Читать книгу It Happened One Night Shift - Amy Andrews - Страница 7

GARETH STAPLETON DROPPED his head from side to side, stretching out his traps as he kept his eyes on the road.

He was getting too old for this crap.

It had been a long, crazy shift in the emergency room and he needed a beer, a shower and his bed.

Saturday nights in a busy Brisbane ER were chaotic at the best of times but the full moon had added an extra shot of the bizarre to the mix. From now on he was consulting astrological charts when requesting his roster.

He yawned and looked at the dash clock—almost midnight—and was grateful for his shift ending when it had. The waiting room had still been full as he’d clocked off and he didn’t envy the night shift having to deal with it all.

Suddenly, the car in front of him—a taxi—swerved slightly into the opposite lane and Gareth’s pulse spiked.

What the hell?

Despite only going at the speed limit, he eased back on the accelerator as the taxi corrected itself. Gareth peered into the back windscreen of the car, trying to see what the guy was doing. What was distracting him? Was he texting? Or talking on the phone?

He couldn’t tell what the driver was doing but at least the taxi appeared to be empty of passengers.

Gareth eased back some more. He may only be driving a twenty-year-old rust box but he had no desire to be collateral damage due to this clown’s inattention. Luckily they were on a long, straight section of road linking two outer suburbs so there were no houses, no cars parked on either side, just trees and bushland.

The taxi wobbled all over the lane again and Gareth’s stomach tightened as a set of oncoming headlights suddenly winked in the distance. His fingers gripped the steering-wheel a little firmer as a sense of foreboding settled over him.

Gareth’s sense of foreboding had served him well over the years—particularly in the Middle East—and it wasn’t going to be disappointed tonight.

He watched in horror as the taxi swerved suddenly again into the path of the oncoming car. Gareth hit his horn but it was futile, the crash playing out in front of him in slow motion.

The driver of the other car slammed on the brakes, swerving to avoid what Gareth could have sworn was certain collision. He waited for the crash and the sound of crunching metal but, thankfully, it never came. The taxi narrowly missed the other car, careening off the road and smashing into a tree.

But now the oncoming car was in his lane and Gareth had to apply his brakes to prevent them crashing. Luckily the other driver had the good sense to swerve back into his own lane and they both came to a halt almost level with each other on their own sides of the road.

Gareth, his heart pistoning like a jackhammer, automatically reached for his glove box and pulled out a bunch of gloves from a box he always kept there. He ripped his seat belt off and pushed open his door.

‘Are you okay, mate?’ he asked as he leapt out, his fingers already reaching for the mobile phone in his pocket as he mentally triaged the scene.

He wrenched open the door of the other car, noticing absently it was a sleek-looking two-seater, to find a pair of huge brown eyes, heavily kohled and fringed with sooty eyelashes, blinking back at him. A scarlet mouth formed a surprised-looking O.

A woman.

‘I’m … I’m fine.’ She nodded, looking dazed.

Gareth wasn’t entirely sure. She appeared uninjured but she looked like she might be in shock. ‘Can you move? How’s your neck?’ he asked.

She nodded again, undoing her seat belt. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine.’ She swung her legs out of the car.

‘Don’t move,’ he ordered. ‘Stay there.’ The last thing he needed was a casualty wandering around the scene. ‘I’m Gareth, what’s your name?’

‘Billie.’

Gareth acknowledged the unusual name on a superficial level only. ‘I’m going to check out the taxi driver. You stay here, okay, Billie?’

She blinked up at him and nodded. ‘Okay.’

Satisfied he’d secured her co-operation, Gareth, already dialling triple zero, headed for the smashed-up taxi.

It took a minute for Billie to come out of the fog of the moment and get her bearings. She’d told Gareth—at least that was what she thought he’d said his name was—she was okay. Everything had happened so fast. But a quick mental check of her body confirmed it.

She was shaking like a leaf but she wasn’t injured.

And she was a doctor. She shouldn’t be sitting in her car like an invalid—she should be helping.

What on earth had caused the taxi to veer right into her path? Was the driver drunk? Or was it something medical? A hypo? A seizure?

She reached across to her glove box and pulled out a pair of gloves from the box she always kept there, her heart beating furiously, mentally preparing herself for potential gore. Being squeamish was not something that boded well for a doctor but it was something she’d never been able to conquer.

She’d learned to control it—just.

She exited her car, yanking the boot lever on the way out, rounding the vehicle and pulling out a briefcase that contained a well-stocked first-aid kit. Then she took a deep breath and in her ridiculous heels and three-quarter-length cocktail dress she made her way over to the crashed car and Gareth.

Gareth looked up from his ministrations as Billie approached. ‘I thought I’d told you to stay put,’ he said, whipping off his fleecy hoody, not even feeling the cool air. His only priority was getting the driver, who wasn’t breathing and had no pulse, out of the car.

‘I’m fine. And I’m a doctor so I figured I could help.’

Gareth was momentarily thrown by the information but he didn’t have time to question her credentials. She was already wearing a pair of hospital-issue gloves that he hadn’t given her, so she was at least prepared.

And the driver’s lips were turning from dusky to blue.

He needed oxygen and a defib. Neither of which they had.

All the driver had was them, until the ambulance got there.

‘I’m an ER nurse,’ Gareth said, rolling his hoody into a tube shape then carefully wrapping it around the man’s neck, fashioning a crude soft collar to give him some C-spine protection when they pulled him out.

‘Ambulance is ten minutes away. He’s in cardiac arrest. Thankfully he’s not trapped. Help me get him out and we’ll start CPR. I’ll grab his top half,’ Gareth said.

