Читать книгу Aftershock - Jill Sorenson - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

AS SOON AS THE MEN WERE GONE, Lauren helped Penny remove her gasoline-stained dress.

The little girl, who introduced herself as Cadence, put the soiled fabric in a trash bag. Penny’s undergarments were dry, so Lauren left them alone. She ushered her patient into the cramped shower stall and turned on the spray.

“Any contractions?”

“No.”

Lauren’s top priority was Penny, not the fetus, so she evaluated her overall condition. She didn’t appear to be bleeding or have any broken bones. Her breathing and pulse rate were accelerated, but that was to be expected.

After they washed the gasoline off her hair and skin, Lauren placed a stethoscope over her rounded abdomen. She was all baby, with slim legs and arms. Her belly looked stretched to the limit, her breasts full.

The fetal heart rate was also slightly quicker than normal. Lauren would have to monitor mother and child very closely. They were lucky the traumatic series of events hadn’t caused her to go into labor; Lauren had a feeling she’d be busy with other patients. “You’re doing great,” she said, and meant it. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

There was something familiar about Penny, but Lauren couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe it was just that a face like hers invited closer attention. With her flawless features and above-average height, she could have been a model. The dress she’d been wearing looked designer, and her undergarments, while demure, appeared high-quality.

Cadence, who had a suitcase full of clothes, found a roomy T-shirt and a pair of baggy pajama pants for Penny to wear. Lauren helped her get dressed and encouraged her to sit down on the bed. After Garrett brought in the oxygen tank, Lauren put the mask on Penny’s face and instructed her to take deep breaths.

“We have more wounded,” Garrett said.

A chill traveled up Lauren’s spine. “I’ll be right there.” She gave Penny a tremulous smile. “You just sit tight and rest, okay?”

Penny curled up on the bed and closed her eyes, exhausted.

Lauren turned to Cadence. She was a pretty girl with dark eyes and curly black hair. Biracial, she estimated, although the grandfather was Caucasian. “Can you give her some water and a snack, if she’s hungry?”

Cadence nodded solemnly. “I’ll take good care of her.”

Outside, it looked like a war zone. Garrett and his new helper were carrying a body on the stretcher they’d found inside the ambulance. The patient, an older woman, was unconscious and appeared to have a broken femur.

Lauren steeled herself as they approached.

“There are others,” Garrett said, his face contorted as he bore most of the patient’s weight. “We need the stretcher back.”

“Okay,” she said, studying their surroundings. There was an open space in front of the RV where she could do triage. “Set her down there and bring me something to cover the ground. Blankets, floor mats, whatever you can find.”

“I have a cot in the RV,” Cadence’s grandfather said.

“That would be great.”

“I’m Don, by the way.”

“I’m Lauren,” she said, kneeling to examine the woman. “Can you turn on your headlights?”

“Be glad to.”

A moment later, the area in front of the motor home brightened. She got an IV started while Don put up the cot and Garrett searched for the requested items. He delivered a pile of floor mats, along with most of the equipment from the ambulance, setting it down near the front of the motor home.

As the morning wore on, Garrett and Don brought two more patients, both bloody. Lauren tried not to panic when she saw the extent of their injuries. She had plenty of experience in clearing airways and giving injections, but she wasn’t a doctor. As a paramedic, her job was to stabilize patients for transport. These people needed the E.R., not a Band-Aid.

When Garrett and Don carried in a fourth victim with serious injuries, she couldn’t hide her dismay. They transferred the unconscious man from the stretcher to the last available space in front of the RV.

Mopping his forehead with a handkerchief, Don went inside to check on Cadence. He was finding it difficult to keep up with Garrett, too.

Garrett sat down beside Lauren, watching her work.

“Are there more?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Yes.”

“My God.”

“Some I can’t get to. Others...don’t look like they’ll survive the move.”

She struggled to remain numb. This was no time to break down. The victims were counting on her. “What about rescue?”

“Cell phones aren’t working,” he said. “Most of the radio stations are down. I caught the end of a short broadcast in Spanish.”

“And?”

“The only words I understood were San Diego and ocho punto cinco.”

Eight point five. Jesus. The city had never been hit by a quake this size. She closed her eyes, feeling a tiny amount of moisture seep through her lashes. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get dehydrated and have no tears to shed. “We might be in here for days.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Have you seen a way out?”

“Not yet. I’ll keep searching.”

