by Donna Ball
At last she looked around and there was no one left to help. They were cold, they were in pain, they were all dazed, but the worst of the injuries had been bandaged, broken bones immobilized, and they were, for the moment, safe.
Red stood beside her. "How cold do you think it is in here?"
Meg cupped her hands around her mouth, breathing on them to warm them, shivering inside her down-filled coat. "Five below?"
"Not yet, but close." He looked up at the ceiling, where no daylight penetrated at all now, just cold wind and blowing snow. "If we could shore up that roof, patch the windows, what do you think the chances are of getting the heat back on?"
She shook her head. "Can't risk it. Too many broken wires. I could trace them down, patch them back together, but by then—"
"It'd be too late." He sighed. "Looks like we've got no choice."
Meg knew very well the dangers entailed hi trying to get these injured people across the street in this blizzard. She and Red, in perfect health, had barely made it. She said, "How many can walk?"
"Maybe half. Of those—" he shrugged "—maybe two or three can use the guide rope."
Meg thought rapidly for a moment. "Okay," she said. "You and Gilly and whoever else can start building a stretcher. We can swing it between two ropes like a hammock, and set up a pulley winch on the other side. I'll go out and start stringing the other line."
"Wrong." He caught her arm as she started to move away. "I'll go out and string the line."
She pulled away impatiently. "You don't even know what I have in mind."
"Darlin'," he returned with deliberate calm, "I may be just a poor boy from Arkansas, but I think I can manage the mechanics of a pulley without busting a brain cell. Besides, I outweigh you by sixty pounds even with your 20-carat engineering degree, so I go. That wind would knock you off your feet before you cleared the door."
"Red, use your brain! There's a—" She started to say there was a blizzard out there and caught herself just as she realized how stupid it sounded. There was a blizzard out there and Red could get hurt; she didn't want him out there and that was the bottom line. Only she couldn't think of any way to stop him.
So she said abruptly, "We both go."
"Megan-"
"No arguments, Red." She pulled on her gloves. "We travel in teams. It's the only safe way to negotiate a storm like this. I'd say the same to any one of my men, so just shut up and let's go."
"Meg." He caught her shoulders and turned her around.
Her mouth opened for an angry protest, but the words died unspoken because she was struck just then by how beautiful his face was, and how precious to her, and how much she had depended on seeing that face again. The familiar shape of his mouth, the tight flesh around his cheekbones etched with weathered lines, unruly brown curls shadowing his forehead, hazel eyes tender and understanding—a face that was as much a part of her as her own reflection. Her husband, the only man she had ever loved.
He brought his hands up to cup her face, his thumbs gently caressing her cheekbones. He looked at her as though there was nothing more important in the world than looking at her, thoroughly and with leisure, savoring every detail—just as she looked at him. And then he kissed her.
It was a gentle kiss, a sweet profusion of warmth and tenderness, a simple melting together, one into the other, an exchange of breaths and a sharing of warmth, a blending. It was slow and sure and lovely, like the sun pushing its way up into a predawn sky, and Meg sank into it as gratefully, as inevitably, as she would have turned her face toward that sun. She slid her gloved hands around his neck, and she knew, if she had never known before, why she had loved him, why she had married him. Because of moments like this, when they were perfect together. And no one in the history of the world had ever loved as perfectly as she and Red, when they did it right.
The kiss ended with a slow reluctance, and it seemed not to end at all. They stayed together, holding each other yet still inches apart, and Red brought his forehead down to rest against hers. They looked into each other's eyes. He smiled at her. "That," he said softly, "was for teamwork."
Then they moved apart and prepared to face the storm once again.
Seven
With Lewis's help, they had the pulley and winch in place in less than half an hour. The hardest part had been the struggle across the street against the deadly wind and cold. When Red had stumbled, Meg helped him to his feet. When she fell, he did the same for her. By the time they reached the shelter of the Carstone building, Meg was sobbing with pain and exertion, but that was all right because Red was, too—though neither of them had the energy or the breath for real tears.
Lewis reported he hadn't been able to raise anyone on the radio.
For the return trip they fastened themselves to the lifelines with hastily constructed harnesses and safety clips, much like those used for mountain climbing, and it was that same rigging they would use to transport the mobile injured. The snow had begun to drift up to their knees in some places, so they each donned a pair of snowshoes before they left and carried extras on their backs. Meg cursed the fact that there wasn't a single polar suit to be found in the complex, but at this time of the year they did very little outdoor work and no one had expected to need one.
