“Come,” says Marybelle, her hand on Simi’s arm. “There’ll be first aid stuff at reception. Tim might be there too.”

But’s there’s no sign of him when they get there.

“At least the first aid kit’s here. Anyone seen Tim?” Marybelle shouts to the emptying room.

One voice bounces back. “Heard him say he wanted to have a quick look at that landslide.”

“Right,” says Marybelle, putting her torch down on the reception desk. “I’ll fix you myself.”

“What?” Simi’s heart butterflies. “I think we should wait. My insurance says …”

“Hand please Simi.”

“No!” Simi tucks her hand into the fold of her kaftan. “Marybelle … genuinely …I think we should wait for Tim.”

But Marybelle is already unzipping the medical pack, and picking out tools – bandages, antiseptic wipes, tweezers, scissors. Horrified, Simi gathers her kaftan and takes a few swift steps away, but is almost immediately engulfed in darkness. She hesitates. Behind her Marybelle clears her throat.

“Simi … hand please. Let’s sort this, and then we’ll go and search.”

Simi groans to herself. Nightmare inside. Nightmare outside.

“Come on!”

Simi turns back, but stops, just out of reach of Marybelle. She tries one last time.

“Can’t we wait?”

“Simi you need to clean wounds quickly here. I do this all the time at school.” Marybelle holds out her hand, waiting for Simi’s. “Come on. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can go outside.”

Great! Simi takes a deep, shaky breath and walks over.

Feel like I’m five again.

She holds out her injured hand, and Marybelle shines the torch over it.

 “There’s a piece of glass in here. I need to get it out.”

 “You sure?” Simi’s voice cracks.

“Doesn’t look too tricky.” Marybelle angles the gash towards the light, and fingers around the wound. Simi bites down on the corner of her lip. “There it is. I haven’t got my glasses, but if I lean back a little …” Marybelle pulls her head back, like a bird looking for a worm.

Simi stretches sideways to see past Marybelle, and glimpses the splinter of glass, glinting at the top of the wound. As she sees it the tweezers descend and begin to probe, each dig deeper than the last.

“Ow!”

“Got it! That didn’t hurt did it?” says Marybelle, smiling, and pushing her hair out of her eyes as she holds up the tweezers, clenched around the tiny trophy.

“Yes! Yes it did hurt. But … well … I’ll be fine. Thank you.” Simi tries to pull her hand back.

“Not yet. Not finished. Just have to clean it now.” Marybelle pulls open the wipes. “This might sting a little.”

Marybelle’s wiping and bandaging is neat and quick. In seconds she is finished, and the first aid kit tidied away.

“Right, let’s go and see if we can help,” says Marybelle.

 “Sure.” Heart calmer, hand against her chest, Simi follows her nurse into the night.

Outside the wind has dropped, but not completely. It teases around them, like a dog with a stick.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

Simi watches as the crowd parts around the solid square of Aneke, heading towards the back of the room. She is cheerful and joking, jabbing comments here and there, punchy as a boxer. She reaches Father Norman and puts out a hand for a towel, the scene caught in Ruan’s torchlight following her from behind. And it’s then. Right then. That everything stops.

The room freezes. Paralysed. Trapped by a guttural, beneath-the-feet roar, that fills every pore.

Simi stops breathing, overwhelmed by this heartbeat. This earthbeat. The groaning shift comes again. It thumps in from outside, growing louder and louder. Rolling like a thousand diggers. Rolling. Rolling. Freeing the sound out of throats. Forcing shouts to fly.

“Marybelle!” Simi’s voice is hoarse with fright. She reaches for her friend, and as she does so the silence comes back, and with it the listening. But now there is just rain, and more rain. The wind has gone.

“Marybelle!” she whispers again, listening for the tearing roar, but it has vanished.

“What was it?” comes the reply. Simi has no idea. She stands still as pillar, ghost-frozen, waiting for the next shuddering sound, but it never comes. Instead the room fills with questions.

“What the …?”

“Where was that?”

“ … outside the front …”

“What was it?”

“Landslide. Must have been. Maybe some of those rocks.”

“No man, my car’s got all my fishing gear in.”

Rudd’s torchlight picks over the room.

“I think it was some kind of slip. Somewhere near the carpark. Sounds like the wind’s dropped so I’ll go check it out with Tonderai and Innocence. Meanwhile if we could get a few search parties going please, while it’s quiet. Main thing, nobody go alone, and please get back here ASAP.”

“Sure.”

“Okay guys, we’ll do the bar area.” Jacobus waves a torch over his head.

“And any volunteers for the squash courts and round there, come over to the doors please,” calls Hansie.

Simi watches the crowd shift and split, as the search parties begin to form.

“Don’t hang about,” shouts Steve. “This cyclone is not done yet.”

“Ja. Steve’s right,” Rudd shouts to the disappearing torches. “Don’t hang about. The doctor will be up here. That okay Tim?”

“Okay. Reckon I can stay put.”

Slowly the groups organise themselves, and start to leave. Simi moves a little closer to her friend, and as she does so, Marybelle swings her torch beam around, and Simi has to put out a hand to block the light.

“You okay Simi?” Marybelle asks, then suddenly her voice changes. “No … what’s that?”

“What?”

 “Simi!”

“Can’t you put that down. It’s too bright.”

“No. Look. Look at you. Why didn’t you say? Here.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“That. When did you do that?” Marybelle reaches for Simi’s raised hand, and turns it palm upwards into the light.

“Oh no …,” says Simi, noticing the red gash that frays from her thumb down to her wrist. “I have no idea when that happened.”

“Must have been when you fell over by the doors.”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023