Without a seal, he did the best he could, angling his body so the wavelets broke against his chest. Fuck, but it was freezing. The sooner he was out of the water, the better.
Jean dragged himself along the cave floor, first one arm, then the other in endless repetition until the ground dropped away and a wave broke over his head. He surfaced, spluttering, wishing he'd thought to bring a radio with him. He could've called for help and told the rest of the team he'd run into trouble a few minutes' walk from camp. Sure, he'd be a laughing stock for the rest of the expedition, but he'd be a warm laughing stock.
Another wave topped him and Jean went under. This time, he didn't surface straight away, because he thought he saw light ahead. He squinted, trying to focus, to no avail. It was a light of some kind, all right, but the rock in front of him told him he'd have to swim underwater to reach it.
He'd need a decent lungful of air for that.
Jean lifted his head above the water, paddling with his hands to stay up.
"I'm coming, Dairine," he swore, gulping a huge breath before he dived.
He tried to kick with his legs, but the damn things wouldn't work. He breast-stroked like a man possessed, pushing the water behind him as he paddled toward the light.
Jean's lungs burned, but he swam on. He angled upward, praying he'd reach the surface soon. He could see his hands in front of him now – surely he'd cleared the cave. Was he out, or just in a larger cavern?
Wind froze the water in his hair as Jean's head emerged from the sea. He sucked in a desperate breath, then another, as he took stock of his surroundings.
Oh, fuck. He'd surfaced in the cove, twenty metres from the far shore. He had more swimming to do.
His arms were all he had, so no way in hell was he doing an Australian crawl. The near-freezing water was warmer than the air temperature.
Gritting his teeth, Jean set a course directly across the cove toward camp. He tried not to think of leopard seals and orcas and anything else that lived in these waters. For the first time, he cursed being a biologist who knew this shit. At least there weren't any sharks, unless global warming had finally tempted them south. That would be the ultimate insult for a climate change biologist – to be eaten by something migrating with the warmer temperatures.
"Not today," Jean swore. "I'm coming, Dairine. I'm coming home."
His arms ached, more and more leaden with every stroke, until his hand bumped against something harder than water.
Please don't let it be an orca, he prayed, glancing down. A wave carried him further up the shore until his whole body rested on rock. Sharp chunks of volcanic rock, but right now, it was the most beautiful beach he'd seen this week. He barely felt it through the numbing cold.
Jean lifted his head. The camp was just ahead. All the buildings, where someone should be preparing dinner while everyone else relaxed after a hard day in the field.
The buildings were there, sure, but no one was in sight. Maybe they were all inside, he reasoned. A team meeting, or something. Someone would be out soon. They'd see him and carry him to one of the huts so they could help him.
He counted to five hundred as he waited, but there was no movement at all. Had they decided to sleep aboard the research vessel, instead, then?
Jean groaned as he stiffly rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows to peer out into the cove for the ship.
Which wasn't there.
"Fuck."
While he'd been unconscious in his hole, the geologists had taken the ship out for a survey. It might be weeks before they returned. By that time, the leopard seals would've eaten his remains.
"Not going to happen," he grunted, flipping onto his belly. He'd crawl back to camp if he had to, and radio those single-minded scientists to come back and get him.
Fixing his gaze on the nearest hut – the decades-old, round, red emergency shelter that they'd dubbed the Apple – Jean stretched his arm out to pull him a foot closer to the forbidden fruit. Two broken legs were a fucking emergency.
One arm, pull, then the other, pull, reach for another handhold, pull, don't stop, reach...
"I'm coming, Dairine. I'm coming," he repeated. His wife's name was his mantra. He had to survive for her.
His fingers scrabbled at the blood-coloured hut. He nearly cried. All he had to do was reach the handle three feet above his head and pull open the door.
Eternities passed as Jean dragged his exhausted body to the side, his arm muscles screaming as he reached up and up until his fingers closed on the handle. When the door swung open, he felt a tear trickle from his eye before it froze on his cheek.
