He got two feet from the ambulance doors before he was caught by Rachel Briny, head of the fire team. Rachel was tiny and tough and as capable as ten men. Wherever there was trouble in the town, there was Rachel-and thank God for it.
‘I’ve got Les Crannond over here for you, Doc. He needs seeing first.’
Mike nodded. Les was the local publican, and if Rachel said he needed to be seen first then Mike believed her.
‘Burns?’
‘Yeah. He’s down behind the firetruck. I’ve got boys dousing him with water. Don’t think he’ll conk out on us, but his legs… Pants caught alight just as we got him out.’
‘What else, Rach?’
‘Nothing yet,’ she said abruptly. ‘Worse luck. Can’t get upstairs, and upstairs is starting to come downstairs all by itself. Let you know if we find anything but don’t hold your breath. Les says there’re two left up there, but God help them if he’s right.’
And she turned and started barking orders as she ran again to face the fire.
Mike turned to find Tess beside him, her arms full of sodden blankets and clutching Mike’s bag under her load.
‘Tell me where to go.’
He didn’t answer, but swerved behind the truck where Rachel had said he’d find Les, leaving Tess to follow.
Les was in a mess.
The publican lay flat on the bitumen, his face grey with shock and pain. He looked as if he was about to pass out. One of the firemen was running water over his legs, and Mike saw that the cloth of his pants had burned almost away.
‘Keep going, Robby,’ he told the young firefighter. ‘Keep that water going. The cooler you can get those legs, the less chance we’ll have of having full-degree burns.’
Few people realised that even after the source of the burn was removed, flesh could keep burning. Twenty minutes continuous cooling was the rule in emergency medicine, and Mike wasn’t about to break it now.
He knelt down before Les, and Tess knelt beside him. As Mike lifted Les’s wrist to find his pulse-the man looked deeply shocked and cardiac arrest was a real possibility here-Tess hauled open Mike’s bag.
‘He has a heart condition,’ Mike said brusquely. ‘He had a heart attack two years ago and bypass surgery.’ The burns were bad, but a heart attack was what he was most afraid of here.
‘You want morphine?’ Tess asked, nodding as her eyes rested on Les’s face. If he had a heart condition on top of shock and these burns… Tessa’s expression said she knew what they were dealing with.
‘Saline, then morphine.’
‘You got it.’
They worked silently and at speed, and Mike was once more overwhelmingly grateful for Tessa’s presence. The two ambulance men had disappeared, no doubt leaving the major casualty to Mike and doing their own reconnaissance of what else needed doing.
That was the way they usually worked in emergencies. With only one doctor in Bellanor, it was impossible for Mike to perform triage-the careful sorting out of priorities-in an emergency. The ambulance boys did it for him.
There was no doubt when Mike stepped back from Les they’d have more work for him, and if they thought someone needed him urgently then they’d find him soon enough. Mike was accustomed to working alone-but to have Tess beside him was a godsend.
The heat here was indescribable. No firefighter would get off unscathed, and yet they had to try. There was no way they could simply allow the hotel to burn to ash. With the hotel so close to other buildings they had to try and contain it, and contain it fast.
And there was still the possibility of more people inside.
Mike couldn’t think of that. Tess was handing him a syringe. He took it, and she set up a makeshift stand for the saline while he found a vein. By the time he had the saline running, the bag was self-supporting.
He didn’t have to ask Tess for what he needed next. The minute the saline was in, she had morphine ready.
Les muttered and his eyes rolled back in his head. Mike was inserting the syringe of morphine so it was Tess who lifted Les’s wrist and found the pulse. She bent her face close to his so he could hear her over the roar of the flames and the shouts around them.
‘It’s OK, Les,’ she said softly-urgently. ‘It’s OK. You’re out of danger. The fire’s being contained. Just relax. Don’t fight it. We’re in charge now. Not you. The painkiller will take effect in just a moment, but I don’t want you to fight it. Just relax.’
Mike glanced up at her in swift surprise. She sounded so much in control…
What had he expected? He didn’t know, but he now knew what he had here. Tessa sounded competent and sure and totally reassuring. She almost had Mike believing there was nothing to worry about.
