Twice Lucky
Page 1
Table of Contents
Synopsis
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
About the Author
Books Available from Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
Mackenzie “Mouse” James’s life is all about firefighting. Being a firefighter fills her waking hours, leaving her too tired to think, to socialize, or to put herself out there.
A large part of Sarah Macarthur’s success as a doctor is due to the structure and control that that she has established to help her cope when all the elements are thrown her way.
As danger draws closer, Mac and Sarah will be tested in ways neither had ever imagined. Both will need to fight far more than fear—they will need to fight for lives.
Twice Lucky
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Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.
Twice Lucky
© 2015 By Mardi Alexander. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-369-1
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: March 2015
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Ruth Sternglantz
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Sheri (graphicartist2020@hotmail.com)
Acknowledgments
To all at BSB, a most sincere thank you for your welcome, support, and bravery at throwing a newbie writer a most wonderful chance. Receiving the e-mail from Sandy and Rad, accepting the rough manuscript with the offer of a contract, was one of the most stunning and exciting days ever.
To Sheri for nailing the cover, thank you.
To Ruth, editor of much awesomeness. Words fail me…which will surprise you, as you know my penchant for waffle. Your patience and guidance for this incredibly naïve and ignorant fledgling author has been unwavering and unparalleled. Thank you for taking me under your wing. I look forward to more adventures and paper cuts together.
To my wonderful friends, near and far—your excitement and support has been a treasure, providing much needed courage and energy with which to keep striving and moving forward, even when I had no idea what I was doing (which was most of the time). A special nod and wink to Cari who was partially responsible (albeit unintentionally) for getting me started on this writing gig, so if you don’t like the book, blame me; if you do like the book, send her Tim Tams.
To my brothers and sisters who chew smoke—your selflessness and generosity of community spirit is the brightest flame of all. I dip my helmet in salute to each and every one of you.
Last, but never least, to Michelle, my very patient writer’s widow, who lets me go off and do what I need to do, whether it be jumping on a red truck, or typing away long into the wee small hours. Thank you, sweetheart. My first ever dead body is dedicated to you. xxx
Dedication
For all the professional and volunteer firefighters the world over and the families who support them.
Chapter One
Toowoomba, Queensland
The call came at 1:43 a.m. It took three rings to register in her sleep-befuddled brain—this was the third late call-out this week. She groaned as she rolled out of bed. Moving down the hall, she lengthened her strides to get the blood flowing to help speed up the wake-up process. Moving past the coat rack, she swiftly pulled off the fire pants and coat without breaking stride. This was a well-rehearsed and seamless routine. Next, she pulled a clean shirt on, then bent over and put on socks and pulled up shorts and fire pants. Boots were slid into and zipped up, helmet collected and jammed onto her head.
Without breaking stride, she locked the door behind her. Running to the truck, she wove her way into her fire coat, pausing briefly to toss her helmet onto the dash and slide fluidly into the driver’s seat of the truck. She was already halfway through a mental check list: engine on, radio on, operational log out on the passenger seat, glance at the clock to check the time. She picked up the two-way radio’s microphone handset and brought it to life.
“Bettsy, this is Mouse. Do you copy?”
Static applause competed with the gruff purr of the truck’s engine and filled the silence of the night. No response, she tried again. “Bettsy, this is Mouse, do you copy?” She waited, hoping Bettsy was awake.
John Anthony Bettford had introduced her to the fire service nine years ago. They had shared much over the time, good and bad. She knew that no matter when, no matter the circumstance, they would always be joined by the strong tendons of mateship forged over those years.
“Copy ya, Mouse. Ready for a drive-by pickup. Bettsy, out.”
“Gotcha, Betts. See you in one. Mouse, clear.”
Leaning over, she replaced the two-way handset and picked up the fire-communications radio. “Firecom, Firecom, this is Turnout Rescue Nine. Do you copy, over?
She pulled the log onto her lap and logged the time: 1:45 a.m. She reversed the truck out of the shed and headed out the gate.
“Turnout Rescue Nine, this is Firecom. Respond to MVA, Middle Ridge, seven kilometres south of Freyling Park on A3. Single vehicle accident, person trapped. What’s your status, Turnout Rescue Nine, over?”
She was approaching the outskirts of Middle Ridge, lights flashing blood-red patterns into an eerie, silent darkness. She could just make out Bettsy standing at the roadside, all kitted out, ready for a pickup. She eased the truck over and slowed to let Bettsy in. Betts opened the door and slid his six-foot-three bear-like frame into the passenger seat, then winked in greeting.
“Firecom, Turnout Rescue Nine has a crew of two to attend MVA. ETA four minutes. Any support on scene, over?”