Fucking Antarctica. If it weren't for the penguins, he wouldn't be here.
Jean crawled inside the hut, then hooked his fingers through the vent at the bottom of the door to pull it shut behind him. Out of the wind, but not out of the woods. He struggled out of his coat and all the layers under it until he peeled his soaked thermal shirt from his chest. He was bare for only a moment before he grabbed a musty blanket from the bunk and wrapped it around himself. He turned a second blanket into a cape across his shoulders, hoping to keep in what precious little remained of his body heat.
His sodden pants would be another story, he knew. Once feeling returned to his legs, the agony that he'd felt before would return in full force, and he might pass out again. He had to radio for help first.
Jean dragged the survival kit onto the floor and pried off the lid. He had to rummage through the box until he found the radio, before rummaging some more for some batteries.
His hands shook as he shoved the batteries into the back of the radio. He knew shivering was better than his body not reacting to the cold at all, but it still made it hard to call for help. Finally, he managed to close the little plastic cover. Offering a silent prayer to anyone who was listening that the batteries weren't dead, Jean flicked the switch.
Blessed static washed over him. The best sound in the world.
Jean pressed the TALK button. "This is Jean Pennant on Heard Island. I have a medical emergency and require immediate assistance from anyone who can hear me. Repeat, need medevac from Heard Island. If you can hear me..." He repeated the message and waited.
He eased off his supposedly waterproof pants. Oh, fuck. It looked like he had five knees. Definitely not natural. He wasn't sure if he wanted to peel off the thermals he wore underneath. He couldn't see any blood, which was a blessing, but there still could be internal bleeding. He had to...
Oh, fuck, that hurt.
No response from the radio.
He switched to another channel and tried again.
"This is Jean-Pierre Pennant on Heard Island, requesting immediate assistance...."
More static.
Next channel.
"Hello, this is Jean-Pierre Pennant..."
Another channel.
"This is an SOS to anyone who can hear me. This is Jean-Pierre Pennant at Heard Island – "
The static crackled and beeped. "You're late for your twelve-hourly check-in, Pennant."
Oh, thank fuck. "Yeah, about that. I fell down a hole. I may have broken a few bones."
"You're in luck. We're still at Spit Bay. Dismantling the huts took longer than we expected. There's a couple of elephant seals who aren't helping. Could've done with your help charming them."
Jean coughed out a laugh. "It was a Weddell seal that fancied me, dude. A baby one. It was cute and it was curious, and it liked the taste of my boots. The sort of thing you want to cuddle. Not an elephant seal."
"You're the biologist. Are you sure you're injured, if you're laughing and trying to teach?"
Feeling was returning to Jean's legs now he was out of the cold, and it fucking hurt. "I've got two broken legs, man. It's bad."
Jean heard swearing before it was replaced by static. He waited a few seconds before he ventured, "You still there?"
The crackling ceased. "Yeah. We'll be there as soon as we can. Where are you?"
"The eme
rgency Apple. The one we're not supposed to use."
More static, before the voice came back. "Pennant? One of the guys here said there should be a first aid kit in there. The supplies might be a bit out of date, but it should be fully stocked. He said he saw some of the really good meds in there. Stuff we're not allowed to carry now, but were fine back when the camp was constructed. Should be unopened. Can you check? He says it's under one of the bunks."
Jean felt around in the cavity under the nearest bed and was rewarded by the feel of a metal box. "Yeah, got it."
He flipped it open and took stock of the supplies. Enough gauze to wrap a mummy, with enough alcohol wipes to embalm one. And under that... Jean gave a low whistle. "Shit. Morphine."
"Captain thinks we'll be under way in a couple of hours. Can you wait that long, Pennant?"
Jean peeled open a syringe and plunged the needle into the morphine bottle, carefully drawing out a dose that matched the instructions. He swabbed his arm and took a deep breath. Just a scratch, he told himself.
Fuck, he hated needles. But this one...would be worth it. He gritted his teeth as he depressed the plunger, unleashing icy oblivion into his veins.
