Turn Left at Bindi Creek

by Lynne Wilding

  ‘There are folks inside who can’t get out,’ a young man said as he reached freedom. ‘A couple of people are badly hurt—they can’t move. There’s a pregnant woman inside, too.’

  Brooke noted that, apart from this young man and a couple in their forties, most of the people exiting were elderly.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked the man.

  ‘Rod.’

  ‘What about the driver?’

  ‘He’s still inside. Unconscious, I think.’

  Brooke thought frantically for a couple of seconds. ‘Can you give me a leg-up? I want to check who’s hurt and what’s wrong with them.’

  ‘I’m coming too,’ declared Jean, undaunted.

  ‘Right. Rod, regarding all the people who are out. Find out if any of them are seriously hurt, and try and keep them calm. We won’t be long.’

  Jean looked at Rod. ‘She’s a doctor,’ she said quietly and, when Brooke glared at her, Jean simply stared back innocently.

  Making their way inside the coach wasn’t easy. There was no floor to walk on, so they climbed over seats and used the windows as a kind of floor. The first person Brooke found was the pregnant woman. She was very pregnant and seemed to be wedged against the seat.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘More stuck than hurt,’ the woman said with a grimace.

  ‘How close are you to term?’

  ‘Eight months, one week.’

  ‘Don’t try to move, I’ll come back. I want to see who else is hurt.’ Brooke then made her way to the front of the vehicle. The driver was slumped over the wheel. She felt for a pulse and couldn’t find one. She then checked the carotid artery. Nothing. Possibly he’d had a heart attack or something and the coach had run off the road when he’d become unconscious.

  Jean, panting from her exertions, came up behind her. ‘How is he?’

  ‘I think he’s dead. Probably a heart attack, an aneurysm or maybe a cerebral haemorrhage.’

  ‘There’s a man, about halfway back, who’s having trouble breathing. I think he fell forward when the bus went over and may have partially crushed his windpipe.’

  ‘Will we be able to move him?’ Brooke asked as she fiddled with several levers. The entry door shot open with a shushing sound. ‘Now we have another exit. Anyone else?’

  ‘There’s an elderly woman. Her leg’s wedged under a buckled seat. I don’t know how we’re going to get her out.’

  ‘Okay. First, let’s try to get the man with the breathing problem out.’

  Rod came up behind them. He was in his late twenties and looked fit. ‘I’ve settled most of them. One lady’s having hysterics—I think she’s enjoying herself.’ He grinned at them. ‘A few have cuts and bruises and shock, of course. One lady might have whiplash. There’s a doctor, he’s semi-retired. I think he’s hurt his head. He’s got a huge bump on his temple. His wife said he had a medical bag, a black briefcase, where they store the luggage.’

  ‘Can you get the luggage door open and find it? It would be handy. Also, there must be a first-aid kit somewhere in here,’ Brooke said.

  ‘The driver should know where,’ Rod said.

  ‘I’m afraid he’s dead.’ Brooke’s tone was gentle but matter-of-fact. They had to concentrate on the living. ‘You’re being a great help, Rod. Do you think you could fossick around, see if you can locate the medical bag and the first-aid kit?’

  It became a mini tug-of-war to get the man with the breathing problem out of the coach, but between Jean and Brooke they managed it, one painful step at a time. Once out, another man, who introduced himself as Maxwell, offered to help and directed the injured man to a shady piece of grass.

  ‘Get the pregnant woman out,’ Brooke said to Maxwell. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if this little shock starts her labour. Then you and Rod could try to free that older woman. If her leg stays wedged for too long, she’ll lose circulation and may do irreparable damage.’

  She looked at Rod; he was standing close by. ‘The smoke’s getting thicker,’ she observed. ‘We need water and damp cloths to put over people’s faces. Could you rummage through the coach, see what you can find? Maybe you can get water from the bathroom’s supply. Oh, yes, how did you go with the medical bag?’

  He showed it to her. ‘Got it, and the first-aid kit.’

  ‘Good work, Rod.’ Brooke smiled for the first time.

