“There you are.”
Callie sucked in a sharp breath. Turning awkwardly on her heel, she looked up to see him standing in line behind her, a welcoming smile on his mouth. “Wes…hi…” Instantly, all of Callie’s doubts about herself melted away beneath his dark-green gaze. Wearing a set of clean, dry cammos, Wes was clean shaven, his short hair combed into place. But it was the look in his eyes that sent a sheet of need through Callie.
Feeling heat steal up her cheeks, she stammered, “I—I didn’t even make it to the B.O.Q. last night. I crashed over at the dog unit ready room.”
Just getting to see Callie lifted Wes’s flagging spirits. As they moved slowly toward the cooks ladling out the food, he grinned crookedly. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want what I said to make you feel pressured.” Her eyes were clear and bright now, and Wes was beginning to grasp the amount of exhaustion Callie had endured over the last few days. Her hair was clean, her face scrubbed, her cheeks a heightened pink color. Most of all, he liked the soft way her lips curved upward. He wanted to kiss her breathless. He wanted to make love to her.
Reaching the food lineup, Callie turned around and greeted the cooks. She received heaping amounts of scrambled eggs, rashers of bacon, several thick slices of sourdough toast and some warm, sliced apples in a thick cinnamon sauce. Wes wasn’t far behind, so she waited for him to get through the line. Spying a nearly empty table, Callie pointed to it. “Want to sit there?”
Wes came up to her. “Want to be seen with me?” he teased in an intimate tone.
Grinning, Callie said, “I’m game if you are.”
“In a heartbeat. If a beautiful lady asks me to sit down and have breakfast with her, who am I to argue? Lead the way.”
Sitting down at the picnic table made of redwood, Callie watched as Wes sat down opposite her. They ate hungrily, in silence. The voices of the hundred or so other people there rose congenially around them. Picking up the thick white ceramic mug filled with hot, black coffee, Callie savored every sip of it after she’d finished her meal.
“We ate like starving wolves,” Wes noted ruefully, setting his empty tray aside.
Laughing, Callie said, “I think we were a little hungry.”
“No kidding. MREs only go so far. Give me real food anytime.” And he grinned at her.
She sat forward with her elbows resting on the table, the cup between her hands. She’d taken the cap off, and her tawny hair had wide streaks of gold through it, he discovered, emphasizing her square face and sparkling blue eyes. If Wes guessed correctly, she was happy to be sharing time and space with him. Picking up his own cup of coffee, he sipped it.
“This is a religious experience,” he told her with a low growl of satisfaction.
Grinning, Callie said, “Yeah, isn’t it, though? Who’d think a hot meal and good, strong coffee could ever taste so good?”
“And it didn’t cost an arm and a leg at some five-star restaurant, either.”
She sighed and simply allowed herself the pleasure and privilege of absorbing his handsome face into her heart. The sensation was new to Callie, but satisfying in a way she’d never experienced before. “I wonder how Baby Jane is?”
“I was wondering the same thing.” Wes looked out of the tent. Camp Reed was built on hills and valleys of desert land, the yellow-ocher color glowing golden in the rising sun. “I was going to go over to the hospital to check up on her.” He looked at Callie. “Would you like to come with me and find out how she’s doing?”
Heart pumping harder in her breast, Callie whispered, “Yes, I’d love to, Wes. The baby was one of the first things I thought about after my C.O. shook me awake this morning.”
“Me, too,” he confided. With a rueful look he added, “I don’t know what the medical facility is going to do. They’re already over the top on how many patients they can handle. They’ve set up several large tents nearby to handle triage cases—people less seriously injured.”
“Did you see the airport? I’ve never seen it so crowded or busy.”
“Yeah,” he said grimly, moving the cup slowly between his large, lean hands. “I saw it earlier today. They’re at max capacity, from what an air control officer told me.”
“I’d think the real problem isn’t getting supplies into the base, but rather getting them out of Camp Reed to the hard hit areas outside our gates.”
