Читать книгу Next of Kin - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 10

THE RED MAZDA had been out of sight for over a minute when Casey crested a hill on the highway and spotted it again amid the steady traffic ahead. He wondered where the pretty brunette was off to in such a hurry. Or maybe she was just speeding because she had a great car and it was a lovely day and she was happy to be alive. Though he was paid to control the speed on the public roadways, Casey could relate only too well.

And then with a flash of light and boom of an explosion, everything about the day changed. Flames shot from a car even farther ahead on the road.

Casey swore as he automatically reached for his radio. At that instant, a tractor-trailer unit started to weave across two lanes of the highway, the driver trying desperately to avoid the out-of-control burning vehicle.

With a quick maneuver, Casey pulled over to the shoulder, watching helplessly as the rig zigzagged across several lanes of traffic. In a chain reaction, the vehicles behind the rig began to smash into each other, one after the other, filling the air with the smell of burning rubber and the horrific noise of crashing metal and shattering glass.

The tractor-trailer finally stopped moving, settling across the highway, then tipping inward and over, crushing whatever had been in the right-hand lane next to it. The rig landed lengthwise across the highway, blocking two northbound lanes and crossing the short median strip to settle over one southbound lane, too. Automobiles in both directions crashed into each other, creating the most massive pileup he’d ever witnessed.

“Ten forty-five on Pacific Coast Highway heading north. Repeat, 10-45 on PCH. At least twenty vehicles, probably more…”

He stopped to catch his breath, realizing that he was in a mild state of shock. This one had come a little too close to home. If he’d been going just a bit faster…

“We’ve got a huge pileup blocking most, if not all, south-and northbound lanes.”

The dispatcher asked him to estimate the location.

“About five miles south of Courage Bay Hospital.” Which is damn lucky, since a lot of these unfortunate folk are going to require medical help, fast. “We’ll need everything you can get us. Backup, ambulances…”

He paused as he noticed a second blast of flames come from the burning vehicle. He frowned, wondering what could have caused two explosions in the same car. Not that it would matter to the poor driver, who had probably been incinerated with that first blast.

“What just happened?” the dispatcher asked.

Casey relayed the bare facts, then reiterated the need for help, as soon as possible. As he spoke he wove his motorbike between stopped vehicles, working his way up to the collision. Ahead, in the burning sedan, flames reached out of the gaping windows as if grasping for the sky. After a few moments the fire tapered down again.

If the second explosion had been the fuel tank, then what had caused the initial blaze? Casey made a note to discuss the anomaly with whoever headed up the investigation team later. Likely the poor devils would be here until late tonight, gathering statements from witnesses as well as physical evidence from the road and the vehicles involved in the collision.

Though he hated the carnage of serious traffic accidents, Casey had always enjoyed the process of collision reconstruction. It was like detective work, really, requiring a meticulous gathering of evidence from witnesses and from the accident scene itself.

At some point tonight, officers would carefully examine the road for skid marks, scrapes, gouges, liquid spills. They’d photograph the scene, take precise measurements with a transit, conduct a preliminary inspection of the vehicles involved. All this information would enable the officer in charge of the investigation to stand up in court and explain accurately how the accident had happened and why.

All very cool, fascinating stuff.

But right now, Casey’s job was the opposite of cool. His first concern was public safety. He circled the area with warning flares, shaking his head at the extensive damage. Somehow he had to clear a path through this mess for the emergency vehicles. The far southbound lane was probably his best bet. He began directing those drivers whose cars were still capable of moving to the side of the road.

FINALLY, JACKIE WAS ABLE to catch her breath. She flexed her hands, wiggled her toes, and decided she was okay. Her neck ached a little, but that was all. Around her the cacophony of the accident had died down. In the sudden silence she heard people calling for help.

How many drivers and passengers had been injured?

She scrambled for the cell phone she kept in her glove compartment for emergencies and dialed 9-1-1. The dispatcher seemed already aware of the incident, but still asked several questions. Ignoring a painful protest from her neck muscles, Jackie reached under the passenger seat for her first-aid kit.