His steady gaze met hers and she held it, studying him. His eyes were a cool, dark green, framed by spiky lashes. In this light, she could see that his hair was dusty-brown, and a little longer than military allowed. With his square jaw and strong nose, he was rugged looking. Handsome, but not a pretty boy.

He wasn’t a fresh recruit, either. She guessed his age was at least twenty-five, probably closer to thirty.

Like Don, he was showing signs of wear. There were crease lines in the dirt on his face. His T-shirt was bloodstained, and damp with perspiration. He hadn’t stopped doing heavy labor since this nightmare had started.

When she realized that she was staring at his powerful build, her mouth went dry and heat rose to her cheeks. She hadn’t felt a twinge of sexual chemistry with anyone since her breakup with Michael. Experiencing it now was awkward, to say the least. If she’d met Garrett under different circumstances, she might have tried to flirt with him. He was hot and fearless. Why couldn’t she find guys like this in non-life-threatening situations?

Lauren concentrated on taking her new patient’s vital signs. As she removed the stethoscope from her ears, a telltale rumble echoed through the chamber.

Aftershock.

“Get down,” Garrett ordered, yanking her away from the victim.

Heart racing, she did what he said, pressing herself flat on the ground and folding her arms around her head.

Apparently, she was still capable of terror. It coursed through her like a sickness, robbing her ability to think. Chunks of concrete fell from above, smashing the ground near them. She coughed as the air thickened with dust. Moving quickly, Garrett leapt on top of her, protecting her from the debris.

She was aware of the earth shuddering beneath them and the structure groaning overhead. A car alarm went off in the distance, filling the cavern with rhythmic honking. The scene was too disturbing to process. Perhaps that was why her focus shifted from grim reality and tooth-and-nail survival to the more pleasurable sensation of Garrett’s hard body covering hers.

His chest was molded to her back, his strong thighs bracing hers. He had a taut, well-muscled physique. His stomach was flat and tight, his crotch nestled against her bottom. That, and the feel of his biceps framing her upper arms, made her shiver.

He even smelled manly, like motor oil and hard work.

Eventually the shaking stopped. The car alarm went quiet. They stayed still, making sure it was safe. His breath fanned the hair at the nape of her neck and his heartbeat thudded between her shoulder blades.

This was one of her favorite positions.

She shifted beneath him, embarrassed. What an inappropriate time to think about sex! Too late, she realized that the way she’d lifted her bottom against his fly could be interpreted as an invitation.

He rolled away from her and she scrambled upright. His gaze scanned her flushed face. She wiped the dirt off her cheek, swallowing hard.

A muscle in his jaw flexed and he looked away. “Sorry,” he muttered. “If you get hurt, we’re all screwed.”

It took her a few seconds to understand what he meant. He was apologizing for jumping on her. As if she’d be offended by his gallant attempt to keep her safe. “It’s okay,” she said, moistening her lips. Her voice sounded husky.

“Everyone all right out there?” Don called from the RV.

Garrett answered with an affirmative, and Lauren pulled herself together. She should be worrying about her patients, not her libido. Thankfully, none of the debris had tumbled their way. A few IV bags had been knocked loose. She was already running low on supplies, but she worked with what she had, and cared for the victims as well as she could.

Around noon, one of her patients began to experience severe respiratory distress. Lauren was aware that he had broken ribs. When she listened to his chest sounds again, it became clear that one of the splinters had punctured his lung.

“Oh no,” she breathed, noting his rapid pulse and low blood pressure. He’d been semiconscious; now he was completely out, his skin turning blue. His carotid artery and jugular vein were distended, screaming for oxygen.

“What is it?” Garrett asked.

“His lung collapsed,” she said, trying to stay calm. This was a life-threatening emergency. Placing the oxygen mask over his face, she increased the output levels. Then she searched her supplies for a large needle and a syringe. Cutting away the front of his shirt, she found the intercostal space above his third rib.

She tore an alcohol swab open and wiped the spot. Working quickly, she stabbed the needle straight down into his chest.

It was a clean strike, sinking into his pleural cavity. She drew back the plunger and watched the syringe fill up with blood.

Damn.

A collapsed lung failed to function properly because of excess air or fluid in the cavity. If the problem was too much air, the lung couldn’t contract on its own, but she could do needle decompressions to release tension. Although excess blood could also be removed, she wouldn’t be able to stanch the flow.

