Trent pulled off the main road and wound his way through an even narrower street. This one was better maintained but didn’t leave any room at all for passing cars.
Trent slowed the Jeep as they rounded a curve, and out the window Monica saw a sprawling single story home.
“Where are we?”
Trent pulled the car to a stop and shoved his sunglasses into the center compartment. “Twenty minutes will take care of your need for coffee and a shower.”
“But Port Lucia?”
“Can wait twenty minutes. They may not even have running water there. I do. I’ll fire up the generator and make us coffee.”
Monica sat staring at him with her mouth half-open. “This is your home?”
He nodded and opened his door. “C’mon, Monica. I have a feeling this will be your last shower for a few days. Might as well grab it while you can.”
She swung her gaze to his house again. An open beamed porch wrapped around the outside. Beyond the roof, she could see a glimpse of the ocean. The thought of a shower… coffee… heaven. “I don’t even know you.”
Trent chuckled. “I didn’t kill you in the air, and I don’t own a pair of handcuffs.”
Monica squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ignore the heat filling her cheeks. “Oh, what the hell.”
Trent stepped out of the car and from nowhere sprang a large red dog. “Ginger, down,” he yelled when the dog jumped up in greeting. “Say hello to our guest.”
Ginger barked with a happy wag of her tail.
“Her manners aren’t the best, but she won’t bite.”
Monica put her hand out for Ginger to sniff. “She’s beautiful.”
“Spoiled, too. C’mon in. The shower has a point-of-use water heater. It should take less than five minutes to heat up once I turn over the generator.”
Monica followed Trent inside. The front door wasn’t locked. Inside there were several household items scattered on the floor. She stepped over a pile of glass.
“I haven’t had time to clean up since the quake hit.” He clicked a light switch and nothing happened.
“I take it the power’s been off since, too.”
Ginger nudged her hand asking for a pet.
Monica obliged.
“I don’t know why I bother checking. Lines are down everywhere.”
She followed him into a great room that opened to his kitchen. Bay windows framed a breathtaking view of the ocean. Lucky for Trent, the water was well below his home. In fact, from where she stood, Monica didn’t see the damage of the tsunami, just endless vistas of turquoise blue and green. Well, gray at this point, but on a clear day she imagined the view would provide hours of serenity. “What an amazing view.”
“We like it. Don’t we, Ginger?”
Hearing her name, Ginger barked again.
“You can stay here. I’ll get the generator going.” Trent opened the French doors to the back patio.
“Trent?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
He shrugged. “No problem.”
The road to good intentions was apparently paved in rubble; at least it was this week in Jamaica.
With a cup of strong coffee in hand, Monica relaxed in the passenger seat of Trent’s Jeep feeling a slight bit of guilt for taking the twenty-minute refresher. Only slightly. Even Donald said to take her breaks when she could manage them.
“The main road around the island was severely damaged from the water. It’s only a twenty-minute drive down the hill,” Trent told her as they hit yet another pothole in the road.
“I can see why you own a four-wheel drive,” she said. “Are all the roads on the island this messed up?”
“Those around the tourist areas are nice. Well, most anyway. Up here, and in the backcountry, they’re awful.”
“I guess if you’re flying over them all the time it doesn’t matter.” One plus on the side of being the pilot.
The Jeep lurched to the right again, and then abruptly to the left. When Monica peered out the window, the road didn’t look to be the cause of the bumpy ride. “Slow down,” she told him.
“My driving scaring you?”
She shook her head. She’d grown up in Southern California, earthquake central in the States. When an earthquake rattles you in your home, or in a building, you often hear the buildings move long before the earth bumps you around. When you’re driving a car, it’s silent and feels like you’ve got a flat tire. “No, stop the car.”
Trent lowered his speed while Monica glanced out the window. They were surrounded by trees and a power line that followed the road. There wasn’t a high-rise to crumble on top of them.
Sure enough, when Trent stopped the car it still felt like they were moving. Monica held her coffee in front of her to avoid it spilling. The rolling lasted only a few seconds longer, but it reminded her why she was there. “That was probably in the fours,” she said.
Trent looked out his window before narrowing his eyes on her. “That doesn’t bother you at all?”
“The earthquake?”
“Yeah.”
“No. That was a baby quake, not even enough to make me get out of bed in the middle of the night.”
He visibly shivered and started down the road again.
“So, you can guess the magnitude? No need for a seismograph?”
She chuckled. “You really don’t feel anything under a three. Well, unless it’s close to the surface and you’re right on top of it. Then maybe…” She sipped her coffee and went on. “Upper threes and lower fours… you roll over and go back to sleep. Now when you start getting up into the fives you start to wonder if it’s going to get worse. The sixes, the jolty ones, those make you move… if it’s a rolly one you still move, but not as fast. Over six and a half, you’re moving. And look at all the damage after a seven and a half. Makes you wonder what a nine, or God forbid, a ten, would do.”
“You’ve given this some thought.”
She shrugged. “I’m a Southern California native. Goes with the territory.”
They rounded a corner and found the road blocked by a landslide. There were a couple of cars ahead of them with the passengers already out and attempting to remove the debris.