“Bingo,” Wes muttered. Frowning, he shook his head. “I realized yesterday that we’re at just the beginning of a very, very long disaster sequence, Callie. We’re in for the long haul…and we haven’t even begun to see the worst of it. There’s got to be a million people homeless out there….”
Callie felt his worry and sadness. “You’re right,” she said quietly as she finished the rest of her coffee.
He lifted his head and drowned in her blue gaze, which was shadowed now. “You’re the expert on this. You’ve seen this kind of devastation over in Turkey.”
“It was awful there,” Callie agreed. “But this is worse. Worse than I’ve seen anywhere else in the world. You’re right—we’re in this for the long haul. I was talking to Captain Wilson, my C.O., earlier, and she was working with the quake logistics H.Q. to figure out a long-term approach to using our resources.”
“Dogs and humans can work only so long and so hard,” he murmured. Wanting to reach out and touch her hand, which rested on the table near her mug, Wes stopped himself. “And you overworked yourself out there, Callie. I won’t let it happen again.”
She shrugged. “How can we not work ourselves until we drop, Wes? What if it was your loved one buried beneath that rubble? Would you stop?”
“I understand,” he murmured. “Morgan Trayhern didn’t stop. The man was ready to keel over, but he found the guts, the energy, to keep going.”
“My point precisely,” Callie said archly. “Hey, if we’re going over to the hospital, let’s drop in and see how Laura is. I don’t often get to visit the people we’ve rescued. It would be a nice upper in a world gone sour around us.”
“Sounds like a plan. Let’s do it.”
January 4: 1100
Callie held Baby Jane Fielding in her arms. The little girl was now in a pink fleece romper and wrapped in a blue quilted blanket. Wes stood by Callie’s shoulder, smiling down at her as she held the infant.
“She looks healthy and fine,” he murmured, reaching out and gently touching the little girl’s curly black hair.
Smiling softly, Callie continued to rock the infant in her arms. “Just looking at her gives me peace.”
Wes looked around. The maternity ward was in a state of quiet panic. The nurses were dressed in white uniforms, the looks on their face harried and stressed. The ward was overcrowded with infants of all ages, even some newborns who had come into the world less than twenty-four hours ago. Every last crib was in use. The nurse on duty, Captain Barbara Loews, had given Callie permission to hold Baby Jane. Callie liked the gentle look on Wes’s face as he leaned down and caressed the infant’s pink cheek with the tip of his large index finger.
“She looks good compared to how we found her last night.”
Nodding, Callie reluctantly placed the infant back into her tiny crib next to the wall. “Babies have amazing abilities to bounce back fast from the edge of disaster, unlike adults or the elderly.”
Brightening, Wes said, “Well, this is one positive story. Let’s go find the Trayherns. They’re up on floor eight, the post-op ward.”
January 4: 1300
Callie eased in the door of the private room. She saw Laura Trayhern sitting up in bed, her broken ankle raised by a series of pulleys. At her side was her husband. When they saw her, they both broke into welcoming smiles. Callie opened the door and called to Wes, who followed her into the whitewashed room.
“Hi,” Callie greeted them as she took off her cap and approached Laura’s bed, her hand extended. “We just thought we’d drop in and see how you were.”
Laura gripped Callie’s small hand and
squeezed it. “We’re fine, Callie. Hi, Wes. How are you two doing? Morgan and I were just talking about you a few minutes ago.”
Wes removed his cap and nodded to Morgan, who stood with his hand on his wife’s blue-gowned shoulder. “Fine, ma’am. We thought we’d look in on you and see how your ankle was recovering.”
Laura smiled tiredly and said, “Call me Laura. And my ankle is, as you can see, coming along slowly but surely.” She looked over at Morgan. “We were just commenting on how well the Marine Corps is handling this ongoing disaster operation.”