Dealing with severe internal bleeding was beyond her capabilities. Beyond the abilities of any paramedic under these circumstances. A patient with this kind of chest trauma was doomed unless he made it to a surgeon’s table.

But Lauren couldn’t just stand there and watch the man die, so she extracted as much blood from the lung cavity as possible. It was like trying to put her finger on the dam. Her patient expired within minutes.

Shaken, she set the syringe aside and picked up her stethoscope, listening for a heartbeat. Nothing. She pronounced him dead at 12:22 p.m.

He wasn’t the first person she’d lost, and he wouldn’t be the last. Emergency services personnel couldn’t afford to dwell on disappointments like this; they had to move on quickly. Lauren was good at that. Paramedics and EMTs didn’t do follow-up. Their focus was safe transport, not long-term care.

Despite her vast experience with death, this one wasn’t easy. They were trapped under several layers of freeway, so safe transport was out. She didn’t have the resources or the expertise for ongoing critical care.

Although Garrett had jumped to protect her during the aftershock, he made no attempt to comfort her now. He stayed back and gave her space. She appreciated his reserve; if he’d shown a hint of compassion, she might have fallen apart.

Letting out a slow breath, she covered the dead man with a towel. Her remaining patients were unconscious, but stable.

“Can you come with me to check on the others?” Garrett asked quietly.

“Sure,” she said, rising to her feet.

She donned her hard hat and accompanied Garrett on a final sweep of the cavern. He couldn’t evaluate the wounded as well as she could. Several people were suffering, but as he’d said, they probably wouldn’t survive being moved.

Lauren had never witnessed so much devastation. She prayed for her friends and colleagues, many of whom had families in San Diego. All Lauren’s relatives, including her mother, lived far away.

After six years as a paramedic, she knew how to hold herself at an emotional distance, but she wasn’t made of stone. Her heart ached for the victims. Thankfully, most of them were already dead, not writhing in agony.

She trudged alongside Garrett like an automaton, her eyes dry.

Lauren assumed that the destruction outside was far worse. The freeway sections had collapsed in layers, blocking all sides. During the short interim between the first quake and the initial aftershock, many motorists had been able to escape. Some on foot, perhaps. The massive pileups of cars were beyond the concrete walls, not within them.

“You need something to eat and drink,” Garrett said.

If anyone required sustenance, it was him. He’d been searching through the rubble and lifting heavy objects for hours. She took two bottles of vitamin water out of her pack, giving him one and drinking the other.

“Is there food in the RV?” she asked.

“Yes, but it won’t last more than a few days.”

She didn’t want to consider the implication of those words. Surely they wouldn’t be trapped here long enough to worry about starvation. Humans could survive for weeks without food. If they weren’t rescued within twenty-four hours, however, those with the most critical injuries would pass away.

Water was the larger concern for the survivors. It was hot and dusty inside the cavern. They needed a lot of fluids to stay hydrated. Ten gallons wouldn’t go far.

“We should search the cars.”

“I plan to,” he said.

As they reached the northeast corner of the structure, where she’d first met Garrett, she was struck by grief. The mangled half ambulance lay on its side, contents gutted. Joe’s body was buried beneath the broken wall. He’d been her partner for three years, but she hadn’t paused to mourn him. Guilt and sadness overwhelmed her.

She struggled to control her emotions, but it was a losing battle. After inhaling several ragged breaths, she burst into tears.

Garrett kept his gaze averted and his hands to himself. He didn’t offer her any comfort or tell her not to cry. She knew she wasn’t a dignified weeper. There was nothing pretty about a red face and runny nose.

He offered her a tissue from a box he found in the back of the ambulance. She thanked him in a strangled voice, drying her eyes.

“I’m wasting water,” she said. “The Fremen would be appalled.”

“Good thing we’re not on Dune.”

She smiled through her tears, pleased that he’d understood the literary reference. Joe had been a hardcore sci-fi fan. They’d discussed the Frank Herbert novel, and its classic movie adaptation, to exhaustion.

“My coworker...didn’t make it,” she said.

“I’m sorry.”

Choking back another sob, she searched his face. He’d seemed upset when they’d first met, but anyone would be in this situation. If he was grieving the loss of a loved one, it didn’t show. “Were you with someone you cared about?”

“No,” he said curtly, his expression closed.

His brusque response made her feel foolish. He didn’t want to have a heart-to-heart discussion when there was work to be done.

