light from outside made that gap glow in comparison to the gloom of the space Tom was in. It also made it easy to head in the right direction.

      ‘What’s your name? Are you injured?’

      ‘I’m…Emma.’

      ‘And you’ve got someone with you?’

      ‘Just my son…Mickey.’

      The owner of those small fingers, then. ‘Hey, Mickey,’ Tom called. ‘How’re you doing?’

      The only response was an adult groan. ‘Don’t try and stand on me again, Mickey. It…hurts…’

      ‘Sorry, Mummy.’

      ‘Are you injured, Emma?’ Tom pushed a sodden pillow to one side as he took another step forward.

      ‘I’m…not sure.’

      Both Emma and her son had an intriguing accent. An appealing, soft lilt that evoked an image of something British. Possibly rural. The fact that these people were in a foreign country triggered something else protective in Tom. They would be terrified in any case but being away from home had to make this all that much worse.

      ‘What’s hurting, Emma?’

      ‘My foot mainly…it’s kind of trapped under something. And my leg. The steering-wheel’s sort of bent.’

      Tom groaned inwardly. This rescue had just become that much more complicated. Any visions he’d had of balancing on the side of the van and miraculously being able to get the victims winched to safety before land-based back-up arrived went out the window. Trying to do an extrication on a trapped person in this vehicle was going to need back-up in spades. And even then it was going to be dodgy.

      He had reached the gap in the wall. He could look into the space that held the driver’s seat.A seat that was under water. The driver appeared to in a crouched position, her back hunched into the corner of the windscreen but her upper body was well above the water. Clutched in her arms was a very small boy who almost disappeared into the protective circle of those slim, bare arms.

      Two sets of huge, dark, terrified eyes stared up at Tom.

      Tom smiled. ‘Good to see you guys,’ he said calmly. ‘About time we got this spot of bother sorted out for you, isn’t it?’

      The terror in the larger set of dark eyes changed to something approaching incredulity and then, amazingly, the woman’s lips curved into a wide smile. ‘Oh, yes…please!’

      That smile touched something deep in Tom’s heart. This was one brave lady. Maybe it was a front to try and reassure her small son but that didn’t make it any less courageous. And courage was a quality that Tom valued very highly.

      He smiled at the small boy. ‘G’day, Mickey. How old are you, mate?’

      ‘Go away,’ Mickey told him. ‘I don’t like you.’ He burst into tears.

      ‘It’s all right, honey.’ Emma’s grip on her son tightened noticeably but Tom could see the grimace of pain as Mickey wriggled. ‘Tom’s here to rescue us. It’s all right. Remember your manners.’

      ‘But I can rescue you, Mummy. I was going to open the door but I’m too short and I don’t want to stand on your sore bits again.’

      ‘No, don’t stand on Mummy’s sore bits,’ Tom said hurriedly. ‘I know I look a bit scary, Mickey, but I am here to help. You and Mummy. Do you have any sore bits?’

      ‘No.’ Mickey’s face turned from where it was buried against his mother’s neck. ‘I’m four.’

      Tom blinked, trying to make the connection, but then realised Mickey was answering a much earlier question.

      ‘Wow. You’re old.’

      ‘I’m not old. I’m big.’

      ‘Mmm.’ Tom was happy to agree. He needed to win this child’s trust—as quickly as possible. A plan was formulating in his head as he used the time this conversation was taking but it was hard to try and sound relaxed. ‘Are you here on holiday with Mummy?’

      ‘We’re having an adventure.’

      ‘You sure are,’ Tom agreed dryly. ‘I’m sure you didn’t plan to have this bit of it, though.’

      Mickey screwed his face up into lines of deep consideration. ‘No. This was a nanksident.’

      ‘Do you remember what happened?’ Tom was leaning in more closely now. He could feel the edge of the wall digging into his abdomen as he peered down. He didn’t want to frighten Mickey by reaching an arm in just yet. A terrified and uncooperative child could ruin what he was planning before it even became a possibility. He also wanted to check Emma out. Right now he was trying to see how well she was able to breathe but Mickey’s small body made it difficult to assess the movement of her chest wall to get an impression of a respiration rate. His question was designed to try and find out whether either of these victims had been knocked unconscious at any point.

      ‘There was a big bump,’ Mickey told him. ‘And Mummy said we turned into a boat.’

      ‘There was a bridge,’ Emma said. ‘One lane. And there was…a car coming…so I stopped.’

      ‘You stopped?’ Tom was noting how many words per breath Emma was managing, which seemed to indicate at least some degree of respiratory distress. He couldn’t help the note of surprise in his own voice. That wasn’t what the witness had told the emergency services.

      ‘Of course I stopped.’ Emma was indignant. This was good.A seriously injured person wouldn’t have the energy to sound that indignant. ‘Do I look like some sort of idiot?’

      ‘No.’ Tom’s response was rapid. And sincere. Even with thoroughly wet hair plastered in dark strands around an overly pale face, Tom could see fine features and bright eyes that advertised intelligence.

      ‘We got bumped,’ Mickey added. ‘I told you that.’

      Tom was clearly the idiot here but he needed to clarify the information. ‘From behind?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Josh?’ Tom’s query was brief. ‘You hearing any of this?’

      ‘Enough,’came the response from within his helmet. ‘Will pass it on to the cops.’

      ‘Who’s Josh?’ Emma asked.

      ‘My partner. He’s up in the helicopter, waiting for me to get you out.’

      ‘Waiting for you to get out more likely,’ came Josh’s voice. ‘Get a move on, Tom.’

      ‘How on earth are you going to get us out?’

      ‘I’ll take Mickey first.’ Tom had to hope he’d won a level of trust by now. ‘You want to go for a ride, Mickey?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You have to, sweetheart.’ Emma spoke urgently. ‘It’ll be my turn after you.’ Those huge eyes were on Tom now and the silent plea was heartbreaking. Emma was far from stupid. She knew how much danger they were all in and how much harder it was going to be to rescue her. Tom could actually feel her gathering her determination to save her child. She spoke even more firmly. ‘Mickey? Listen to me, darling. You have to do exactly as you’re told.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘No buts. You do what Tom tells you to do or I’m going to have to get cross.’

      ‘Can you stand up, Mickey?’ Tom tried to sound encouraging. ‘Carefully, though, so you don’t hurt Mummy.’

      ‘No-o-o.’ The small face was as frightened as the voice.

      ‘It’s a bit hard for…him to stand up.’ Emma had a distinct wobble