After being assured that help was on its way, she disconnected her call and dropped the phone. She had to get out of here to see if she could help. She grasped the door handle, but even with a good shove from her shoulder, couldn’t get the door to budge. Her beautiful new convertible was totally wrecked.

On shaky legs she stood on her seat. Before coming to a final stop, the tractor-trailer rig had crossed the center-line, and traffic now stood at a complete halt in both directions on the highway.

God give me strength, she prayed as she climbed out the open roof. The awful sounds of crying and moaning and entreaties for help were everywhere now. She hardly knew where to turn.

The bright sun suddenly seemed an abomination. She’d never seen such devastation firsthand. In front of her was a tangle of metal and shattered glass. Just ahead of the overturned rig, a sedan burned wildly. Had the occupants made it out before the blast? She prayed so.

“Please, help me! My son is bleeding badly!”

The woman in the car in front of Jackie’s had managed to open the driver’s side window and was waving at Jackie. She sprang into action, scrambling over the torn metal of the Mazda’s hood, then jumping down to the pavement and racing to the woman’s aid.

“Where is he bleeding?” Jackie pulled on a pair of disposable latex gloves as she spoke.

“His arm.”

Peering in the passenger window, she saw a boy of about fifteen or sixteen strapped into the seat. He was shifting restlessly, and bright red blood spurted from a cut artery in his upper arm.

Jackie grasped the door handle and tugged. “How about you?” she asked the mother. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay. Just please, please, look after Brayden.”

Jackie wasn’t convinced. The woman had the beginnings of a bruise on her forehead. But she was conscious and talking and able to move. That made the son the priority right now.

The door jammed. She put a foot against the car and tugged with all her might. To her amazement, the door fell to the road. She leaned in for a closer look at the boy. His respirations were rapid and shallow.

“Hi there, Brayden. That’s quite a nasty cut you have.” She was glad to see his eyelids flutter when she spoke to him. Pulling off her cardigan, she used it to stem the flow of blood. His mother was at Jackie’s side now, having extracted herself from the car.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“I think so.” She hadn’t had a chance to inspect for other injuries yet. She had thick absorbent pads and bandages in her kit and did her best to dress the wound. As she worked, she spoke calmly to the mother.

“We need to stop the flow of blood until help arrives.” The matronly woman stared at her blankly, probably in mild shock.

“Here.” Jackie took one of the woman’s hands and placed it over the bandaged wound. “You need to apply firm, direct pressure right here. Can you do that?”

The woman nodded.

“Good. Help will be here soon and your son will be fine. Be strong.” She clasped a hand on the woman’s shoulder, then slipped on her stethoscope to continue her examination.

The boy’s pulse was fast, but thready. She took one of his hands and squeezed it gently. “Can you hear me, Brayden? If you’re too tired to talk, then squeeze my fingers.”

Nothing. He was probably in shock, too.

“Do you have anything warm in your van?” she asked the mother.

“A sleeping bag from my son’s sleep-over last weekend.”

“Great. Can you get it?” She kept pressure on the wound and managed to recline the boy’s seat to a supine position while the mother found the sleeping bag.

“Here it is.”

“Keep him warm,” she told the woman, then, noticing that she had started to shake, added, “Actually, why don’t you crawl under that sleeping bag with him?”

Moving on, she saw several people with minor injuries: a man with an obviously fractured arm, a woman with superficial abrasions on her face. They could wait.

The motorcycle cop who’d let her go earlier had cordoned off the accident site and was trying to clear a lane for the emergency vehicles, without much success. She saw him glance her way and nod. She nodded back, then tore off her soiled gloves and replaced them with a clean pair.

A male driver in his fifties moaned for help from his badly damaged Volvo. He’d managed to open his door and now he was crying, “Oh, my God. It hurts so bad. I know I’m going to die!”

Eyeing his pallor and noting the way he was clutching his left shoulder with his right hand, Jackie was immediately concerned. “Sir, I’m a nurse. Maybe I can help. Can you tell me what the problem is?”