She shoved the tissue into her pocket and searched the back of the ambulance for any useful supplies. After she gathered a few stray items, they headed back. The acrid stench of cigarette smoke gave her pause.

“Do you smell that?” she asked, frowning.

He froze, placing his hand on her shoulder. The sound of men’s voices carried across the dark cavern.

“Hello?” she called out, turning the beam of the flashlight that direction.

Behind a large pile of rubble, there were two men sitting in the back of a pickup truck. One had a cigarette clenched between his lips. The other was drinking from a silver can. They both waved.

Lauren waved back and started walking toward them. Garrett proceeded with caution, which she found strange, considering how gung ho he’d been earlier. He’d shown more enthusiasm while investigating burning cars.

As they neared the pickup, she saw a third man stretched out in the back of the truck. His eyes were closed, and bruises darkened the sockets underneath, but he was alive. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths.

“How’s it going?” Garrett asked, his voice flat.

She realized that he had good reason to be wary of these men. There was an open case of beer between them. A half dozen empty cans littered the space, and a large bag of chips rested against the wheel well.

While they’d been working hard, doing search and rescue, this pair of jokers had been getting drunk.

“It’s perking up,” the cigarette smoker said, glancing at Lauren. He was about forty, with bad teeth and pewter-colored hair. Tattoos snaked along his forearms, and he had the weathered skin of a drug user.

His friend was younger, in his mid-twenties, a big man with a shaved head. He had a doughy face and small, dark eyes. He studied Lauren also, moistening his fleshy lips. From the way they protruded, she figured he had an overbite.

Both men gave the impression that they were glad to see a woman, not a paramedic. Although she’d met a few guys who’d sought to take her down a peg, ignoring her uniform in favor of ogling her breasts, she hadn’t expected it from trauma survivors.

Then again, everyone reacted to stress in a different way. It didn’t bring out the best in most people.

“I’m Lauren,” she ventured, “and this is Garrett.”

Garrett had positioned himself very close to her, like a bodyguard. Or a boyfriend.

The tattooed man took another drag on his smoke, looking back and forth between them. “Jeb,” he said. “It’s a real pleasure.”

“Mickey,” his companion added. His soft, high-pitched voice made a sharp contrast to Jeb’s raspy southern drawl.

Lauren found it strange that they addressed her, not Garrett. They made no move to stand and shake hands.

“Who’s this?” she asked, gesturing to the prostrate man. He was young, like Mickey, with short blond hair and a thick goatee.

“That’s Owen,” Jeb said. “He’ll be all right.”

Lauren didn’t want to climb into the back of the pickup to evaluate his condition. She’d learned to trust her instincts, and they warned her not to get any closer. “I have other patients to attend to, but you’re welcome to bring him in. We’ve got some medical equipment set up in front of a motor home.”

“We take care of our own,” Jeb said, squinting at Garrett.

It sounded like a threat.

“Doesn’t appear to be any way out of here,” Garrett remarked.

Jeb sucked on his cigarette. “Nope.”

“Might be days, even weeks, before we escape.”

“Is that so?”

“We should ration our supplies.”

Jeb reached into the cardboard case of beer, his dark eyes glinting in the dim light. “You want one, pretty lady?”

“No,” she said tightly.

Cracking it open, he took a long pull. “Well, that’s a real good idea, hero. But you’ll be prying this beer out of my cold, dead hand.”

Mickey crushed an empty can in his fist, punctuating the statement.

“It’s every man for himself, the way I see it.”

Lauren’s stomach tightened with tension. Jeb and Mickey were spoiling for a fight, and Garrett might be angry enough to oblige. These men were playing with their lives by drinking an entire case of beer. They were wasting limited resources.

“Okay,” he said, grasping Lauren’s elbow. “Let’s go.”

She allowed him to lead her away, but she didn’t like it. When they were at a safe distance, she tugged her arm from his grip.

Cursing, he apologized. “I should have stood my ground.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“They deserved a beating.”

“Yes, but why make enemies? We have other things to worry about.”

“Now they think I won’t step up.”

“They’re not worth it,” she argued.

He was visibly upset, his jaw clenched and his shoulders stiff. Lauren hoped he wouldn’t go back to settle the score without her. Those guys were pretty tough looking. If either one of them alone challenged Garrett, she’d put her money on Garrett. But she didn’t think he could take them both on.

