33The cave, known as Fisherman’s Hut, had been fashioned decades ago out of the rock. On the cliff, so worn with erosion, so beaten by wind and sun, it was hard now to tell if the tiny hut was man-made or natural. A window had been carved out in the seaward wall, the doorway, low and narrow was angled to protect the interior at least a little. Furthest from door and window, a ledge had been cut out, a makeshift bed, seat and table all in one. The black scarring of untold campfires marked the cliff-side wall.
Sanctuary had come in the form of this tiny hole in the wall, a hole too small to fit them all. The women huddled on the bench-seat, Bridget wide-awake now and shivering with shock and fright, surrounded by her friends. The low murmur of their voices drifted out to Rick standing guard