Callie stood inches from Wes at the bedside. Laura looked pale, and there were dark smudges beneath her wide, intelligent eyes. The bruises where she’d been struck during the building’s collapse were turning a deep purple-blue. Morgan’s hands were still swathed in bandages. Callie was sure that he’d received multiple stitches, what with all the gashes and cuts he’d gotten trying to dig out his wife.
“I think we’re geared up as much as we can be,” Callie told them. “Camp Reed is the largest military reservation in Southern California, but even it can do only so much in a crisis of this magnitude.”
Morgan studied them. “Are you two on R and R?”
“Yes, sir, we are,” Wes said. “They’re flying us back out by Huey at 1630 today and we’ll renew our rescue efforts at the Hoyt Hotel grid.”
Shaking his head, Morgan muttered, “This is an unfolding logistical nightmare. What are all those people out there in the basin going to do for water? That’s the biggest priority now—getting them water.”
Laura patted his hand and then gave them a wry look. “My husband is working with the base general. He has a background in disaster-type situations. We’ve got a team from his company, Perseus, on their way here, to help the planners.”
Callie saw a warm, burning look pass between the couple. She recognized that look because it was the one Wes gave her when they were alone. Hungrily, Callie absorbed Wes’s nearness now.
“We rescued a baby yesterday, Laura. Baby Jane Fielding.” Her voice dropped with sadness. “The mother died before we could get her out…but the baby survived. If you get bored, I’ll bet Mr. Trayhern here could go down to the maternity ward and pick her up and you could hold her and bottle-feed her. They’re overwhelmed down there. I know they’d appreciate your help if you volunteered.”
“What a wonderful idea!” Laura gripped her husband’s bandaged hand gently. “I’d love to help, Morgan. In any way possible. Besides, I just love little babies. Will you go down there and see about this later?”
Morgan grinned slightly. “Sure. You and babies are a natural. Besides, maybe you won’t be so bored if you have a little tyke in your arms.”
“That must have been a pretty serious break to your ankle,” Callie commented, pointing to it. Laura wore a cast up to her knee, a thick white sock over the toe.
“I was in surgery for three hours.” She smiled a little sadly. “The bone was broken. Shattered, really. They said they had to put me together again with pins. Right now, I’m tired, but I’m not in pain, and that’s a huge help.”
“And will you be able to walk okay when it’s all said and done?” Callie asked. She liked Laura’s warm effervescence. Her blond hair had been recently washed and hung in sunny strands around her shoulders. It was the life, the warmth in her eyes, that drew Callie to her. There was something so positive and healing about Laura Trayhern.
“Yes,” Morgan said with a scowl, “she will.”
Laughing, Laura said, “The doctors are saying I’ll have to do a lot of physical therapy and rehab. Under the circumstances, that seems like little penance compared to where I was a couple of days ago—flat on my back and wondering if I was going to live or die in that cold, dark place.”
Callie nodded soberly at her emotionally charged words. She reached out and awkwardly patted the woman’s shoulder. “It’s a horrible thing to be trapped like that. I’m sure you’ll have nightmares and memories from it for a long time…at least, that’s what I hear. Post-traumatic stress disorder. That’s what they call it.”
Wrinkling her nose, Laura said, “I’ve got flashbacks by the ton already.” She looked up at her husband. “And I don’t sleep well at night.” Then she brightened. “But compared to so many other people who are still out there, suffering and in need of medical help, painkillers or antibiotics, I’m in good shape, so I don’t spend much time feeling sorry for myself.”
Callie nodded again. “And when are you going home?”
“To Montana?” Laura asked.
“Not for a while,” Morgan said grimly. “Right now, they’re flying out only the worst triage cases. People need surgery, but this hospital simply can’t meet the demand. They’re using the Herks and the Starlifters and flying patients up the coast to San Francisco, Portland and Seattle. The whole hospital system on the West Coast has now initiated the FEMA triage system to cope with this disaster.”
“And so you’re stuck with us?” Callie teased warmly. She saw Laura rally and give her a wan smile. “We can come and visit again?”