“Stay with me,” she said, putting her hand on the crook of his arm. It felt hard and hot beneath her fingertips. “Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied, frowning. He seemed surprised that she needed reassurance. Or maybe he was just reacting to her touch. His gaze dropped to her hand, which appeared pale and slender on his dirt-streaked skin. Then it returned to her face, settling on her trembling lips.

Lauren stared at him for a moment, her heart racing. She wasn’t in the habit of getting so familiar with strangers. Her strong attachment to him made sense, under these circumstances, but it still disturbed her. She liked being independent.

A vehicle horn sounded in the distance. It was Don, not an automatic alarm. One of the patients needed her.

She started jogging back to the RV, Garrett at her side.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Aftershocks rattled the cavern at semiregular intervals. Garrett rigged a set of construction lights to illuminate her workspace. They were able to see a large portion of the cavern. It was a blessing and a curse.

They were trapped under an impenetrable pile of concrete. A freeway underpass marked the south side, which had sustained the least damage. Its high ceiling had prevented the freeway sections from falling flat on top of each other and crushing everything underneath. Instead, the pieces had settled like a house of cards.

A broken, bumpy roadway stretched across the lower level. Massive walls of concrete blocked all sides. The largest wall was on the north end, where Lauren’s ambulance had been crushed. A mountain of rubble loomed in the west. The motor home sat near the middle of the south section, somewhat protected by the underpass.

The surrounding area resembled a parking garage from a dystopian nightmare. Blackened skeletons sat behind the wheels of smoldering cars. Broken bodies, blood spatter and safety glass littered the ground.

Looking up offered no respite. The ceiling was as high as fifty feet in some places. Daylight peeked through a couple of hairline cracks along the east wall. None appeared wider than Lauren’s wrist. Garrett had searched every inch of the perimeter, paying special attention to the chunks of concrete at the west end. Even if they had a bulldozer, and room to maneuver, he said, they couldn’t get through.

Lauren didn’t have time to despair their entrapment. She was too busy trying to keep her patients alive.

Penny was recovering well under Cadence’s care. Don helped Lauren with the others. She felt like a Civil War sawbones with her bloody apron and rudimentary techniques. Surgery was way beyond her scope, and she managed a few minor miracles with first-aid supplies and local anesthetics.

The first woman, Beverly Engle, drifted in and out of consciousness. Lauren gave her as much morphine as she could spare before immobilizing her broken leg. She secured the limb to a two-by-four.

Her second patient was a young, athletic-looking man. He had a serious head injury and didn’t respond to any stimuli. There wasn’t much she could do for him, besides administer IV fluids and monitor his condition.

Her third patient, an older man, had multiple internal injuries. She wasn’t surprised when he went into cardiac arrest, but she fought hard to save him.

Working frantically, she gave him oxygen through a tube, used a defibrillator and performed CPR for as long as she could. Exhausted, she let Garrett take over, to no avail. The man passed away just before midnight.

She was too drained to cry.

After Lauren cleaned herself up with medical wipes, she accepted a peanut butter sandwich that Cadence had made earlier. To her surprise, she ate with a ravenous appetite, finishing the meal quickly.

“You should get some rest,” Garrett suggested.

She nodded. Mrs. Engle and the coma patient were stable, and she wasn’t having any luck saving people. He turned off the construction lights, switching on a small camp lantern he’d found in one of the cars.

“Don said there’s space in the RV.”

She wasn’t sure about that. Penny and Cadence were sleeping on the only bed; Don was slumped in the front seat. She didn’t want to disturb them. “I’d rather stay close,” she murmured, “in case someone needs help during the night.”

He lifted his chin toward a quiet corner. “I put some blankets over there.”

“Where will you sleep?”

His gaze shifted to the dark recesses of the cavern. The men in the pickup had been listening to the radio earlier. Now it was silent. “I won’t.”

She studied him from beneath lowered lashes, her pulse accelerating. He needed rest, too. If she invited him to lie down with her, he might think she wanted something more. She didn’t—she was exhausted. But she couldn’t deny her attraction to him. From the way his eyes traveled over her, she suspected the feeling was mutual.

She also sensed that he wouldn’t act on it. The time and place were wrong. He seemed uncomfortable with her proximity, reluctant to share personal details. Maybe he wasn’t interested. Maybe he wasn’t available.

Did he have a girlfriend he was worried about? A wife and children?

She was reluctant to ask such weighted questions. So she said good-night, and went to sleep alone.