“Well I guess I can stop feeling guilty for taking the twenty-minute breather at your house,” she said.
Trent rolled to a stop and cut the engine. “You stay here. I’ll help.”
Monica finished her coffee and leaned her seat back. Trent and a half dozen locals pushed, kicked, and carried rocks to the side of the road for nearly an hour. At one point Trent removed his shirt to beat the heat. Taut muscles stretched over his broad chest and tapered to a slim waist and tight butt. Monica couldn’t help but enjoy the attraction.
The fact that any mutual attraction would have to be temporary didn’t push her away.
Monica Mann was used to temporary. Less messy that way. No one to depend on, and no one depending on her.
Perfect.
Chapter Six
The clinic, or what was left of it, resembled nothing of its former glory. Trent maneuvered his car as close to the main structure as he could. He didn’t ask if Monica wanted him to accompany her inside, he simply grabbed her bag and led the way. The main hospital at least had some semblance of order. Not here.
“Are you sure this is right?” Monica asked as they approached the structure. Several locals watched their approach, their gazes speculative.
Trent noticed a few sets of eyes linger on Monica and he moved closer to her side.
What the hell was the doctor in charge thinking sending her here alone? Even the local tourist authority warned visitors to keep their valuables locked up and to avoid wandering the streets alone. Monica, with her fair skin and blonde hair, didn’t blend in with the locals. And she was more valuable than a purse or camera bag.
The clouds had broken, leaving heat in its wake. On both sides of the clinic, brick buildings had collapsed making the path inside an obstacle
course.
Trent captured Monica’s hand and helped her over a pile of rubble. She started to question him again when he heard the unmistakable sound of human suffering.
People were piled up outside of the clinic, three rows thick. A couple of pickup trucks had people in the back of them, there were stretchers lining the outside wall of the building.
Trent glanced over at Monica. Her eyes had grown wide and any hint of a smile was now gone.
“Holy hell.”
“Do you know who’s in charge here?”
Monica shook her head. “Apparently the clinic doctor hasn’t been seen since the quake.”
Trent pulled her along behind him, weaving in between people as he went.
“Help me.” The person speaking leaned against wall closest to the door. “Doctor?”
Monica offered the patient a smile. “I’m a nurse. Hold on, OK?”
“I’m here two days. Please, ma’am.”
“C’mon, Monica. Let’s find who’s in charge.”
They walked past the man and inside. More people spilled from every corner of the room.
“Is there a nurse here?” Trent called out.
Several heads turned, a few pointed to another door.
“It doesn’t even look as if anyone has even been triaged,” Monica said almost to herself.
They found a woman in the middle of a room bandaging a woman’s chest. Trent had to swallow hard to keep his coffee down from the rancid smell inside the room.
“Hi,” Monica said as she approached the woman.
The lady glanced over her shoulder, looked them both over quickly, and returned to her task. “You here to help?”
She was Jamaican, but her accent wasn’t as thick as most.
“I’m the nurse from the States.”
“Thank the gods. What about you? You a doctor?”
Trent assumed she meant him. “I’m just her ride.”
She grunted. “You’re walking. You’re standing. You can help.”
Trent swept the room with his gaze. Even if he could get past the stench in the room, he’d have to take in the blood, this misery.
Monica moved around the patient and glanced at the bag of fluids hanging over the patient’s head. “Are you a nurse?”
The woman huffed. “I’m a secretary. The nurse, she’s with the sick patients.”
Monica’s hand dropped to her side. “One nurse?”
“Two… but the other one, she had to rest. Hand me that gauze.” The secretary pointed to the table separating two makeshift beds.
Monica’s hands hesitated over the dirty bandages. “Don’t you have clean ones?”
“Not enough. Those will do.”
Trent could see the argument on Monica’s lips. Instead of saying anything, she handed the gauze over and attempted to smile at the patient. “What’s your name?”
“Freya.”
“I’m Monica and this is Trent.”
Freya finished her task and turned away from the patient. “Come. I’ll show you where everything is.”
“Wait,” Monica said, stopping her. “Who’s in charge here?”
Freya stuck her ample hip out and laid a heavy hand on it. “Right now, in this room, I am. There are only a few of us and none of us were trained for this.”
“Who’s triaging the patients? Making the decisions?” Monica’s voice was elevating and at the same time, Freya’s jaw drew tighter.
“I’m doing my best.”
Monica took a deep breath. “I’m sure you are. Without a doctor or skilled help, this can’t be easy. I’m just trying to figure out what has been done so far.
From the looks of the room, not a lot. Some patients were sitting up, but on a gurney or some kind of flat surface. Others rocked back and forth, moaning. Trent was way out of his league and he knew it.
“Maybe it’s time for me to go,” he suggested.
Monica whipped her head around so fast Trent thought it might spin in a complete circle. “Don’t you dare.”
He held up his hands in surrender. Couldn’t be that easy. “I’m not a nurse, doctor, or even a secretary in a clinic.”
Freya and Monica were both glaring now.
Monica’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s the nurse with the sick patients?”