Bettsy leaned forward and turned on the truck’s heater. Funny, she hadn’t really registered the chill until she saw him turn the heat up.
“Turnout Rescue Nine, police on scene. Ambulance called, still waiting on an ETA from them, over.”
“Thanks, Firecom, will advise when on scene. Turnout Rescue Nine, clear.”
“Acknowledge, Turnout Rescue Nine, zero one forty-six. Firecom, clear.”
Their friendship didn’t need words,
and they sat in an easily shared silence as they made their way to the accident scene. She was still waking up, and she knew Bettsy was too, as their bodies began to embrace the rising adrenaline levels.
She gripped the steering wheel firmly as images of the possibilities of what might lie ahead for them at the scene of the accident crept uninvited. Don’t go there, she mentally berated herself as she consciously shook her head as if physically trying to shuck off the what-ifs. Being fireys meant the list of what could possibly await them was almost daunting.
Bettsy must have noticed the shake of her head and reached over to pat her outstretched arm on the steering wheel. “Let’s deal with it when we get there, huh?”
She turned to him and smiled wryly in acknowledgement. “I know, I’m just overtired Betts. My head’s on overdrive.”
“Yup, I hear ya.”
She slowed the truck as she crept into the flashing spill of police lights. One officer, wearing a reflective jacket, was out on the road with a fluorescent baton of light, directing traffic that approached. She pulled up next to him.
The officer leaned into the truck’s open window. “Car’s off to the side. Male driver is out of the car, with a lady still pinned inside, front passenger side.”
“Okay,” said Betts. “We’ll pull off on the opposite side to you guys and leave the lights on.”
She picked up the comms mike. “Firecom, Firecom, this is Turnout Rescue Nine, blue, code two.” Mac waited for the response, having acknowledged that they had arrived on the scene of the incident.
“Turnout Rescue Nine, this is Firecom, go ahead.”
“Firecom, arrived on scene at A3, single car MVA. Confirm that police in attendance. We’ll do a sit rep and update shortly. Turnout Rescue Nine, clear.”
“Copy that, Turnout Rescue Nine, on scene zero one fifty-eight. We’ll hear from you shortly. Firecom, clear.”
She and Bettsy exchanged glances as she killed the engine. Each took a bracing breath.
“Showtime, Betts.”
“Let’s do it.”
Simultaneously they opened their doors, pulled on their helmets, clipped their portable radios into position, turned their helmet lights on, donned their gloves, and stepped into the night. As they approached the station wagon, Bettsy turned to her. “I’ll do a reccie, you check on the trapped person. I’ll come back and we can work out a plan.”
She nodded in acknowledgement. Glancing over her shoulder she quickly noticed that the driver was conscious, if not a little dazed, talking to the policeman. The officer looked up and gave her the silent thumbs up. She nodded at the officer in appreciation. Bettsy would check on him as a part of the size-up he was doing. Her priority was to look in on the trapped passenger.
As Bettsy turned left to circle the vehicle, she veered right to walk around the front of the car to get to the passenger’s front door. She carefully negotiated the embankment, where the car had slid off the road and come to a halt, snugged in close to a tree. The front passenger side of the wagon had absorbed the impact, resulting in the female victim being stuck in the car, while the male driver was able to get free of the vehicle.
There was fuel leaking from under the bonnet. She could smell the crisp distinctive cutting smell of it. Small amounts of steam crept free from the engine as it cooled in the chill of the night air, but there didn’t appear to be any immediate risk. She continued to make her way to the side door, confident that Bettsy would warn her to pull the victim out if the situation changed and turned nasty.
The car was tilted half on its side and resting in a drainage ditch which held water from the rain that had fallen only hours earlier. The rain might have contributed to the accident, but there was no time to think of that just yet, and anyway, not her job. She’d leave the investigative work to the police.
She had to get down on her hands and knees to see if there was a way in. “Great,” she murmured. She was tired, cold, and now wet. She could just make out the woman lying against the door and window, softly moaning. The trapped woman was quite still, but moaning was good, meant she was still breathing. Mac walked to the front of the vehicle where her partner was taking a closer look at the engine and the tilted position of the car.
“What’s the go, Betts?”
“Driver’s name is Rob and he’s okay. Few cuts and bruises and he’s had his bell rung a bit, but for the most part he’s good. The cops will keep an eye on him and let me know if things change. The lady’s name is Bella. As for the car, we’ve got fuel leaking, the engine seems to be okay, I’ve disconnected all that I can, but I’ll keep an eye on it. I’d like to try and rope off the vehicle to stabilize it a bit, in case we get a bit more rain.” Bettsy shrugged casually and grinned. “Don’t want it to slip away when they’ve gone to so much trouble to park it here. Then I’ll put up a containment line for the fuel. You?”