"Pennant?"
"Yeah, man. I found the meds. Good shit, man. Good shit."
Jean gritted his teeth and shucked off the rest of his clothes. Oh, his legs were seriously fucked up. He tucked a couple more blankets around himself, hiding his legs from sight. But they didn't hurt any more, and that's what mattered.
No. What mattered was Dairine. Getting home to Dairine.
Jean lay down, drifting off on a morphine cloud. No wonder they locked this shit up.
FOUR
"Hi, I'm Doug. Are you the nurse?" a harried-looking crewman asked.
Audra hesitated. "No. I'm a meteorologist, but I've trained as a surgical assistant in case there's a medical emergency."
"That's better than the rest of us. We've got first aid and that's it. I'll take you to your patient." Doug reached for her bag and Audra let him take it. "This way."
She followed him to a part of the ship she hadn't seen before, but then, she'd only been aboard it for two weeks on her voyage south. Not long enough to injure herself so badly she'd needed medical assistance, anyway. Admittedly, she'd worked at Romance Island Resort for months before one of the other maids had attacked her. Audra rubbed the back of her head in memory of where Penny had hit her hard enough to knock her out. It was nice to have a job where violence or guys who pressured girls into sex weren't part of a normal day's work. Antarctica was so...civilised.
Or maybe it was because she was officially a meteorologist here, not a maid.
"We talked to the doc at Casey Station as soon as we picked this guy up. She said to give him some intravenous medication as soon as he wakes up. I wrote down the dosage for you and everything." Doug ushered her into sickbay and grabbed the patient chart at the end of the curtained-off bed. "Here."
Audra scanned the sheet. "He's on morphine? What's wrong with him?"
"Some pretty nasty fractures. Want to see?" Doug reached for the blanket.
Audra shook her head. "No! I'm good, thanks. I just need to put an IV in, right?"
"That's what the doc said. There's a phone there, and we have a videoconferencing hookup here, if you want to call her to check." Doug hefted her bag onto his shoulder. "Do you need anything out of this, or do you want me to take it to your bunkroom?"
"That'd be great, thanks," Audra said, still puzzled by the patient's notes. "When did you give him his last dose of medication?"
Doug paused in the doorway. "Oh, we didn't. He did."
"He did?" Audra turned her gaze on the patient. "What is he, SAS? Who breaks bones and then administers their own first aid?"
Doug shrugged. "Nah, not SAS. He's American. They have Special Forces or something like that. He dosed himself, but he smashed the bottle, so we don't know how much he took. That's why the doc said to wait until he wakes up, so you can ask him. Good luck." He left.
Wonderful. Her first real patient was a war hero, and she got to stab him with a needle. No wonder they wanted him awake first. God only knew what the American military trained their soldiers to do to someone stupid enough to stab them in their sleep. Nothing good, that's for sure.
She sighed, picked up the phone and called Casey.
Ten minutes later, she ended the call, none the wiser. Yes, the man had radioed for help. When the ship arrived, he was unconscious in his hut, lying beside a patch of damp carpet and a smashed morphine bottle. No one knew how much he'd taken, or when, or whether he'd taken more than one dose. So she had to sit and wait.
Audra wished she'd brought a book.
Sighing, she settled in a chair beside the mystery man's bed.
Unlike most of the men at Davis Station, he hadn't grown a beard. The dark stubble across his face said he'd been cleanshaven before his accident. His hair was shaved short, too, like a military regulation haircut.
Audra pulled back the sheet that covered his torso, baring his chest and his upper arms. Very well-muscled arms, like he might have quit the military, but he still trained daily. Now she understood why no one could say how many doses he'd taken – the man's statuesque body was covered in bruises, hiding the injection site.
"That'll teach you to wrestle with elephant seals," Audra remarked, trying to work out which arm was less bruised, and easier to find a vein in. She patted his hand gently. "You won't do it again, though, I bet."
