The Grim Reaper Comes Calling

by Darrell Maloney

  “Bite down hard on this. It’ll keep you from breaking a tooth or biting your tongue. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  She did as directed, making an ugly face when she smelled how unpleasant her sweaty sock was.

  That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, in Dave’s eyes. Any additional thing to help distract her from the coming pain would help the situation.

  She locked eyes with her father, took a deep breath, then forced herself to nod.

  With one sure hand beneath her heel and the other upon the top of her foot, Dave pulled toward him until the hideous lump went down. Then he skillfully aligned the leg until it seemed to line up, and very slowly let it ease forward again.

  Lindsey, meanwhile, couldn’t take the pain despite the dirty sock and the tough-girl attitude.

  Hey eyes rolled into the back of her head and she passed out. The arms propping her up off the ground collapsed and her upper body fell backwards.

  Dave wasn’t overly concerned.

  The sock was still tightly clinched between her teeth.

  That was good. It would hold her tongue into place and keep it from falling back into her throat and constricting her airway.

  As long as she was out she wouldn’t feel the pain. When she came around again the worst of the pain will have subsided.

  She’d still be in agony.

  But the worst would be past her.

  He used two fingers to check the pulse on her carotid artery.

  The heart rate was understandably elevated, but wasn’t what Dave would consider dangerous.

  He left her there, blissfully unaware he was leaving.

  But he wouldn’t be gone long.

  Just long enough to find four relatively straight tree branches he could strip and use to splint her leg and immobilize it.

  As he stood he heard Beth yelling his name.

  “Dad! Dad!”

  He looked up and saw her, perhaps a hundred yards away, pointing to a place where the sheer cliff face apparently disappeared and turned into relatively flat ground.

  He waved back at her and watched her scamper up the slope.

  Beneath his breath he whispered, “Good job, Peanut.”

  She found his exit for him.

  Chapter 10

  Dave searched the nearby brush for tree limbs as he’d done a hundred times before when he was looking for firewood.

  At the same time, though, he had to be more picky. For while any dry wood would burn, not all of it was suitable to splint a broken leg.

  He tried to hurry, for time was of the essence.

  As he worked he frequently looked over his shoulder at Lindsey. He hoped she was out for several minutes. The longer she was unconscious the longer she’d get a break from the tortuous pain.

  Ideally she wouldn’t come to until he was finished with the splint and ready to move her.

  Beneath an eighty year red oak tree he found what he was looking for: several branches which had been knocked free when the tree was struck by lightning the previous spring. The tree itself was split down the middle, and suffered considerable damage.

  The leaves on both sides were still green, though. So even though half the split truck was twisted and touching the ground, it was going to survive.

  It would look funny, but it would survive. Dave hoped it would live for another hundred years. He’d always rooted for the underdog and loved a good success story.

  Many of the branches beneath the tree couldn’t be used, either because they were twisted or too brittle. But he was able to find four which would work perfectly.

  He collected them and beat feet back to Lindsey, who was still out of it.

  He could tell she wouldn’t be out for long, though.

  Even in her unconscious state Dave could tell she was feeling pain.

  Her head turned back and forth. There were beads of sweat upon her forehead, and Lindsey almost never sweated.

  The biggest tell-tale sign, though, was the wince upon her face. Her brow was furrowed, the corners of her mouth were taut.

  Her eyelids were fluttering.

  She’d come to very soon, and would be in sheer agony.

  He had to work fast.

  Dave wore short-sleeved shirts most of the year.

  He didn’t like the way long sleeves restricted his movements. He always said they got in his way; made it harder to do things like lifting and reaching and using power tools.

  Only recently he’d switched to long sleeve shirts because of the changing weather. It had been very cold in the evenings and mornings of late, and by wearing long sleeved shirts he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night when Sarah stole all the covers.

  Or maybe it was fate which stepped in, somehow foreseeing a time when Dave was in a bind. Perhaps the hands of fate knew there would come a day when Dave was with an injured child without any rope or tether or nylon strapping of any type. And that maybe he’d need something lightweight and strong to bind a splint.

  Under those circumstances, in that event, fate might say, what could possibly come in handy more than a pair of long sleeves?

  Darn you, fate, you come through in the most dire of circumstances.

  Off came Dave’s shirt, and off came the sleeves.

  He used his tactical knife to cut them into long strips of cloth and put them aside.

  Dave had what Sarah called a very selective memory.

  He didn’t always remember to take the trash out.

  He always forgot his mother-in-law’s birthday.

  He almost invariably no-showed appointments with the dentist.

  On the other hand, he never once forgot his Friday night poker game with Hal and the boys.

  He always remembered his daughter’s birthdays.

  And he always changed the oil in the cars, every four thousand miles on the dot.

  “I may not remember everything,” he liked to say. “But I always remember the important stuff.”

  Dave sometimes came close to nodding off during his annual fiscal responsibility briefing.

