Читать книгу Four Weddings - Fiona Lowe - Страница 17

CHAPTER ELEVEN

TOM CROUCHED UNDER a plastic sheet held up by two men to protect him and his patient from the blinding rain. It wasn’t really working. He was as wet as if he’d just got out of a pool. Water dripped off his hair as he shone his torch into the eyes of a young man who had lost control of his motorbike.

The road, if it could be called that, was now almost mud. The bike had gone into a wild skid, and both rider and bike had crashed into a ditch. He’d been pulled out of the water-filled trough by passers-by and now lay by the side of the road.

Tom prayed he had no spinal damage that had been made worse by the rescue attempts of his friends. Squinting in the rain, he watched for pupil contractions in response to the light. Sluggish.

Not good. The law in Vietnam was that riders on country roads had to wear helmets. Unfortunately, this young man had been on a back road up by the mine and hadn’t worn his.

Tom had come ahead in the four-wheel-drive as the ambulance hadn’t been able to negotiate the back road. Even the truck had struggled. He’d arranged to meet the ambulance at the village further down the mountain.

He needed to combine thoroughness with speed.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked the patient, as part of checking his mental status.

‘Loc.’ The man grimaced as he tried to move.

‘Where does it hurt, Loc?’ Tom sat back on his haunches.

The young man closed his eyes. ‘Head.’

Tom put his hand on Loc’s shoulder. ‘Try and stay awake, Loc. Where else does it hurt?’

‘Everywhere.’

Tom sighed and started a comprehensive examination as water from the tarpaulin cascaded down his back. He needed to get Loc into the vehicle but couldn’t move him until he’d examined him fully.

Thunder echoed around him as the wind increased in velocity, blowing the rain nearly horizontally. He glanced up at the bare hills. At least there were no trees for the wind to bring down on them. If this storm was the edge of a typhoon, he’d hate to be any closer.

Loc held his left arm close to his body, almost cradling it with his other hand.

Tom’s fingers expertly palpated Loc’s clavicle, finding the telltale lump of a fracture. He continued down the arm, checking for a fractured humerus, radius and ulnar. Those three bones were intact.

‘You’ve broken your bone here.’ Tom gently placed his fingers on Loc’s collarbone. He slipped a triangular sling into place, pulling it up high so the weight of Loc’s arm would pull the fractured bone into alignment.

‘Can you feel this?’ He put his hands on Loc’s feet.

Loc nodded.

‘Good. Wiggle your toes.’

The young man tried and yelped in pain.

Tom picked up the shears from his emergency kit and cut Loc’s jeans straight up on both sides, and started examining his legs. His right leg was at a distorted angle.

My father pushed me down a flight of stairs fracturing every bone in my leg.

Bec’s voice crowded in on his thoughts. He forced it away as his guilt flared. He’d hurt her badly but he’d had no other choice. It was either hurt her now or hurt her even more later. He couldn’t give her false hope.

He could only offer her friendship. She wanted more than that. But his energies belonged to Vietnam, and finding his mother.

All through the ceremony he’d felt her large, expressive eyes on him. He’d wanted to hide, knowing she could see more than he’d ever revealed to anyone. This callout had been a relief for both of them, breaking up an excruciating situation.

‘You’ve broken one of the bones in your right leg. I’m going to tie your leg to a board and then we’ll carry you to the vehicle.’ He wished he had a Donway splint but all he had was a backboard and some crêpe bandages.

Loc started to shiver, his shoulders shuddering as shock set in.

Tom sighed as he strapped Loc’s leg to the board. The poor guy would be in agony travelling over the rough roads. He couldn’t give him anything for pain because he didn’t want to mask any symptoms of a head injury or a slow bleed into his brain. He didn’t even have any dry clothing for the poor guy. Or himself.

‘OK, we need to carry Loc to the four-wheel-drive.’ Tom stood up and instructed the men, demonstrating how two of them could make a chair with their hands. ‘I will support his leg.’

Rumbling thunder sounded again. A niggling sense of unease rolled through him. ‘on my count.’

Loc groaned as they carried him to the vehicle. Mud stuck to Tom’s shoes, clawing at the soles, sucking at his feet and making walking difficult. They loaded him into back of the truck and Tom inserted an intravenous drip.