“We’d love to see you two again. And I don’t mind being here,” Laura offered. “Morgan was able to use his cell phone and contact our family and friends to tell them we’re okay. Right now, every available plane, every space aboard those planes, are for medical emergencies, food or supplies. I don’t fall into any of those categories. I’m willing to wait.”
“We’ll be here at least a couple of weeks,” Morgan warned her, “maybe longer. I’m working with Logistics to get us on a scheduled flight out of here. My team is flying in, and the plane will be used to take supplies into the basin. Reports are slowly filtering in by cell phone that there are some local airports where the runways haven’t been totaled. Our jet can get in and out on their short landing strips, so we’re handing it over to Logistics to help out. A lot of civilian pilots with planes or helicopters are being called to volunteer their services for this disaster. We need them because we only have so many military pilots, and they can’t fly twenty-four hours a day. By law, they can fly only a certain number of hours in a twenty-four hour period. If they work longer, accidents happen and people get killed. So the civilian help is going to be absolutely essential to our ongoing, long-range efforts for the disaster planning.”
“Yes, sir, and also factor in the problem that every aircraft has to have certain maintenance performed on it every five, ten, twenty and thirty hours, so we lose them to the mechanics,” Wes added.
“Right,” Morgan said heavily. “You don’t fly an unmaintained aircraft or helicopter. That will put you into possible danger and could cause loss of life, too. No, we need experienced civilian air mechanics. The only problem is reaching them. Without radio or telephone, it’s nearly impossible.”
“We have our work cut out for us,” Callie agreed, gloomy over the long-range logistics that Morgan and Wes were describing.
Wes saw how tired Laura was becoming. He settled his hand on Callie’s shoulder briefly. “Let’s let these folks get some rest, okay? We’ll come back for another visit the next time they give us some R and R.”
Laura gripped Callie’s hand before she left. “Thank you, Callie, from the bottom of my heart for what you did. I wouldn’t be here now if not for you….” Her eyes welled up with tears.
Hot tears filled Callie’s own eyes as she stood there, gripping Laura’s small, strong hand. “I—I’m glad we could do it for you, Laura. I just hope we find more folks out there soon. Time’s running out….”
Morgan rasped, “I’ve got your name and unit, Callie. I promise you, once this disaster is under control and things are getting back to a semblance of normalcy, you’ll be hearing from us. You need to be properly thanked.”
Giving him a slight, self-conscious smile, Callie said, “Sir, you don’t owe us a thing. We love what we do. Seeing someone come out of this mess alive is what we live for. Just seeing you two together makes me happier than you could ever know….”
/> Wes stood there listening to the emotion behind Callie’s softly spoken words. She was so unassuming. Never did she use the word I. No, she said we and was incredibly humble about her own courage and capabilities. His heart swelled with pride for her. He could see by the look in Morgan’s eyes that the man meant what he said. Callie and Dusty deserved to be singled out and rewarded. Under the military system, however, she was seen as simply doing her job, and that was all. There would be no medals for her heroism.
As they left the room and headed down the bustling, crowded passageway, Wes enjoyed the feel of her arm brushing his occasionally. The elevators were working. Luckily, the nuclear plant that had been built on Camp Reed had not sustained damage. It was the only plant in Southern California capable of continuous electrical supply at the moment. Luckily for the military base, the marine electricians had fixed the fallen power lines already. Camp Reed was the only place in the basin to have electricity, a miracle in itself.
Outside, the sun warmed them as they walked, avoiding the gurneys, paramedics, EMTs, and survivors and hustling personnel on errands of mercy. The neatly kept lawn that sloped toward the asphalt avenue was covered with tents now. Everywhere Wes looked there was frantic, ongoing activity. He looked down at Callie, who was absorbing all the nonstop action.
“How are you doing?”
She looked up as they continued down the cracked sidewalk toward the street. “Me? Good. Getting to see the baby and to talk with Laura has really lifted my spirits.”
His eyes gleamed. “And seeing me, too?” Was he being too forward with her? In some ways, Wes couldn’t help himself.
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