No blood. She winced again, her mind racing. She was a good five miles out of Birrini. The way those toes had lost colour… Maybe he’d torn an artery.

No. Probably not. There didn’t seem enough swelling to indicate that level of internal bleeding. But the blood vessels must be kinked, and the speed at which his foot had lost colour told her that he’d lose his leg before she could get help.

He needed X-rays, she told herself frantically. He needed careful manipulation under anaesthetic.

He had Lizzie and nothing and nowhere.

But at least she knew what had to be done, and as for anaesthetic…well, he was stunned now. He was temporarily-hopefully temporarily-out of it. What she needed to do would have him screaming in agony if he was conscious. She had morphine in the car but even so… It’d be far better to do this while he was unconscious and worry about pain relief if-when-he came around. So… ‘Move, Lizzie,’ she told herself. Any minute now he could gain consciousness and she’d have lost her chance.

But if only she had X-rays. She gave one last despairing glance at the road ahead. Nothing. She looked up at the cliff and then down to the sea below. There was nothing there to help her either.

She took a deep breath, then moved so that she was kneeling beside the leg. Another breath. She stared down, figuring out which way she should move. She might well do more damage with this manoeuvre-without X-rays she was flying blind. But the choice was to do nothing and watch his leg die, or try to move it into position. No choice at all.

She took hold of his left ankle in one hand and his knee in the other. It was harder than she’d thought. She was applying manual traction, easing the leg lengthwise and to the side. Trying-slowly and gently but still with strength-to move it.