  It was the one the United States Marine Corps gave to its non-commissioned officers which taught them how best to manage their unit’s budget. How it was okay to purchase the office chair which cost a little bit more, if it was built better and would last three times longer.

  But how it was never okay to buy inferior training materials or cheaply-made weapons which might not work when they were most needed.

  To Dave, that kind of briefing was boring with a capital B, because it was all common sense stuff. The only reason it was given was because it was a block-filler. Something some general somewhere mandated be read to every Marine everywhere.

  Dave knew what was really important: the stuff that would help him accomplish his objectives or save the lives of his Marines.

  For that stuff Dave paid close attention.

  Such was the field medical training. The stuff the United States Marine Corps called “self aid and buddy care.”

  It was like the standard Red Cross first aid course on steroids.

  It not only covered lacerations and contusions and things civilians might suffer in a fall down a stairway or an automobile accident.

  It also covered things Marines might encounter after a terrorist attack or on a battlefield: shrapnel wounds and gunshots, poison gas attacks and limbs blown away by an improvised explosive device. Stab wounds and acid burns.

  And open and closed fractures.

  Dave forgetting his mother-in-law’s birthday was a minor thing. She loved him and always forgave him.

  Correctly treating a fellow Marine or loved one?

  Much, much more important.

  And Dave knew his stuff.

  Chapter 11

  Once he had the stripped branches and strips of cloth ready he made sure the leg was straight and positioned at “due north” on an imaginary compass.

  The upper branches were placed at the northwest and northeast positions and tied into place with strips from
his shirt sleeves.

  The strip of cloth went completely around each branch, then crossed over the loop to lock it into place. The technique kept the upper branches from falling and ensured the leg was stabilized.

  Once they were secured the strips went around each of the lower branches: the ones in the southwest and southeast compass positions, secured in exactly the same manner.

  In the end the leg was encased in an invisible box of sorts.

  It would not move in any direction, even when the patient was carried over rough terrain. The wound was visible at all times, as was the foot.

  He finished up and looked at his daughter, who was just then coming around.

  On a battlefield, the next step would be for Dave to assess his injured Marine, for several things: to determine his ability to aid in his own movement. To determine whether he needed helicopter evacuation to a field hospital in the area.

  Whether he needed a shot of morphine to make his injury tolerable.

  Lastly, whether he was still capable of fighting.

  For Marines are tough; as tough as any fighter in the world. Frequently they’re able to go on even when dragging a limb behind them or carrying a bullet or pieces of shrapnel in their bodies.

  Lindsey wasn’t a Marine, of course.

  She was an amazing daughter, but not that tough.

  If Dave had the resources, he’d have called in a medivac. He’d have given her a single dose of morphine to take away her pain, because one of the most important things a daddy does for his baby is to dry her tears and make things better.

  He’d have given his right arm to have a chopper standing by to take Lindsey… and Sarah… straight away to a field hospital, but he had to make do with the resources he had.

  And the only resources he had were his strong back and his determination to take care of his daughter.

  He never failed his Marines.

  And he damned sure wouldn’t fail his daughter either.

  By the time he wrapped things up Lindsey was fully conscious.

  Bless her heart, she tried to be strong.

  She was in incredible pain, but she knew there was nothing her dad could do about it.

  She was seventeen; mature enough to know that to complain about her pain would make her father feel more helpless than he already felt, and much worse than he was already feeling.

  As bad as she hurt, she’d try to avoid complaining about it any more than she had to for there was absolutely no sense worsening the sorrow of the only man in the world who was in a position to help her.

  Dave, for his part, could see the pain on her face.

  He didn’t need her complaints to know how badly she was hurting.

  At the same time he knew why she was trying to put on a brave face. He considered her his hero for thinking of his feelings and not her own, at a time when she was suffering quite possibly the worst pain in her life.

  They’d have a chance to talk about it much later, when things were better again.

  And he made a mental note to tell her how incredibly proud of her he was.

  He apologized to her as he picked her up, for he knew that from this point on every movement had the potential of sending a sharp stab of pain into her wounded leg.

  She bravely said, “I’m okay, Daddy,” even as the wince upon her face said otherwise.

  Dave had no trouble finding his way out of the ravine, thanks to Beth’s scouting a bit earlier.

  The slope she found was a bit steeper than Dave would have liked, but could be the only way up for a mile or more.

  In any event, the footing was sound. Not loose rock as he’d feared, but rather rocky ground covered over by short grass.

  He went carefully, one step at a time, ever mindful that a misstep could cause his patient further injury.

  Because he moved so slowly it took him almost half an hour to make it back up to the highway.

  By then he was exhausted.

  He told Lindsey he was sorry but he had to put her down for a couple of minutes to rest.

  “Go ahead, Daddy,” she said. “I understand.”

  He placed her tenderly upon the ground and asked her how she was holding up.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  She lied.