“The pressure…” he gasped. “I can hardly breathe.”

“In your chest?”

He nodded.

“And your arm?”

He nodded again.

“Any history of heart disease, sir?”

“Yeah. I have angina. About five years ago I had a heart attack. It was just like this. Oh, God, I’m going to die this time, I know it.”

“Do you have your nitro spray?”

“In the glove compartment. I can’t—”

“That’s okay. I’ll get it.” She ran to the other door and quickly found the spray. “Here. Take this.”

He eagerly sprayed two shots under his tongue. Almost immediately he showed improvement. As an added precaution, Jackie gave him an aspirin to chew, then she flagged down an uninjured accident victim and asked her to sit with the man until the paramedics arrived. She scribbled quickly on a Post-It note from her kit and handed it to the quiet young woman.

“Give this to the paramedics when they arrive so they’ll know what I’ve done.” She patted the man’s hand reassuringly, then moved on again.

This time she could hear a woman calling for help. “Get me out of here! Get me out!”

She was in the front seat of a small two-door car and several people were trying to open one of the doors without success. Jackie rushed over.

When they saw her first-aid kit and the stethoscope strung around her neck, the group of people stepped aside to allow Jackie access to the driver’s side of the totaled vehicle. The damage to the car was so severe, it seemed impossible the woman inside could still be alive. But she was alive, and conscious, too, though frantic with fear, pain or probably both.

“My legs are trapped. I can’t move them!”

The woman was strapped in her seat and her air bag had deployed, saving her from massive head and neck injuries. But Jackie didn’t discount the possibility that there could be injury to the spinal cord.

“I know you must be in terrible pain, miss, but we’d better not move you until the paramedics show up. Can you wiggle your toes?” she asked hopefully.

“Nothing! Am I going to be paralyzed?”

She was good-looking, probably in her mid-twenties. “Perhaps you’ve lost feeling due to a lack of circulation,” Jackie said, offering hope. She glanced around at the crowd. “Anyone got any thick jackets, towels or blankets?”

“I have some towels. They’re a little damp…” A woman in a sundress, who’d obviously spent the day on the beach, offered two striped towels from a wicker bag.

“That’s fine.” Jackie took them gratefully and did her best to immobilize the young woman’s neck.

The reassuring sounds of sirens were all around them now. But how were the ambulances going to be able to transport these people to the hospital with any speed? The traffic snarl continued on both sides of the highway for as far as she could see. She wondered if her brother Nate was on duty today. Boy, she could sure use his help out here.

Jackie stood, pressing a hand firmly to the side of her neck where the muscles were throbbing now. She’d worked her way right up to the tractor-trailer unit. The driver seemed to be okay. He was upright in the sideways cab, free of his seat belt and talking to two men who’d emerged from their wrecked vehicles to give him a blast.

Over on the far left, she watched as the paramedics spilled from two ambulances. Jackie almost cried with relief when she saw her tall, dark-haired younger brother emerge from the first vehicle, dressed in his navy uniform.

“Nate!”

Somehow, above all the noise and commotion, he heard her. She saw him frown.

“Jackie? What the hell…?”

She wound her way through the maze of demolished cars and accident victims. “I was here when it happened, Nate. My car is probably totaled, but I’m fine.”

Her brother engulfed her in a hug and she winced at the pain that shot from her neck down her shoulder. She pulled away gently. “I’ve been around to most of the serious victims.” She told him about the bleeding boy who was in shock, the man who was almost for sure having a heart attack, the trapped young woman who couldn’t feel her legs.

“Good work, Jackie.” Nate patted her shoulder, already signaling the other paramedics where to go. She left her brother to do his job, thankful that he was here, though still concerned about the inevitable long transport times.

About to make her way back to her car, Jackie paused when she heard a faint wail. Unlike the cries and moans around her, this one was higher pitched and as steady as a stream of water from a faucet. The sound was unmistakable to anyone who’d heard it before.