  Jean called out to Brooke and pointed to the man with the crushed windpipe, who was lying on his side on the ground. ‘He said his name is Dennis. I think it’s badly damaged. The doctor will have to do something quick or he’ll suffocate.’

  When Brooke found the elderly doctor, whose name was Wallace, it took only a cursory glance to see that he wasn’t well enough to attend to anyone. He was badly concussed, seeing double and his hands were shaking as if he had palsy. Several other people were also in shock. One elderly woman was crying quietly, her hands over her face. The hysterical woman had worn herself out with screaming. Another, more stoic type, was going around to each person, checking their level of comfort.

  Brooke went back to the man with the damaged windpipe. Jean caught her and reported, ‘I called triple 0 again. Help’s on the way—two ambulances and a fifteen-seater van. That’s the good news. The bad news is that the fire’s jumped the road towards Tuena and no-one can get through from that end. Help’s coming up from Crookwell, but there are a couple of fallen trees across the road. They said a crew will have to clear them first. They estimate they’ll be here in an hour, maybe a little longer.’

  ‘What about a helicopter?’

  ‘Can’t get through. The smoke’s too thick.’

  Brooke watched Rod and Maxwell half-carry the very pregnant woman to where the other passengers were sitting.

  Rod came over to report. ‘Her name’s Mandy and she said to tell you her water’s broken. This is her second baby, she told me, and she had her first in less than three hours.’

  Wonderful! Brooke studied him and asked hopefully, ‘You wouldn’t be a med student, would you?’

  He shook his head. ‘Electrical engineering, fourth year.’ He grinned apologetically. ‘Maxwell and I are going to get the old lady out now. I found a crowbar in the luggage compartment. We can use it as a lever to lift the wrecked seat off her leg. What about the driver? I mean, should we…?’

  He’d asked the question because they could see a thin trail of smoke curling up from the engine. Just one spark and it could explode.

  ‘If you’ve got time.’ Brooke punctuated the words with several coughs. ‘Give the trapped woman priority. Like you, I’m worried about the smoke from that engine. Shouldn’t there be a fire extinguisher on the coach? If you find it, and it’s not too dangerous, empty the contents over the engine—that might stop the threat of fire.’

  She gazed across the smoky meadow; everything had a grey tinge to it, and she couldn’t see the sky. If the coach caught fire, the small meadow would ignite too, endangering everyone’s lives. She scanned the meadow and distant valley, hoping to see a farmhouse. Unfortunately the valley was devoid of any kind of habitation.

  On her knees, Jean had already opened Dr Wallace’s medical bag and was checking the contents of the first-aid kit. Brooke looked at what she was doing, setting instruments and other paraphernalia out on a plastic sheet.

  Jean’s upwards glance was expressive, her concern clear. ‘This man may only have minutes left without medical intervention. Listen to his breathing; he’s really struggling.’ She took hold of Brooke’s hand, squeezed it confidently and said, quietly but firmly, ‘You have to operate. You know you do, even if your licence isn’t current. There’s no-one else who can.’

  Brooke stared at the dying man. She heard his weak cough, noted his blue lips and saw that he’d drifted into unconsciousness. His body was being starved of life-giving oxygen. Her hand came up to rub her chin thoughtfully, and she let out a long, slow breath to steady her nerves. She stared at her hands, stretching the fingers out straight in f
ront of her. Not a twitch, not a tremor to betray her inner nervousness and confusion. Could she do it? Fourteen years had passed since she’d last held a scalpel.

  The next instant an amazing thing happened. Thomas Peard’s face swam before her open eyes. He had a smile on his face.

  She blinked, shook her head and the image disappeared. How ridiculous! What if she botched it? What if he died? But…She looked at Dennis again. If she didn’t try to help him, he would die anyway. Then, would she be able to live with herself? What about the repercussions afterwards, the thought came to her. Questions, probing, an investigation…Could she handle all that?

  ‘Brooke?’ Jean prompted. ‘There isn’t much time.’

  Brooke took a deep breath and dropped to her knees beside Dennis’s prone body. Her moment of truth had come. With a wry grimace, she got down to the task. ‘Any tranquillisers in the bag?’

  ‘Pethidine.’

