CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Howell said something. Crichton stood frozen, holding a rake that levered a charred, cracked rafter and warped tin off what remained of the floor and substrate. Franklin moaned. There was no mistaking what lay underneath.
‘Franklin?’
He turned, numb, as Georgie jogged up.
She said, ‘Is it Irvy?’
It was like a mammoth wave was breaking over the top of him, which had happened a few times when he and Kat had visited his parents on the surf coast. Sound muted, skin burning as he scraped the seafloor, lungs crying for air. Scared he’d never swim out.
Georgie spoke again, her words lost on him. She wound an arm around him, gave him a squeeze, then let go.
Pull yourself together, Franklin.
‘Has to be.’ He shuddered.
Nothing left of the plastic, fabric and velcro of his eq