A baby.

Jackie’s heart jammed up in her throat. The cry was coming from the other side of the tipped trailer. Dropping to her knees, she could see the front end of a station wagon that had been trapped under the collapsed rig. She tried calling out to the mother or father of the infant, but no one responded.

Sick fear momentarily froze her as she eyed the huge barrier that stood in her way. She had to get to that baby. But the vehicle was sandwiched between the overturned rig and the burned-out sedan.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned and looked up with disbelief. It was the motorcycle cop. He’d removed his helmet and his light brown hair was damp with sweat.

Their eyes met with common understanding. He’d heard the cries, too.

“You a doctor?”

“Nurse.”

He paused, then nodded. “Okay, then. Let’s help that kid.” He laced his fingers and, without a second thought, she placed her sandaled foot on the perch.

“One, two, three…” He heaved as she reached up and soon she was standing on what had once been the side of the trailer. She scrambled quickly across it, the metal hard on her bare knees. The cop followed. He was right next to her when she finally spotted the remains of the trapped vehicle. The front half was completely crushed under the back end of the trailer. In the rear seat, she could see the outline of an infant carrier.

“Shit.”

She shared the cop’s opinion.

He held out his hand again and helped her down to solid ground. “Be careful of the glass,” he said. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and used it to kneel on so he could take a look inside the front seat of the car.

She turned away, focusing on the wailing baby. The rear door was jammed, but the window had smashed into a million pieces. Heeding the cop’s warning, she slipped off a sandal and used it to sweep away the residue. Thanks to safety regulations, vehicles were now manufactured with window glass that disintegrated into relatively harmless pebbles. Still, she was careful to ensure that the glass pellets fell to the ground and not into the car with the baby.

“Hey, sweetie,” she called softly. “Are you okay in there?”

The wailing halted, but only for a split second. She was encouraged that the baby had responded, even momentarily, to the sound of her voice. She leaned in through the window for a closer look.

“Oh, God.” Instinctively she pulled back. Closed her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Still on the ground trying to see into the front seat, the cop must have heard her cry out.

“This baby’s only a few months old. His face is covered with blood.” She steeled herself to reach out to the infant. Pulling aside the blue blanket he’d been wrapped in allowed her a closer look at his face. Shattered glass lay all around him, but not from the window. These shards were from something else.

She spotted the plastic frame of a mirror and shook her head at the mother’s foolishness.

“You’re going to be okay, sweetie. Let me see if I can get you out of that car seat.” She would have preferred to leave him in the padded carrier, but no way would she be able to get the awkward thing through the window. Quickly she released the metal catch at the bottom, then pushed aside the canvas straps.

“Okay, baby. You’re coming out.” As gently as possible, she lifted the light little thing from the seat and through the window.

Finally the wailing stopped as she held the child in her arms. There were more cuts on his arms and legs, and some on his scalp, too. Jackie checked for slivers of glass, wishing for a table, direct lighting and good quality sterilized tweezers.

“He okay?” The cop was standing again. Keeping a careful distance from her and the baby, he shook the glass out of his jacket, then slipped it back on.

Jackie continued her inspection of the infant. “Lots of lacerations, but most of them superficial, I hope. I’m most worried about his eyes.”

Both were puffy, but the right one was also bleeding. She mopped up the blood with some gauze and saw that his eyelid was lacerated and, even worse, a fragment of glass appeared lodged in his cornea.

She wrapped the blue blanket around his tiny body, frowning at the way the little guy turned his head from the slightest exposure to sunlight.

Not a good sign. Poor babe.

“If his injuries are as extensive as I fear, he needs to be seen by a surgeon right away.” What she could see of the injury was bad enough. But she was more worried about potential damage to the internal ocular structures.

“Poor kid.”

She thought the cop was referring to the baby’s injuries, but then she noticed his gaze dwelling on the front half of the crushed vehicle.

Oh, no. “The driver?”

He shook his head gravely. “I’m afraid the baby’s mother is dead.”