‘We can go now,’ he called out to the driver as he taped the drip into place, hanging the bag from the coat hanger clip. ‘Take it easy, though.’

The windscreen wipers could barely keep the rain at bay. Visibility was poor. The truck skidded and slid as they edged toward the village.

It was the longest twenty minutes of Tom’s life but finally they came off the mountain and into the village. They transferred Loc into the waiting ambulance. Tom walked toward the front of the vehicle and was about to swing up into the front seat when he heard a frantic voice calling, ‘Bác s.’

He turned to see a woman running toward him.

‘You must see my daughter. She is very sick.’

Tom leaned through the open door, back toward the ambulance officer. ‘I need to see this patient. Can you wait?’

Worry lines creased the man’s forehead. ‘The roads are bad, we should go now.’

The woman tugged his arm. ‘She needs a doctor.’

Torn, Tom flicked open his phone. He had a signal. ‘You take Loc to hospital. If I need you back, I’ll ring.’

‘Yes, Doctor.’ The driver started the ignition and slowly turned toward the main road.

Tom followed the woman toward the back of the village where the houses nestled against the base of the mountain. He struggled to walk against the gale-force winds, keeping his head down against the rain. Water covered his feet.

The deep rumbling he’d heard halfway up the mountain when he’d been treating Loc sounded louder.

Sounded longer.

Suddenly it didn’t sound anything like thunder. It sounded more like the roar of crashing boulders and cracking tree trunks.

The water that covered the track changed, getting higher and thicker.

Mud.

Moving mud.

His head shot up. The rain-saturated soil was giving way. A wall of mud was rushing down the mountain toward them, bringing everything in its path along with it.

His heart pounded against his chest. Move to higher ground. He grabbed the woman by the arm. ‘Mudslide.’

She pulled against him. ‘My daughter.’

Her hand slipped out of his wet grasp as the wave of mud rolled against him, hitting him at waist height and pushing him off balance.

He heard her scream as a tree trunk hit her, pushing her under. No!

Keep upright.

Trees, boulders, mud and sand swept down in a thunderous roar, swirling around him, knocking his feet out from under him.

Instructions from white-water rafting boomed in his head. Feet first. Protect your head.

With superhuman strength he pushed himself around so his feet were facing down the mountain. Mud sucked at him, threatening to suffocate him. Keep your head up.

Mud reached his chin. He could taste it on his lips.

Death by drowning in mud.

Terror consumed him as every survival instinct kicked in.

I’m here and I love you. Bec’s soft, determined voice called to him. Take a chance with me.

Visions of his parents flashed through his mind, their love for him vivid on their faces.

You’ve been blessed, Tom Bracken.

He caught sight of a coconut palm.

Do not die.

One chance. He had one chance if he could get to the tree. One chance if the tree was sturdy enough to withstand the mudflow.

You’ve woven a dream around a family you wanted to find.

He couldn’t die. He had real people who loved him.

The people who had made him the man he was. People he’d foolishly turned his back on in his quest.

He had Bec. He needed Bec. He wanted a chance with her.

He loved her.

By hell, he was going to live and tell her.

Using his arms and feet, he tried to move against the tide, praying the mud would carry him into the tree, not past it.

He lunged, wrapping his arms and legs around the trunk.

Mud cascaded over his head, seeping into his nose, his eyes, clogging his throat, forcing his body hard against the tree. The trunk moved underneath him, bowing over under his weight.

His chest burned.

His head started to spin, sparks of light flickered against the blackness of his mind.

Bec’s image came into his mind with three-dimensional clarity. Wearing her bikini, her body pressed against his, her smiling face laughing up at him, and her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He could feel her, touch her and taste her.

Slowly her image faded.

His arms slipped.

A bright whiteness beckoned in the distance.

* * *

Bec held a torch while a doctor stitched Hin’s arm in the emergency department. He’d been injured by flying debris when the roof had ripped off the X-ray department.

Human injuries had been minor. Machine injury had been worse. The rain had flooded the room and the shiny new X-ray machine had taken a battering. As had the main power supply when it had been struck by lightning.

The staff at the hospital had immediately switched into emergency procedures. The hum of generators provided some power but for fine work, torches were needed.

The ambulance officer came through the door, wheeling in a young man with a broken leg.

Bec immediately looked beyond them for Tom.

No one was behind them. Anxiety skittered through her. ‘Hin, can you ask where Tom is, please?’