“The front is pretty squashed, so we might need to cut her out. Not sure how bad yet—I’ll pop in from the top and get a closer look. I’ll go to the truck and get the first-aid kit, spreaders, and blanket, and I’ll radio Firecom and give them an update.”
She pulled the equipment they needed off the truck, then grabbed her shoulder mike. “Firecom, Firecom, this is Turnout Rescue Nine.”
“Turnout Rescue Nine, this is Firecom, go ahead.”
“Firecom, confirm code nine, alpha two. Single vehicle, white Holden Calais 2010 model station wagon that has left the road. It’s resting on the passenger side in a drainage ditch. Male driver free and conscious, appears to have minor superficial injuries, female passenger is still trapped in the vehicle, semiconscious. There’s a small amount of fuel leaking from the vehicle, no danger at this stage. We will secure the vehicle and contain the spill to keep it from the table drain. Any ETA on the ambos? Over.”
“Turnout Rescue Nine, nearest ambulance is finishing off on another call and could be twenty minutes away.”
“Copy that, Firecom. We’ll do our best ’til the cavalry arrive. Any developments and we’ll let you know. Turnout Rescue Nine, clear.”
“Copy that Turnout Rescue Nine. Keep in touch. Firecom, clear.”
Straightening up, she shut the door, picked up the gear, and headed back to the accident scene. She stopped shy of the car to put on a double pair of latex medical gloves and threw the blanket to the top side of the car. She looked over to where Bettsy was tying off a security line on the car to some adjacent trees. “Stable enough for a crawl in?”
“Yeah, I’ll tie off another line to be sure, but it should be okay for the minute. Just go steady in there. Holler if you need me.”
She waved in acknowledgement. “No worries. I’m going in.”
She grabbed the top side of the driver’s window and tested the stability of the car. It held. She picked up the kit and placed it against the driver’s door window which was still rolled up. She leaned over to the back window and popped the glass.
Carefully she lowered herself into the vehicle. “Hey, Bella, my name is Mac, but my friends call me Mouse. I’m with the fire brigade. You and Rob have been in an accident. Rob’s okay, and I’m here to see if we can help you. Can you hear me, Bella? Can you open your eyes, sweetie?”
Bella moaned briefly, but her eyes remained closed.
Mac’s helmet light lit up the cabin. Bella appeared to be in her early twenties. She had a decent three-inch head laceration and a shoulder that looked out of line. It was probably dislocated from the impact when the car hit the ditch, bodily slamming her into the side door and window.
Leaning forward over the seat to get a better view, Mac could see the dash and seat were jammed up, with Bella’s legs hemmed in the middle. They were definitely going to need the spreaders to get her out. Worse still, Bella was very definitely pregnant, and about eight months along by the guess. “Shit.”
Mac reached behind to where she stowed her kit and grabbed the stabilizing neck collar.
“Bella, I’m going to put this neck collar on. It’s going t
o feel a little strange, but it’ll help to keep your neck and head safe, honey. Okay?” Mac wasn’t really expecting an answer as Bella appeared to be fairly out of it, but experience taught her that talking to people, even when they were unconscious, helped keep them calm, in addition to letting them know that somebody was there for them.
Mac felt for a pulse on Bella’s neck—it was weak, but steady. Next she did a quick overall check. Bella’s breathing was shallow, but regular. A quick check of her pupils showed them to be equal and responsive to the light on her helmet. Bella was pale and clammy from shock, but apart from some bruising starting to colour up in places, the shoulder and head wound seemed to be the initial obvious extent of Bella’s injuries.
Bettsy stuck his head in the top window. “How’s it going in there?”
“Not too bad. She’s still out to it, but doing okay. Looks like a busted shoulder, head lac, bruising, and entrapment. Gonna need help with the spreaders. You might want to radio Firecom and get them to give the hospital a heads-up. Bella here is pregnant, looks like third trimester—they might want to call the OB team for a standby. I’ll get some fluids started. Can you grab the O2 from the truck?”
“Gotcha—onto it.” Bettsy slid off the car and set about calling in the details.
Mac opened the first-aid kit, retrieving an IV kit and a bag of saline. Being first response medi trained, she could start IV fluids without having to wait for the ambos to arrive in order to help combat shock and fluid loss. A line would also provide a quick site for any medications that might need administering by the ambos en route to the hospital. She tied off the band, tapped the vein at the wrist. “Hey, Bella? I’m going to put an IV line in your arm, honey. You’ll feel a bit of a sharp scratch here.” The needle went in quickly, the flash of blood showing she had hit pay dirt with a good vein. “Nearly there…” She flushed the line, attached the tube, and opened the gate on the bag, regulating the flow, then finished with taping the cannula down on her wrist. “Good girl, all done.”