“In the clinic.”
“This isn’t the clinic?” Monica’s eyes never left Trent’s. It was as if she knew if she turned away, he’d slip out.
“This is the waiting room.”
“Show me. And you,” she pointed a finger into his chest. “You’re coming with me.”
“But—”
She stopped his words with a hand in the air. Monica blinked a few times before she said, “A couple of hours. That way you can tell my help back at the main hospital exactly what we need.”
“A couple of hours?”
She held up two fingers.
“Two, tops.”
Tauni, the nurse with the sick patients, went from pleased to see Monica to pissed that she couldn’t leave the clinic immediately to sleep.
Monica tested every skill she owned in mass casualty incidents and rearranged patients according to severity. The immediate need patients were in the clinic’s red room. There was a generator running lights and the oxygen tanks were still full. For how long, Monica didn’t want to guess.
Tauni was a young nurse, much like Monica, but the entirety of her work was in the clinic. Her license was that of a vocational nurse back home. Shandee, the other nurse, returned to the clinic four hours after Monica had arrived. Though Shandee was happy for the help, she didn’t like Monica taking over.
“This is what I’m trained for,” Monica had said to her.
“This is where I work for twenty years.” Shandee was in her fifties; gray hair peppered the dark strands. “I’ve been a nurse longer than you’ve been alive.”
“Age does not dictate my abilities.”
Shandee’s eyes swept over Monica’s frame as if to say she could sit on her to keep her from taking over. “I know these people.”
Shandee had her there. Monica tried not to get any more defensive than she already was. She needed every hand, even a disgruntled nurse who would love it if Monica were anything but a young, petite blonde from the States.
Monica lowered her voice and took a deep breath and started over. “Look, Shandee, we need to make this work for the minimal people we have helping here. You need to take the red room, Tauni in the yellow room, Freya in the green room. Once we have the sickest inside the building we can manage this better.” Though Monica had her doubts. Two critical patients were already in the red room dropping their vitals. There wasn’t enough power to run the X-ray machine and there certainly wasn’t a CAT scan available. Not that there was a surgeon to operate if they knew the severity of the patient’s injuries.
“The red room?” Shandee glanced around and noticed several people watching them.
It was time to put on a smile and tell Shandee what she needed to hear. “I’m told you’re a gifted nurse. These people need your help. I’ll focus on triage.”
Shandee twisted on her heel and walked to the red room.
Monica blew out a frustrated breath. It’s going to be a long-ass day.
Trent followed her around for the next couple of hours while she dime-store triaged as many patients as she could. After about fifteen patients, two teenage boys—Jerrick, who was Tauni’s brother, and Arcus, Shandee’s son—understood enough of the basics of triage to help.
“If they’re breathing too fast, find me. If their skin is pale below their injury, find me. If they’re not making any sense or are unconscious, take them to Shandee.”
Jerrick led a couple of his friends to help move patients around. Arcus moved in a different direction to look over the wounded opposite Monica and Trent.
Monica crawled up into the back of one of the trucks where a patient lay. She placed a hand on his shoulder and found it stiff and unmoving. One look confirmed w
hat she already knew. “Damn,” she whispered to herself.
How long had this patient been out here? Was he alive when he arrived? Where was his family? Who owned the truck? She started to shiver despite the heat.
Trent was returning from inside the clinic when she jumped out of the back of the truck. “Inside, or out?” Trent asked.
Monica stiffened her spine. “He—he’s gone.”
Trent looked behind her, his half grin faded. “Oh.”
She brought a hand to her forehead and noticed it tremble.
“Are you OK?”
“Fine. We, ah… we need to find a place for him.” She swallowed. There were probably others. Maybe Shandee had already placed the dead in a certain spot… somewhere.
Monica clenched her fists, trying like hell to stop the shaking. Exhaustion nipped at the edges of her sanity. Now was not the time to lose it.
“Hey?” He placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “It’s OK. You can’t save everyone.”
His soothing voice and comforting hand would undo her if she let it. Monica pulled away. “I know that. He’s cold. Probably gone before we even got here.”
Trent stepped back as if stung.
Way to go, Ice Queen. “I’m sorry. Listen, I know you’re trying to help me, but I can’t think about all this right now. I have to stay focused. OK? Do you get that?”
She needed his help, but didn’t want his compassion. Not yet anyway.
“Got it.”
“Good.” She nodded and realized a tear had fallen. She wiped it away, frustrated by its existence. “Maybe Shandee knows where they’re keeping the deceased.”
The hours lumbered by in the heat and misery. Using the protocols given to her, Monica started IVs on the sickest patients, and administered antibiotics in hopes that the minimum of infection-fighting medicine would help until Walt, Donald… or any doctor at all could come. The patients in the red room were simply too sick to send to the hospital. Monica knew they wouldn’t survive the trip on the Jamaican back roads.
Tauni had gone home to sleep and Trent was still roaming the clinic… somewhere. Trent opted to stay, and had the locals transfer the patients in trucks to the main hospital. All Monica had to do was wait for help. And pray their supplies held up.
Not Quite Enough (Not Quite series) Page 6