Aided by the light from the full moon blasting down on them, they had the driver lying on the dew-damp grass in less than thirty seconds. ‘You maintain the airway,’ Gareth said, falling back on protocols ingrained in him during twenty years in the field. ‘I’ll start compressions.’

Billie nodded, swallowing hard as the metallic smell from the blood running down the driver’s face from a deep laceration on his forehead assaulted her senses. It had already congealed in places and her belly turned at the sight, threatening to eject the three-course meal she’d indulged in earlier.

She turned away briskly, sucking air slowly into her lungs. In through her nose, out through her mouth, concentrating on the cold damp ground already seeping through the gauzy fabric of her dress to her knees rather than the blood. She was about to start her ER rotation—she had to get used to this.

She opened the briefcase and pulled out her pocket mask.

Gareth kicked up an eyebrow as she positioned herself, a knee either side of the guy’s head, and held the mask efficiently in place over the driver’s mouth and nose.

‘Very handy,’ he said, noting her perfect jaw grasp and hand placement. ‘Don’t suppose you have a defib in there by any chance?’

Billie gave a half-laugh. ‘Sadly, no.’ Because they both knew that’s what this man needed.

She leaned down to blow several times into the mouthpiece. Her artfully curled hair fell forward and she quickly pushed them behind her ears as the mask threatened to slip. The mix of sweat and blood on the driver’s face worked against her and Billie had to fight back a gag as the smell invaded her nostrils.

If she just shut her eyes and concentrated on the flow of air, the rhythm of her delivery, mentally counted the breaths, she might just get through this without disgracing herself.

‘What do you reckon, heart attack?’ Gareth asked after he’d checked for a pulse two minutes in.

Billie, concentrating deeply, opened her eyes at the sudden intrusion. Rivulets of dried blood stared back at her and she quickly shut them again. ‘Probably,’ she said between breaths. ‘Something caused him to veer off the road like that and he feels pretty clammy. Only he looks young, though. Fit too.’

Gareth agreed, his arms already feeling the effort of prolonged compressions. The man didn’t look much older than himself. ‘’Bout forty, I reckon.’

Billie nodded. ‘Too young to die.’

He grunted and Billie wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was. The taxi driver probably was going to die. The statistics for out-of-hospital cardiac arrests were grim. Even for young, fit people. This man needed so much more than they could give him here on the roadside.

They fell silent again as they continued to give a complete stranger, who had nearly wiped both of them out tonight, a chance at life.

‘Come on, mate,’ Gareth said, as he checked the pulse for the third time and went back to compressions. ‘Cut us some slack here.’

A minute later, the silence was pierced by the first low wails of a siren. ‘Yes,’ Gareth muttered. ‘Hold on, mate. The cavalry’s nearly here.’

In another minute two ambulances—one with an intensive care paramedic—pulled up, followed closely by a police car. A minute after that a fire engine joined the fray. Reinforcements surrounded them, artificial light suddenly flooding the scene, Billie and Gareth continued their CPR as Gareth gave an impressive rapid-fire handover.

‘Keep managing the airway,’ the female intensive care paramedic instructed Billie, after Gareth had informed her of their medical credentials. She handed Billie a proper resus set—complete with peep valve and oxygen supply. ‘You okay to intubate?’

Billie nodded. She could. As a second-year resident she’d done it before but not a lot. And then there was the blood.

She took another deep, steadying breath.

Gareth continued compressions as one of the advanced care paramedics slapped on some defib pads and the other tried to establish IV access.

In the background several firemen dealt with the car, some set up a road block with the police while others directed a newly arrived tow truck to one side.

The automatic defibrillator warned everyone to move away from the patient as it advised a shock.

‘Stand clear,’ the paramedic called, and everyone dropped what they were doing and moved well back.

A series of shocks was delivered, to no avail, and everyone resumed their positions. IV access was gained and emergency drugs were delivered. Billie successfully intubated as Gareth continued with cardiac massage. Two minutes later the defibrillator recommended another shock and everyone moved away again.

The driver’s chest arched. ‘We’ve got a rhythm,’ the paramedic announced.

Gareth reached over and felt for the carotid. ‘Yep,’ he agreed. ‘I have a pulse.’

‘Okay, let’s get him loaded and go.’

Billie reached for the bag to resume respiratory support on the still unconscious patient but the intensive care paramedic crouched beside Billie said, ‘Would you like me to take over?’

Billie looked at her, startled. She’d been concentrating so hard on not losing her stomach contents she’d shut everything out other than the whoosh of her own breath. But the airway was secure and they had a pulse. She could easily hand over to a professional who had way more experience dealing with these situations.

Not to mention the fact that now the emergency was under control her hands were shaking, her teeth were chattering and she was shivering with the cold.

And her knees were killing her.

She looked down at her gloves. They were streaked with blood and another wave of nausea welled inside her.

Billie handed the bag over and then suddenly warm hands were lifting her up onto her shaking legs, supporting her as her numb knees threatened to buckle. A blanket was thrown around her shoulders and she huddled into its warmth as she was shepherded in the direction of her car.

‘Are you okay?’

Billie glanced towards the deep voice, surprised to find herself looking at Gareth. He was tall and broad and looked warm and inviting and she felt so cold. She had the strangest urge to walk into his arms.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, gripping the blanket tighter around her shoulders, looking down at where her gloved hands held the edges of the blanket together.

Dried blood stared back at her. The nausea she’d been valiantly trying to keep at bay hit her in a rush.

And right there, dressed to the nines in front of Gareth and a dozen emergency personnel, she bent over and threw up her fancy, two-hundred-dollar, three-course meal on the side of the road.