  ‘Give him 100 mcg intramuscularly. It’ll keep him unconscious while I operate.’ She paused for a moment, thinking. ‘I need a tube, something with a reasonable internal diameter.’

  ‘I’ve got one of those fat biros in my purse,’ Jean offered. ‘I can dismantle it, but it won’t be sterilised. Will that do?’

  ‘It will have to. Quick, go and get it. There’s no time to sterilise anything.’ She slapped the rubber gloves on and picked up the scalpel.

  ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen,’ Mandy Petrovska muttered to Jean as she panted between contractions. ‘I’d come down to visit my mum—she lives in Canberra—and decided to take a short tour on the way back north, up to Ballina, where I live. A little break before the baby comes, I told myself.’

  ‘This is a story you’ll be able to tell your grandchildren,’ Jean said with a grin as she checked Mandy’s dilation. ‘A coach accident, getting caught in a bushfire and having a baby too!’

  Out of the corner of her eye she checked what Brooke was doing. She had performed the tracheotomy on Dennis, who was now propped up against a tree and had the glimmering of some colour back in his face. Presently she was working on the elderly woman with the crushed leg. It must have been broken because Brooke was using stumps from Adam’s cricket set, which had been in the back of the station wagon, to immobilise the limb.

  Jean noticed that the wind had dropped and the smoke seemed to be clearing. The firefighters must have got the fires under control. God, she hoped so! Everyone had been coughing for some time, uncomfortable with the level of smoke in the air. She glanced at her watch. How much longer were their rescuers going to be, she wondered impatiently. An hour and ten minutes had already passed.

  ‘I’ve got to bear down!’ Mandy exclaimed with a moan, gripping Jean’s hand for support.

  As if on cue, Brooke came over and knelt beside Mandy. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘I’ll be better once this baby’s out,’ Mandy, her face red from her exertions, panted.

  ‘She’s almost fully dilated,’ Jean told Brooke.

  ‘Ooh, I can’t hold it any longer, I’ve got to push.’

  ‘Mandy, don’t. Not yet! Bear down when I tell you to,’ Brooke said as she positioned herself. ‘I can see the head. Lots of dark hair, Mandy. Come on, now, push. Gently, if you can. I’m sure you want to avoid stitches.’

  A collective cheer went up from the convalescing passengers as Brooke delivered a baby girl, who squealed her protest at such a rough entry to the world. As she cut and tied the umbilical cord, Brooke tried not to compare how easily Mandy had given birth. Her two pregnancies hadn’t been easy by any stretch of the imagination. Some women had the luck when it came to easy deliveries.

  ‘She’s beautiful.’ Brooke’s tone was awed as she wrapped the newborn babe in a donated satin-lined jacket. ‘And she has so much hair.’ She placed the baby in the mother’s arms. ‘There you go.’

  ‘She looks like her brother, Tyler,’ Mandy said in wonderment. ‘Tyler had lots of hair, too.’ She studied Brooke and Jean for several moments. ‘Thank you both. I’ll never forget this, what you’ve done.’

  Brooke and Jean smiled and said in unison, ‘Neither will we.’

  ‘What’s your name, Doctor?’

  ‘Brooke d’Winters.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Mandy looked at the small bundle in her arms. ‘Winter Petrovska, how does that sound?’

  Brooke giggled. ‘A chilly mouthful. Your daughter will probably hate it.’

  ‘Not when I tell her why I gave her that name. I’m sure she’ll think it’s rather special.’

  ‘I think it sounds real nice,’ Jean murmured, her features softening with emotion as she looked from the baby to Brooke.

  The rescuers all arrived at once, twenty minutes later. First came the firefighters and their truck, then two ambulances, a police car and a van, and finally a car containing a journalist and a photographer. It was bedlam.

  Brooke stood back and let the young police constable take charge, while the ambulance officers took over caring for the more seriously injured tourists. A fireman told them that because the wind had dropped away, firefighting crews had managed to get both fire fronts under control. She watched the female journalist do the rounds, pestering the passengers for details as to how the accident had occurred and what had ensued afterwards. The photographer dogged the journo’s heels, snapping photos indiscriminately as he sought interesting angles from which to photograph the overturned coach.

