Читать книгу Security Blanket - Delores Fossen - Страница 8

Working frantically, Lucky slung off the debris that was covering Marin Sheppard and her son.

No easy feat.

There was a lot of it, including some shards of glass and splintered metal, and he had to dig them out while trying to keep a firm grip on Noah. Not only was the baby screaming his head off, he wriggled and squirmed, obviously trying to get away from the nightmare.

Unfortunately, they were trapped right in the middle of it.

“You’re okay, buddy,” Lucky said to the baby. He hoped that was true.

Lucky quickly checked, but didn’t see any obvious injuries. Heck, not even a scratch, which almost certainly qualified as a miracle.

As he’d seen Marin do, Lucky brushed a kiss on the boy’s cheek to reassure him. Though it wasn’t much help. Noah might have only been eight months old, but he no doubt knew something was horribly wrong.

This was no simple train derailment. An explosion. An accident, maybe. Perhaps some faulty electrical component caused it. Or an act of terrorism.

The thought sickened him.

Whatever the cause, the explosion had caused a lot of damage. And a fire. Lucky could feel the flames and the heat eating their way toward them. There wasn’t much time. A couple of minutes, maybe less.

And even then, getting out wasn’t guaranteed.

They couldn’t go through the window. There were jagged, thick chunks of glass still locked in place in the metal frame. It wouldn’t be easy to kick out the remaining glass, and it’d cut them to shreds if he tried to go through it with Noah and Marin, especially since she was unconscious. Still, he might have to risk it. Lucky had no idea what he was going to face once he left the car and went into the hall toward the exit.

Maybe there was no exit left.

Maybe there was no other way out.

“Open your eyes, Marin,” he said when he finally made it through the debris to her.

Oh, man.

There wasn’t a drop of color in her face. And the blood. There was way too much of it, and it all seemed to be coming from a wound on the left side of her head. The blood had already seeped into her dark blond hair, staining one side of it crimson red.

“Look at me, Marin!” Lucky demanded.

She didn’t respond.

Lucky shoved his fingers to her neck. It took him several snail-crawling moments to find her pulse. Weak but steady.

Thank God, she was alive.

For now.

But he didn’t like the look of that gash on her head. Since she was breathing, there was no reason for him to do CPR, but he tried to revive her by gently tapping her face. It didn’t work, and he knew he couldn’t waste any more time.

Soon, very soon, the train would be engulfed in flames, and their chances of escape would be slim to none. They could be burned alive. He wasn’t about to let that happen to her or the precious cargo in his arms. He’d made a promise to protect Noah, and that was a promise he intended to keep.

Moving Marin could make her injuries worse, but it was a risk he had to take. Placing Noah on her chest and stomach, he scooped them both up in his arms and hugged them tightly against him so that Noah wouldn’t fall. Noah obviously wasn’t pleased about that arrangement because he screamed even louder.

Lucky kicked aside a chunk of the displaced wall, and hurrying, he went through what was left of the doorway that divided the lounge car from the rest of the train. A blast of thick smoke shot right at him. He ducked his head down, held his breath and started running.

The hall through coach seating was an obstacle course. There was wreckage, smoke and at least a dozen other passengers also trying to escape. It was a stampede, and he was caught in the middle with Noah and Marin.

The crowd fought and shoved, all battering against each other. All fighting to get toward the end of the car. And they finally made it. Lucky broke through the emergency exit and launched himself into the fresh air.

Landing hard and probably twisting his ankle in the process, he didn’t stop. He knew all too well that there could be a secondary explosion, one even worse than the first, so he carried Noah and Marin to a clear patch about thirty yards from the train.

The November wind was bitter cold, but his lungs were burning from the exertion. So were the muscles in his arms and legs. He had to fight to hold on to his breath. The air held the sickening smell of things that were never meant to be burned.

He lay Marin and Noah down on the dried winter grass beside him, but Noah obviously intended to be with Lucky. He clamped his chubby little arms around Lucky’s neck and held on, gripping him in a vise.

“You’re okay,” Lucky murmured. And because he didn’t know what else to say, he repeated it.