He didn't even twitch under her touch. Maybe he was too deeply under with the morphine he'd taken. In that case, perhaps she should try to slide a cannula into a vein while he was unconscious and wouldn't feel it. Especially as this was her first.
Audra took a deep, shaky breath. She had to do this. But first, she'd just check the IV stand, to make sure everything was hooked up properly ready to go, with the correct dosage programmed in. Yes, of course it was. She just had to stick a needle through his skin, tape it in place, and connect the IV line. Simple.
She marched over to the sink and washed her hands with particular care. He wasn't going to get an infection from her.
"Please don't try to kill me for this," she said in a tone she hoped sounded calm, "but I'm going to place a cannula in your arm so we can give you medication to help with the pain. It might hurt a bit at first, and if it does, you just tell me, okay?"
No answer. Did a snore count? Audra didn't think so.
She slipped a tourniquet around his arm, tightening it until it cut off circulation and made his veins stand out. She continued to tell him what she was doing, though she knew he couldn't possibly hear her. If anything, it kept her from throwing the needle down and saying she couldn't do this. She'd trained to look at weather and wind and storms, not bodies.
Yes, she had trained for this, Audra reminded herself. An emergency surgical assistant, that's what she was, qualified to stab people in an emergency. And it was.
"You might feel a sharp scratch," she murmured, biting her lip as she angled the needle.
Just like she'd practised. Just like she'd practised. Just like...
The needle pierced the skin and the clear reservoir at the top of the cannula filled with blood. Was that supposed to happen? She racked her brain and couldn't remember.
That tiny bit of blood didn't matter, she decided, swallowing. She finished inserting the cannula, removed the needle bit and taped it all off.
"There. When you wake up, I'll be able to give you your medicine right away," Audra said, lifting her head to smile at the unconscious man.
Blue eyes regarded her. Not unconscious any more. Had he been watching her all this time?
"I...um...didn't realise you were awake. I hope I didn't hurt you," she said. "Look, you were my first, but it's better than waiting until we reach a proper doctor at Casey. At least now you'll be all right for pain relief and stuff. If it knocks you out like the last dose did, you'll be home before you know it."
"Home," he said in
distinctly, like he was drunk. Or drugged, which of course he was. "Darling, I'm home." At least, that's what she thought he'd said.
Audra didn't have time to think before he grabbed her, wrapping both arms around her so she couldn't escape. He sure was strong for a man lying in a hospital bed. He pulled her closer, forcing her head down. Her lips met his, and while she pressed hers firmly together, his tongue darted out of his open mouth to pry a way in.
"Darling, it's baby-making time," he said, more clearly, dragging her forward so she nearly fell on top of him on the bed. It took her a moment to realise that was what he intended.
Audra reached behind her, groping for the IV stand. If she could attach the IV line to his arm, maybe it would knock him out again. Soon. It had to be soon, because he was holding her so tightly it was getting hard to breathe.
"No. Let me go!" she insisted.
"Baby-making time, darling," he insisted, moving in for another kiss.
There! Her hand found the table where she'd left the medical supplies, and her fingers closed around something cold and hard. Audra jabbed the needle into his arm and the madman released his grip just enough for her to squirm free.
"Darling!" he protested.
"I'm not your darling," Audra snapped, brandishing the needle.
The man struggled to get up, but when he did, his legs bent...wrong. Broken, Audra realised. Both of them. No wonder he'd taken so much morphine.
He made a sound that strangled in his throat before he passed out, presumably from the pain.
"Now, do you want pain relief, or don't you?" Audra asked.
No response. He could be pretending, though.
"You try that again and I'm going to let you go without any drugs until we get to Casey," she told him, reaching for the IV line. She edged closer to him, ready to drop the line and run if she had to, but he didn't move. She forced herself to take her eyes off his face to connect the line to the cannula, then felt her breath hiss out as it was done without him waking. Maybe he truly was unconscious.
Still, she wasn't taking any chances. Audra scooted back out of his reach to turn on the pump.
Maid for the South Pole Page 2