  After five minutes or so he took a deep breath and picked her up again, then started north along the blacktop to where he’d left Sarah.

  He found them there… Sarah and Beth, after three quarters of a mile or so, impatiently awaiting their return.

  “Thank God,” Sarah exclaimed as they got close. “Thank God in heaven you made it.”

  Then she asked a question she didn’t really want to hear the answer for.

  “Are you both okay?”

  Lindsey, again, lied.

  “I’m fine. The leg is broken but the pain’s not that bad.”

  Dave didn’t call her on it. To do so would do no good and would make Sarah worry even more.

  “She’s a trooper,” was all he said.

  Before he put Lindsey down he had Beth take out three sleeping bags and lay them out on the grass, rolled out one atop the other.

  It was as soft a bed as she could make for her sister, and while it wasn’t much, it was certainly better than the hard ground.

  While everyone caught their breath, Dave assessed the situation.

  Half of their number was out of commission; one in grave condition.

  Beth, despite her spunk and her willingness to try, was of limited use in helping move the injured. Dave was the only able-body left. And he couldn’t carry both Sarah and Lindsey.

  It was as grave a situation as they’d been in since their long journey began.

  This one would take a good solid plan to get out of.

  Chapter 12

  As he dug out a bottle of ibuprofen tablets from one of the shopping carts he apologized once again to Lindsey.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have anything stronger,” he said. “I’m going to start you with three, and then two more every four hours until you reach the maximum daily dosage. By then, hopefully you’ll be sleeping and the pain will be a bit better tomorrow.”

  He didn’t really believe that.

  Neither did Lindsey, but she continued to wear her brave face.

  “Thank you, Daddy.”

  He assigned Beth to keep Lindsey company and stole away to where Sarah was slumped down in the corner of her wheelchair beneath a shade tree.

  “How bad is it?” Sarah squeaked out in a dry and raspy voice.

  “As far as I can tell, it’s not that bad. But we need to get her to a doctor as quickly as we can. We can’t take a risk on it getting infected.”

  “How far are we from that little town? The one where your friend lives?”

  “Blanco? I’m not sure. I haven’t seen any signs for it. These state highways aren’t as good as the interstates when it comes to posting mileage signs.”

  “Do you have any ideas?”

  “Only one. But it’ll mean leaving you and the girls here for several hours.”

  “Can you be back by dark?”

  “I think so, if I leave soon.”

  “If you can get us off the roadway and out of sight, we’ll be okay. Go and do what you need to do.”

  “Atta girl.”

  Dave went first to Beth and had a heart to heart with her.

  “Honey, I have to go back to a flatbed trailer we passed about three miles back.”

  “Which one, Daddy?”

  Now, Dave could have been like a lot of fathers and stopped Beth’s questions cold. He could have brought the conversation to a quick end by telling the child it didn’t matter which one and not to worry about it.

  To do so would have hurt the child’s feelings and sent her a message she wasn’t important.

  On the other hand, filling her in on Dave’s mission would let her know she was important enough to be a team member. It would only take a few seconds of Dave’s time but would tell her she was an importa
nt ally.

  Things like that are what separate good fathers from great ones.

  “The purple one with a flat bed trailer and steel pipe on the back, honey. I think I can use some of that pipe to make a rolling stretcher.”

  That’s it. That’s all it took to bring Beth all in, instead of making her feel insignificant.

  She had no clue what a rolling stretcher was or how her father would build it. But it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that she was part of the plan. And that would push her to perform her role as well as she could.

  “Okay, Dad. What do I do?”

  “I’m going to leave the roadway for just a few minutes to find a good campsite. Some place that’s flat with plenty of shade and with plenty of cover, that can’t be seen from the highway.

  “Then we’re going to move your mom and sister there, and you’re going to be their designated nurse. I’m going to rely on you to take care of both of them until I get back.”

  She nodded her little head, half proud she was trusted with such an important mission, and half terrified she’d screw it up.

  Dave gave her a boost of confidence when he put his hand on her shoulder and said, “Don’t worry, Peanut. You’ll do a fine job.”

  With that he disappeared into the brush.

  Ten minutes later he returned and announced he’d found the perfect spot. It was far enough off the roadway to be hidden from anyone who happened by. And it would provide them a comfortable place to rest in his absence.

  First he moved Lindsey there, having Beth walk alongside them dragging the sleeping bags which would make up her pallet.

  Next he pushed Sarah’s wheelchair over the bumpy ground, apologizing constantly as he went.

  He didn’t have to be as gentle with the two shopping carts which carried their food, water and supplies.

  Once everybody and everything was situated he rose to leave them.

  “No campfires until I return, Peanut. Even if I get back after dark. I’ll make a campfire when I return.”

  “When will that be, Daddy?”

  “I’ll try my best to make it back by dark. If not, shortly thereafter.”

  “And how do I nurse them?”