‘Sure.’ He spoke to the doctor.

The doctor spoke to the ambulance officer who replied and a nurse added something.

Frustration built in Bec. She wished she could understand.

‘He stayed to see another patient. We’re to pick him up on our way south,’ Hin explained, grimacing as another stitch went in. He gripped Bec’s hand. ‘Thank you for helping me.’

‘My pleasure. Now you have a story to impress the girls with when they see your scar.’

He grinned. ‘Good idea.’

Bec dressed Hin’s wound, apprehension swirling inside her at Tom’s absence. This is madness. Tom didn’t love her and she had to learn to separate her life from his. She had no need to be worried for him.

But she couldn’t shake the trepidation that clung to her.

Noise suddenly exploded around her. Doctors and nurses started to run around frantically, hauling equipment from cupboards, calling out instructions to each other.

‘Hin, what’s going on?’ She watched the colour drain from his face.

He reached out his hand, holding hers. ‘The rain has caused a mudslide at the village where Tom stayed.’

Mudslide! She breathed deeply, trying not to panic. ‘So he’s been in contact, requesting the ambulance? Requesting medical supplies?’

Hin shook his head slowly. ‘The village has been destroyed. We don’t know what is happening down there but we expect casualties.’

Casualties. She swayed as the meaning of Hin’s words rocked through her, sending the blood rushing from her face. Tom dead. He could not be dead. She tore herself out of Hin’s embrace. ‘I have to go there, I have to find him, I have to—’

‘The ambulance has left and Tom took the four-wheel-drive.’

‘Then get me another one, now!’ She didn’t recognise the screaming voice as her own. ‘If he’s alive he’ll be working to help the victims. He needs me. He needs us.’

Hin looked at her blankly, as if she were a crazy stranger.

Using every ounce of control she could muster, she spoke quietly and respectfully. ‘This is Tom, Hin. Please, get me a vehicle.’

Ten minutes later the first truckload of villagers arrived. Covered in mud, their eyes told their story—fear intermingling with grief. They were alive but part of them was dead, traumatised by seeing loved ones snatched away from them by a deluge of life-stealing mud.

Urgency played through her. She made Hin question every one of them but no one knew of the Bác s. No one knew if he lived or died.

‘I’m going on that truck to the village and I need you to come with me.’ Bec hauled Hin outside into the rain, clutching her medical kit. ‘I can help there and find Tom.’

* * *

An hour later Bec stood facing what had once been a village.

Desolation and destruction stared back at her.

She gagged.

Mud, trees and debris covered everything that had stood in its path in much the same way lava flowed from a volcano. A few people wandered around vaguely, shocked and confused. But mostly the village was eerily silent.

The survivors had been on the first truck.

She started to shake, her legs turning to rubber. Vietnam had claimed her son, interring him. He’d wanted to belong and now he was part of the country in a way no one could ever have imagined.

‘Tom.’ Her ragged voice echoed around her.

She started to walk forward, her chest heaving with great, racking sobs. She dragged her leg through the mud, welcoming the stabs of pain as the rest of her was numb with grief.

Ignoring Hin’s pleading warning that the area was unsafe, she started to walk up the hill alongside the mudflow’s distinct border. It looked like the photos she’d seen of areas after a natural disaster—trees cut off mid-trunk, trees stripped of all their foliage. Huts crushed flat as if they were cardboard cut-outs. No visible signs of life anywhere.

In the distance stood one lone coconut palm, its trunk marked with mud, indicating how high the flow had risen before falling away.

She continued walking.

Movement caught her eye.

She stopped and rubbed the tears from her eyes. Blinking, she took another look. Someone was sitting against the tree. Someone tall. Taller than the average Vietnamese.

She started to run, her medical kit banging into her back.

Tom. She tried to call out but hope and fear closed her throat. She dragged in another breath. ‘Tom!’

The brown figure moved and stumbled to his feet, swaying unsteadily, waving his arm above his head.

Relief competed with joy, surging through her so strongly that she almost fell over. He was alive!

Hardly aware of the rain and the mud, she scrambled up to him.

He stood before her covered in mud, brown from head to toe. Unrecognisable. Except she’d know him anywhere. She threw herself at him, holding him close, needing to feel the rise and fall of his chest against her own. ‘You’re alive.’

