Read Online Eleven, Twelve ... Dig and delve (Rebekka Franck Book 6) by Willow Rose - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Willow Rose
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Martin Busck stood behind the police blockage, shoulder to shoulder with his wife and all the other spectators and nervous relatives waiting to hear about their loved ones. He felt so frustrated watching them simply debate and not do anything.
“When will they begin to dig?” he asked his wife. “Why aren’t they digging? Can you tell me why?”
“They’re probably just being careful. They’re afraid that more of the ground will collapse,” she said.
“People are down there, for Christ sake. Seconds count right now,” he said. “Don’t they realize that?”
“I’m sure they do, honey.” The baby was fussing in her arms, and she started rocking from side to side.
“I heard they were talking about drilling a hole and sending a robotic camera underground,” Ole Sigumfeldt, who was standing on the other side of Martin, said. He lived further down the street from Martin, yet they didn’t know each other very well. Ole was a salesman for some electronic company and traveled a lot. Often for weeks at a time, leaving his wife alone with the three boys. Martin often felt sorry for the poor woman, who almost constantly had to struggle with those kids. On top of that, she worked full time for some law firm.
“The site is too unstable right now to use the heavy machinery,” Ole continued. “They say the sinkhole keeps growing, so they are waiting. They’re taking pictures of the soil using radio waves. They’re testing the soil’s stability.”
“That’s just wrong,” Martin snarled. “That’s going to take forever. They should be digging.”
“They will. I just heard them say they’ll start drilling holes soon.” The man standing next to Ole Sigumfeldt said. Martin knew who he was, but had never really talked to the guy. He knew the family was Muslim, but they had lived in Denmark for many years. Martin had often seen the kid riding his bike around the neighborhood with his Golden Retriever tagging along.
“I’m Sali Berisha, by the way,” he said, and reached out his hand. “We live…” Sali paused, then corrected with a thick voice, “We lived right next to the school in number four. My wife was in the house when…” Sali paused. “I don’t know where my son is. He never made it to school, they told me. The house is completely gone.”
“That sucks, man,” Martin said. “I’m sorry. I’m waiting for news about my brother. He was sucked down from inside his bedroom.”
“I believe my wife and three kids are down there as well,” Ole Sigumfeldt said. “The kids never made it to school, their teacher told me. And Karen never made it to work. I just called them…I’ve been away all weekend on a business trip to Germany. She asked me to stay…for once, to skip a trip and stay home with them. I told her it was a big bonus we would miss out on. She said she didn’t care about the money. She was angry with me and didn’t answer any of my calls all weekend. I…I never should have gone away.”
The three of them went silent while staring down the hole. Martin wasn’t ready to lose hope yet. His brother was alive. He just had to be. He didn’t get released from ninety days of captivity in Syria just to die in some dirt hole in Denmark. It was simply not possible. It couldn’t be.
“Look, they’re getting ready to lower someone down the hole,” Ole Sigumfeldt said hopefully.
A firefighter wired to the fire truck was slowly going down. Martin watched him anxiously. He’d made it halfway down when the side started sliding. He yelled, and so did the people running the fire truck. As quickly as possible, they managed to pull him back up. The safety zone was then expanded and they all had to move, a policeman told them, while they moved the blockage.
“Get back. Everybody get back; the soil is unstable and we don’t want to lose any more people, so please stand back.”
“Any news about my brother?” Martin asked, as he was pushed back.
“Any news about my wife and
“When will they begin to dig?” he asked his wife. “Why aren’t they digging? Can you tell me why?”
“They’re probably just being careful. They’re afraid that more of the ground will collapse,” she said.
“People are down there, for Christ sake. Seconds count right now,” he said. “Don’t they realize that?”
“I’m sure they do, honey.” The baby was fussing in her arms, and she started rocking from side to side.
“I heard they were talking about drilling a hole and sending a robotic camera underground,” Ole Sigumfeldt, who was standing on the other side of Martin, said. He lived further down the street from Martin, yet they didn’t know each other very well. Ole was a salesman for some electronic company and traveled a lot. Often for weeks at a time, leaving his wife alone with the three boys. Martin often felt sorry for the poor woman, who almost constantly had to struggle with those kids. On top of that, she worked full time for some law firm.
“The site is too unstable right now to use the heavy machinery,” Ole continued. “They say the sinkhole keeps growing, so they are waiting. They’re taking pictures of the soil using radio waves. They’re testing the soil’s stability.”
“That’s just wrong,” Martin snarled. “That’s going to take forever. They should be digging.”
“They will. I just heard them say they’ll start drilling holes soon.” The man standing next to Ole Sigumfeldt said. Martin knew who he was, but had never really talked to the guy. He knew the family was Muslim, but they had lived in Denmark for many years. Martin had often seen the kid riding his bike around the neighborhood with his Golden Retriever tagging along.
“I’m Sali Berisha, by the way,” he said, and reached out his hand. “We live…” Sali paused, then corrected with a thick voice, “We lived right next to the school in number four. My wife was in the house when…” Sali paused. “I don’t know where my son is. He never made it to school, they told me. The house is completely gone.”
“That sucks, man,” Martin said. “I’m sorry. I’m waiting for news about my brother. He was sucked down from inside his bedroom.”
“I believe my wife and three kids are down there as well,” Ole Sigumfeldt said. “The kids never made it to school, their teacher told me. And Karen never made it to work. I just called them…I’ve been away all weekend on a business trip to Germany. She asked me to stay…for once, to skip a trip and stay home with them. I told her it was a big bonus we would miss out on. She said she didn’t care about the money. She was angry with me and didn’t answer any of my calls all weekend. I…I never should have gone away.”
The three of them went silent while staring down the hole. Martin wasn’t ready to lose hope yet. His brother was alive. He just had to be. He didn’t get released from ninety days of captivity in Syria just to die in some dirt hole in Denmark. It was simply not possible. It couldn’t be.
“Look, they’re getting ready to lower someone down the hole,” Ole Sigumfeldt said hopefully.
A firefighter wired to the fire truck was slowly going down. Martin watched him anxiously. He’d made it halfway down when the side started sliding. He yelled, and so did the people running the fire truck. As quickly as possible, they managed to pull him back up. The safety zone was then expanded and they all had to move, a policeman told them, while they moved the blockage.
“Get back. Everybody get back; the soil is unstable and we don’t want to lose any more people, so please stand back.”
“Any news about my brother?” Martin asked, as he was pushed back.
“Any news about my wife and
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