To protect Noah from the wind and cold, Lucky tucked him inside his leather jacket and zipped it up as far as he could. Noah didn’t protest. But he did lookup at him, questioning him with tearfilled eyes. That look, those tears broke Lucky’s heart. It was a look that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Your mom’s going to be all right,” Lucky whispered.

He prayed that was true.

Lucky pulled Marin closer so his body heat would keep her warm, and used his hand and shirt sleeve as a compress. He applied some gentle pressure against her injured head, hoping it would slow the bleeding. She didn’t move when he touched her, not even a twitch.

He heard the first wail of ambulance sirens. Already close. Thankfully, they were just on the outskirts of Austin so the response time would be quick. The fire-fighters wouldn’t be far behind. Lucky knew the drill. They’d set up a triage system, and the passengers with the most severe, but treatable injuries would be seen first. That meant Marin. She’d get the medical attention she needed.

“You’re going to stay alive, Marin,” Lucky ordered. “You hear me? Stay alive. The medics are on the way. Listen to the sirens. Listen! They’re getting closer. They’ll be here in just a few minutes.”

Noah volleyed uncertain glances between Lucky and his mother. He stuck out his quivering bottom lip. For a moment Lucky thought the little boy might burst into tears again, but he didn’t. Maybe the shock and adrenaline caught up with him, because even though his eyes watered, he stuck his thumb in his mouth and snuggled against Lucky.

It wasn’t a sensation Lucky had counted on.

But it was a damn powerful one.

What was left of his breath vanished, and feelings went through him that he’d never experienced. Feelings he couldn’t even identify except for the fact that they brought out every protective instinct in his body.

“What are your injuries?” Lucky heard someone shout. He looked up and saw a pair of medics racing toward him. They weren’t alone. More were running toward some of the other passengers.

“We’re not hurt. But she is,” Lucky said pulling back his hand from Marin’s injured head.

The younger of the two, a dark-haired woman, didn’t take Lucky’s word about not being injured. She began to examine Noah and him. Noah whined and tried to bat herhands away when she checked his pupils. The other medic, a fortysomething Hispanic man, went to work on Marin.

“She’s Code Yellow,” the medic barked to his partner. “Head trauma.”

That started a flurry of activity, and the woman yelled for a stretcher.

Code Yellow. Marin’s condition was urgent, but she was likely to survive.

“I need your name,” the female medic insisted, forcing his attention back to her. “And the child’s.”

Lucky’s stomach clenched.

It was a simple request. And it was standard operating procedure for triage processing. But Lucky knew it was only the beginning of lots of questions. If he answered some of those questions, especially the part about Noah being a near stranger, they’d take the little boy right out of his arms, and the authorities would hold on to him until they could contact the next of kin.

The very thing that Marin didn’t want to happen.

Because her parents and her brother, Dexter, were Noah’s next of kin.

Some choice.

As if he understood what was going on, Noah looked up at him with those big blue-green eyes. There were no questions. No doubts. Not even a whimper.

But there was trust. Complete, unconditional trust.

Noah’s eyelids fluttered down, his thumb went back in his mouth, and he rested his cheek against Lucky’s heart.

Oh, man.

It seemed like some symbolic gesture, but it probably had more to do with the kid’s sheer exhaustion than anything else. Still, Lucky couldn’t push it aside. Nor could he push aside what Marin had asked of him when they’d been trying to stay alive.

If I don’t make it, get Noah out of here. Protect him.

And in that crazy life-or-death moment, Lucky had promised her that he would do just that.

It was a promise he’d keep.

“Sir,” the medic prompted. “I need you to tell me the child’s name.”

It took Lucky a moment to say anything. “I’m Randall Davidson. This is my son, Noah,” he lied. He tipped his head toward Marin. “And she’s my fiancé, Marin Sheppard.”

In order to protect the frightened little boy in his arms, Lucky figured he’d have to continue that particular lie for an hour or two until Marin regained consciousness or until he could call her friend in Fort Worth. Not long at all, considering his promise.

He owed Noah and Marin that much.

And he might owe them a hell of a lot more.