‘Sam…’ Les moaned. ‘It was Sam…’
‘Is Sam Fisher inside?’ Mike demanded, and Les managed a weak nod.
‘Stupid bastard. I told him no radiators. I told him. But he keeps sneaking them in. Then he drinks in bed-gets himself blind drunk-gets hot and throws the covers off.’
‘It’s happened before.’
‘Last week. He burned a bloody great hole in the floor before he woke up. I nearly chucked him out then, but he swore he wouldn’t do it again.’
‘Sam Fisher’s an alcoholic,’ Mike explained grimly to Tess. ‘He often stays in the hotel. It’s almost his permanent home.’
He finished administering the morphine and took Les’s hand. Still the young firefighter was playing water gently over Les’s legs, and Mike’s eyes silently ordered Robby to continue. ‘You’re OK now, Les,’ he told the publican. ‘We have you safe. It looks like Sam might have burned himself to death, but you know as well as me that by the time Sam goes to sleep he’s so far drunk he’s almost paralytic. The smoke will have taken hold before he felt a thing.’
‘But Hugh,’ Les moaned.
‘Hugh…?’
‘Hugh Wade’s in there. You know him, Doc. Young fella. My nephew. Getting married next Saturday to Doreen Hirrup. Lives on a farm ten miles out. Come down for the wedding rehearsal and I gave him a room free.’
Oh, no…
There was no time to take this in. There was a sudden warning shout from closer to the fire, and then a crash so loud it hurt Mike’s ears. The flames reached a roaring crescendo, and there were sparks flying two hundred feet into the air. Mike looked up as the whole top storey of the place crumpled.
‘Oh, God…’ Les groaned beneath their hands, and his face turned even more grey.
‘Mike…’ Tess said warningly. If Les went into cardiac arrest here… Mike glanced up at her face and he could guess what she was thinking. She wanted her ER facilities she was used to back home in the States. She wanted a crash cart-electronic defibrillator-a cardiac specialist or six at the ready…
They had themselves plus one white-faced fireman-no more than a boy-who was trying to keep his hand steady as he sprayed the water across Les’s legs. And that was all they had.
And then there was another shout behind them, different from the barked orders and shouts from the firefighters. This was a male voice, strong and full of fear, and he sounded as if he’d been running.
‘Les! Les! Oh, God, Les… Has anyone seen my uncle?’
‘Hugh!’ Mike stood, searching the weird, flame-lit night for the source of the voice. ‘Hugh!’
A long, lanky youth came stumbling toward them, his face ashen.
‘Doc, it’s my uncle. Have you seen him? Les… Oh, God, is he in there?’
‘He’s here, Hugh,’ Mike said roughly, hauling the lad down so Les could see his nephew as well as Hugh see his uncle. ‘He’s burned his legs but he’s safe.’
‘Oh, hell, Les…’ And the boy burst into tears.
‘OK.’ Mike got wearily to his feet. He’d done all he could do here for the moment. ‘Can you look after this, Tess?’ He motioned to Les and the boy. ‘I’ll see what else needs doing.’
And he slipped away into the night to seek further casualties.
It was twenty minutes bef
ore they finally loaded Les into the ambulance. In that time they’d treated six firefighters for smoke inhalation and scorched eyes. Finally, though, the great burning heap became manageable. There were no more tragedies waiting to happen here so Mike and Tess could be spared to take Les back to the hospital.
One of the ambulance men stayed back with first-aid gear, but any more casualties would surely just be minor and could either make their own way back to Casualty or be driven in a normal vehicle. There was only one more major casualty expected-and no one was expecting miracles for Sam Fisher.
Hugh came to the hospital with his uncle.
‘I should ’a been there,’ he said over and over again in a voice that trembled. ‘My room was just next to the old codger’s. I should ’a…’
The boy stared down at Les’s legs. They knew now that Les had been burned trying to get up the stairs to reach his nephew.