  ‘No doubt we’ll see an in-depth article in tomorrow’s paper.’ Jean’s tone was sarcastic. The journalist had cornered her for her version of what had happened and it had taken ten minutes before she could get away.

  ‘Yes, unfortunately. I know what journalists are like; they ferret and dig around and, if they get a sniff of something controversial or the chance to muckrake, they usually do.’ Brooke’s tone was bitter. This was what she feared most: a re-run of what had happened in Hobart.

  ‘Well, dear, it’s inevitable. There’s been a major accident, so there has to be some kind of investigation.

  A man has died and people have been injured as well, and,’ she paused for effect, ‘a life’s been saved under extraordinary circumstances. It’s the kind of drama the general public just eats up.’

  ‘Let’s get out of here, shall we? I want to get home to the family,’ Brooke said. She was also anxious to avoid a one-on-one interview with the journalist, if possible. ‘With the ambos here, they don’t need me any more, and the constable has our details. Please, could you tell him that we’re going on to Bindi Creek? He can contact us there when he needs to.’

  She saw the journalist talking to Dr Wallace’s wife and periodically glancing over to where she and Jean stood. Her blood ran cold at the thought of talking to her.

  ‘Will do, love.’

  Once on the road, instead of succumbing to exhaustion, Brooke was quietly amazed to feel a pleasant sense of elation. It felt good to do what she had done: care for sick people. She’d saved a man’s life today, and thinking about it made her smile. She knew something else, too. She couldn’t go back to the way things were. Being a doctor, using her medical skills, had given her the same buzz as it had years ago. The past was past, she told herself. She had paid for what had happened, suffered years of guilt and regret and, to some extent, her actions today had righted the wrong of fourteen years ago. It was time to move forward.

  But was she too rusty to start general practice again without some kind of refresher course? That might take months to complete. She recalled the many times she had helped Jason out in his practice, aiding him with procedures, and how they’d discussed treatment for various patients. And she had kept up by reading the various medical journals that Jason subscribed to. Then she remembered something Wes had said ages ago when she’d been trying to get her over her fear of horses. That if you fell off, you had to get back on again before you had a chance to get scared. Medicine was the same. The knowledge was all there inside her head, and she was confident that once she started to practice, to deal wi
th patients face to face, it would all come back to her.

  Funny, she chuckled inwardly, it had taken an emergency such as they’d just gone through now for her to see clearly what she should do. But she also knew that it was better not to think about the shockwaves that would run through Bindi Creek’s tightly knit community when the details of her past were revealed. And…the children! She would make sure they knew everything before any newspaper article broke.

  ‘Well, now that the cat’s out of the bag I might as well take over Jason’s practice,’ Brooke announced to Jean. ‘I’ll offer John a month’s notice to find another position, that’s only fair.’

  ‘Well done! I hoped you’d make that decision, Brooke.’ Jean thought for a moment, ‘You just might be lucky with the AMA. Your licence isn’t current but I’m sure they’ll understand the extenuating circumstances. All you have to do is re-apply and have your name changed to d’Winters, unless you want to practise under Hastings.’

  ‘I think d’Winters is more appropriate.’ And then her thoughts moved to Wes Sinclair and his family. He, above all others, was going to be one very surprised man when she told him. His prejudices towards career women were well known and had been formed because of Claudia. She hoped his prejudice wouldn’t extend to her, because he was too good a friend to the entire d’Winters family to lose.

  Nearing Trunkey, Brooke noted smouldering bush all around the small village. Smoke still rose from blackened tree trunks, and the earth was covered with grey soot. One house had been razed to the ground, with only the brick fireplace standing tall—a silent sentinel to the fire’s rage.

  ‘I can hardly wait to get home and shower this bushfire smoke off me,’ said Brooke. ‘We both smell like Smokey the Bear. I think we’ve done a good day’s work today, Jean.’ She chuckled as she remembered something. ‘Adam’s stumps are on their way to Goulburn hospital. I’ll have to buy him a new set, you know.’

  A new set of stumps would be a small price to pay for the revelation that had come today. For the first time in a very long time, Brooke felt one hundred per cent good about herself and the decision she had made. It was a nice feeling.