His arms wrapped around her, their pressure weak. He sagged against her. ‘I am.’

She lowered him down to the ground, her hands feverishly touching him, examining him for breaks, cuts and contusions. ‘I thought …’ She swallowed against the horror that had been with her since Hin had spoken the word ‘mudslide.’ ‘I thought you’d died.’

‘I couldn’t die, I had too much to live for.’ He gazed at her, his eyes filled with wonder, as if he didn’t believe she was real. ‘I was damned if I was going to die before I told you I loved you.’

I love you. Her heart soared. He loved her.

A kernel of doubt opened up. ‘Are you sure you’re not just saying that because you’re in shock?’

He breathed in deeply, pain contorting his face as if he was mustering every last ounce of his energy. He slowly raised his hand to her cheek. ‘Bec, I’m so sorry I hurt you. I was a fool. I’d been convinced for so long that my sense of displacement, the empty space inside me, was connected to not being able to find my birth mother and her family. Of missing out on my Vietnamese culture and language. But I had it all wrong. That sense of displacement was because I hadn’t met you.’

He shuddered. ‘It took the threat of suffocation by mud for me to realise that you filled that space. You were the missing half of me. The times I’ve spent with you have been the most wonderful times of my life. With you I’ve found contentment for the very first time.’

Tears pricked her eyes. ‘But what about your search for your birth mother?’

His arm fell back as exhaustion claimed him. ‘I’ll still look but I know the chances are slim. If I don’t find her I’ll be OK with that. You were right. I have a loving family, one that I have badly ignored recently.’

She lay down next to him, holding him close. ‘I never want to be this scared ever again.’

He tried to chuckle but started to cough. ‘I got as close to death as I ever want to go. The one thing that kept me alive was you. You were with me as the mud washed over me. Your image, your voice, your fighting spirit and your love. You kept me alive, Bec. Thank you for rescuing me.’

‘I’m glad I could return the favour.’ She helped him sit up to ease the coughing. ‘You taught me to trust again. You brought me back to life. I’d existed up until then. You showed me what I was missing.’

Worried eyes scanned her face. ‘Will you spend your life with me, Bec?’

Her heart exploded with joy. ‘Absolutely.’ She hugged him tight. ‘But first I want to get you to hospital and started on antibiotics. I think you’re a prime candidate for inhalation pneumonia. Not to mention gangrene from those gashes.’

He leaned against her. ‘That can wait ten more minutes. I want to sort out a couple of other things.’

‘But, Tom …’ The serious look in his eyes silenced her.

‘I nearly died today with things left unsaid. I am not going to leave things unsaid again. I once told you I didn’t want to have children because I had no medical history. It wasn’t strictly true. You were right, I was scared. Scared of the unknown.’

He picked up her hand. ‘But, Bec, I want us to be parents. I want us to share that experience. Together we’re strong enough to deal with whatever comes our way. What do you think? Do you trust our relationship enough to have children?’

Warmth radiated through her, warming every part of her, bringing light to all the dark places. A family of her own. A family with Tom. ‘I want us to have children. I couldn’t think of anything more wonderful, but …’ She thought of Minh.

‘But what?’ His voice sounded strained.

If their relationship was to have a chance she had to take a risk. ‘I know you feel really strongly about overseas adoption but I believe we can offer a child something even your amazing parents couldn’t. We can give a child the best of East and West. I will learn Vietnamese and you can teach me how to cook.’ She bit her lip before jutting her chin forward. ‘I want us to adopt Minh.’

‘The cerebral palsy baby?’ His voice was so soft she could barely hear it. ‘Yes.’

He was silent for a few moments, his fingers tracing the length of hers, the mud on his forehead cracking along his concentration lines.

Bec held her breath.

He finally spoke. ‘Minh will have more of a history than me. His parents’ names will be on record. As he grows up he can have contact with them or with his other relatives if his parents are not alive.’ He faced her, his eyes shining. ‘I think that would be a wonderful thing to do.’

Relief flooded her and she flung her arms around him and kissed him. The taste of mud grounded her. ‘Now, will you let me get you down the mountain to Hin and to the hospital?’

He nodded slowly as if the effort was almost too much.

She stood up and pulled Tom to his feet. Looping his arm around her shoulder, she supported her man and walked him down the mountain toward their new life.