‘I didn’t tell him I was going out,’ Hugh muttered. ‘I mean…our families are so bloody righteous. Doreen uses a sleepout at the back of her folks’ place. They thought I was staying at the hotel but after they went to bed I’d sneak back, like. I mean…’ His voice grew defensive. ‘We are getting married next week. But then we heard the shouting and the bangs and sirens and everything and Doreen looked out and said the pub’s on fire and I couldn’t believe it. I came so fast…’
He stared down at his trousers. His fly was half-undone, and with a self-conscious shrug he hauled up the zipper. ‘Bloody fool,’ he muttered, and it was unclear who he was referring to, but his hand came down onto his uncle’s shoulder. ‘To try and get me out…’
‘I woulda still tried to get Sam out,’ Les groaned, and grabbed his nephew’s hand and held it. ‘Would ’a been burned anyway. Weren’t your fault, Hugh. And I’ll still make your wedding. You see if I don’t.’
He wouldn’t. Tess looked down at those charred legs and winced. Les had months of skin grafts ahead of him.
There were three solid hours of work before they could think of bed. Firstly they stabilised Les as well as they could, but there was little they could do for his legs in Bellanor. Mike organised helicopter evacuation.
‘He needs a specialist burns unit,’ he told a stricken Hugh. ‘We don’t have the facilities here to cope with burns like this. He’s burned about thirty per cent of his total skin area. I’d guess about twenty-five per cent is full-thickness burns. I can’t guarantee his survival if he stays here.’
There was no more to be said, but it was a subdued Hugh who, an hour later, climbed into the helicopter with his uncle and the evacuation medical team.
‘Because I can’t get it outa my mind that he did it for me,’ he explained. ‘And he don’t have a wife or kids to look after him. He’s only got me. I’ll look after the old bugger.’
‘It’s probably true,’ Mike said wearily, as he turned back to the queue of firefighters needing treatment-mostly for minor eye injuries. Dear God, he was tired, but there was also overwhelming sadness running through his fatigue. ‘And Les knows it. I doubt if Les would have crashed through a barrier of flames just to save Sam.’
‘Hey, Mike, don’t think about it,’ Tess said steadily, and her hand came out to touch his arm. ‘What’s done’s done. Our job is to make the best of what’s ahead.’
It was true. He gave himself a fierce mental jolt-and her hand was still on his arm. Thank God for Tessa. She made his weariness and his sadness just a little bit easier. Bad but bearable.
There was little time for any more thought after that. There was too much work. They worked side by side, washing out eyes and treating one firefighter after another for minor burns. The fire had been an inferno and the men had taken crazy risks to get Les out. By three in the morning Mike was so exhausted he could barely stand, and if Tess hadn’t been there…
She was. That was all that mattered. Her presence seemed to be all that was holding him up.
‘You can go to bed now,’ he told her, as the last of their patients disappeared back out into the night. The hotel was now nothing but a vast pile of smouldering ash. Somewhere inside was what remained of Sam Fisher, but Sam had built his own funeral pyre. There was little hope of finding anything recognisable.
But Tess was watching him closely, and she shook her head.
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘You’re exhausted,’ she said softly. ‘But me… I slept most of the afternoon. I’m still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to go.’ Then her voice softened. ‘And I haven’t just lost someone I was fond of in a fire.’
Mike’s eyes flew to hers.
‘How-?’
‘How do I know? I can tell the signs,’ she said gently. ‘You’re quiet. You’re too quiet for someone who isn’t feeling pain.’
‘I…’
‘Want to tell me about Sam?’
He didn’t. Or…did he?
‘Sam was…just a patient,’ he said.
‘And?’
‘He’s old and fragile and he feels…he felt the cold.’ Mike’s gaze turned inwards, remembering. ‘Sure, he’s a drunk, but he’s a likeable old drunk. I had him down for a nursing-home bed but we never have any spare when he’s in the mood for coming and when I do have a spare bed then he’s feeling independent and obstinate and tells me I’m fussing. Maybe I should have fussed more…’
‘You can’t force people to do what they don’t want to.’
‘No.’ He stared bleakly into the middle distance and then shook his head. ‘Anyway, if Sam hasn’t drunk all his pension cheque, he stays in the pub. And Les is lousy with the bedding. The hotel has…had south-facing windows and it’s an old, old building.
‘It’s April now and the nights are turning frosty. I organised Sam more blankets, but it’s my guess he sold them. A decent blanket will fetch you fifty dollars. Fifty dollars equals ten bottles of cheap plonk. A cheap radiator costs you ten.’
‘Oh, Mike…’
‘I should have gone to see Les before this happened,’ he said harshly. ‘Hell, I should have seen it coming. Last time he was in to see me…only three days ago…Sam was complaining of chilblains. He’s so damned thin, he has no body fat to keep him warm. He had no body fat…’
‘Mike…’
She took two steps forward and lifted his hand in hers. She cupped it between her fingers and her gaze met his and held.
‘Mike, don’t do this to yourself.’
‘Don’t do what?’ The feel of her hand was making things even more surrealistic. It was as if he were in a bad dream. Floating.
‘You’re exhausted,’ she said softly. ‘Go to bed.’
Bed. Ha! How could he go to bed?
‘The ambulance boys are still working. There’ll be more people to see before morning.’
‘I can see them,’ she told him.
‘You’re not-’
‘Not registered to work here?’ She drew herself up to her full five feet six inches and glared. ‘No, I’m not. But I’ll tell you what, Dr Llewellyn. I’d rather be treated by me, an unregistered doctor, than by you, a doctor who’s past his sleep-by date. You should be stamped, “This doctor has not slept the requisite number of hours in the past twenty-four.” Truck drivers in the States have a system like that, so I’m introducing it here. Now. Consider yourself stamped, Dr Llewellyn. Go to bed.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Go!’ She put her hands on his shoulders and shoved, a crimson powerhouse, propelling him out into the corridor. Before he knew what she was about, he was on the other side of the door. ‘Go on. Go. I’ll bet your dog’s asleep. You go and join him. Unless you think I’m incapable-which I’m not. If I want to do anything really hard, like the odd spot of neurosurgery, I’ll call you. I promise.’
‘Tess…’
She softened then and smiled up at him, and her smile made his insides feel really strange. Weird.
‘OK. I’ll call you for things a bit less complicated than neurosurgery. For anything I can be sued over
if I muck up, I’ll call you. I promise. But go to bed. Please, Mike.’
Her hands were still on his shoulders. He stared down at her and the twisting sensation in his gut got stronger and stronger. What was happening here?
He didn’t have a clue. What mattered though… Hell, she was right. If he didn’t sleep now he’d fall right over. It must be sleeplessness that was making him feel so strange.
What else?
‘OK,’ he said finally-flatly-and his voice came out not as he’d expected. His voice sounded devoid of any emotion-and that was the opposite of what he was feeling. But he knew he couldn’t stay standing here one minute longer. ‘OK, Dr Westcott. I’ll go to bed.’
And somehow he managed to haul himself away from her hands. Somehow he made himself turn around and face the other way and take the few long steps to the bend in the corridor.
When all he wanted to do… All he wanted to do was to gather her into his arms and kiss her.
CHAPTER SIX
MIKE slept until eleven the next morning. He opened his eyes and stared at his clock-and then sat bolt upright. What the hell…?
He swung out of bed, and then paused as a knock resounded on the outer door of his apartment. That must have been what had woken him. He dived under the sheet again, and two seconds later his bedroom door swung wide and Tessa’s face peeped around. When she saw he was awake, she beamed.
‘Well, good morning.’
He could only stare. A rejoinder just wouldn’t come out. Tess was dressed all in white, like a super-efficient little medico. She had on a white lab coat over white pants and T-shirt, white sneakers and a big white ribbon was hauling back that riot of red hair.
‘You like my bridal outfit?’ She whirled, a tray in hand, for him to inspect.
He did. He did very much. She looked just great!
She also smelled great. She stopped whirling and walked across the room to deposit her tray on his bedside table. The tray held fried eggs and bacon, toast and strong black coffee. It seemed an age since supper last night and the smell was just wonderful.
‘Here’s your breakfast,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I left it as long as I could, but any later and it’d have to be lunch. And that’s the last egg you’re allowed this week, Dr Llewellyn. If you’re not worried about your cholesterol then you should be, and as your new medical partner I feel I have to make a stand.’
Bachelor Cure Page 8