They left Lewis behind to work the winch and brought the first victim to safety a little more than an hour after they had left. Only five of them were capable of holding their own in the storm, and Maudie, Meg, Lewis, Red and Gilly worked in ten-minute shifts, alternating turns at the winch and assisting the injured across. The tough restrictions on exposure were necessary, not only because the temperatures were deadly, but because the snow and wind worked quickly to impair judgment and slow down thought processes. Every minute in that whited-out world seemed like an hour; time moved with glacierlike sluggishness, as though it was as frozen as everything else. After only a few moments outside, disorientation set in and then confusion, and more than once Meg found herself unable to remember why she was there, or what she was supposed to be doing. She thought it would be a horrible way to die, freezing. It would take forever.
And she did worry about dying, not for herself but for the others. The worst moments were when the stretcher—or sled, as it might be more appropriately called—was brought across. Even though it had been her design, Meg held her breath every time it was hoisted into the air and fastened onto the lifelines. It looked so fragile, swaying and snapping in the wind, a half-thought-out idea that could never work. But it did. The ropes didn't break, the wind didn't pull it apart, the victim didn't overbalance. One by one, they were all brought to safety.
It was after five o'clock when the last person was transported, and it was pitch-black outside. The snow on the floor was almost as deep as it was outside, despite Maudie's diligent efforts to keep it swept away and despite the fact that the door was opened for only a few seconds at a time. The wind continued to howl, and Meg began to think she would never be warm again.
Those who had worked as rescuers were as exhausted as the injured; it showed in their faces and in their stiff, jerky movements as they pulled off their outer garments and checked each other for frostbite. Meg was no exception, but the adrenaline was still pumping, and it seemed the real work had hardly begun.
She turned up the heat as high as she dared and set Maudie to work warming water and drying blankets on the small stove in the kitchenette off the break room. Lewis she assigned to the radio. Meg rerouted the heat to the front of the building, including the corridor and front offices, which would be used as an infirmary, and sealed off the rest of the building. Although she had no concern about a power failure, she simply did not have enough men on their feet to keep the system operating at maximum efficiency for the whole town, and conservation was a necessary evil.
Many of the injured could walk and just needed a place to rest for a while, but Red and Gilly carried the others, making them as comfortable as possible on sofas and chairs and blankets spread on the floor. Meg we
nt behind them, checking for frostbite and doing what she could to clean the wounds.
"We're going to need more antiseptic," she muttered, not knowing if anybody was listening. "And something we can tear up for bandages."
Red said, "You make quite a little nurse. I never knew you had it in you."
Meg glanced at nun. She was aware not for the first tune during that endless afternoon of how comforting it was to look up and find him there. His face was wind-chapped and lined with exhaustion; there was a scratch on his forehead and another on the back of his hand where he had bumped into something or something had struck him, and Meg knew he was no more indestructible than she was. But just looking at him, just feeling his presence in the middle of whatever crisis she had found herself in throughout the day, made her feel stronger.
She turned to wring out a stained cloth in a pan of warm water.''Ever notice how it's always the women who get stuck with the dirty work?"
"Have you checked the storeroom for antiseptic?" Red asked.
"There's a whole case of rubbing alcohol—I saw it last week. And some hydrogen peroxide. See what you can find," Meg said.
''Yes, sir.'' Red stood up.
Gilly said, "Man, we're going to need some painkillers. The cold helped us some, but in a while those people with broken bones are going to start feeling it and then they're going to go into shock if they don't get some help."
Meg looked at him, but noticed in surprise that Gilly was addressing Red, not her. In fact, the two of them seemed to be having a private conversation.
Red lowered his voice as he replied, "I've got some morphine in my emergency kit. Not much—not nearly enough—but—"
"Get it," Gilly answered grimly. "It's Joe I'm worried about. He's the worst."
Meg got to her feet, twisting her head around to look from Gilly to Red. "What do you mean, morphine? What are you doing with— "
"Survival supplies," Red told her with an infuriating half grin. "You know, for when I crash in the mountains and have to amputate my own leg?"
Meg jerked her head back to Gilly. She hated it when he talked like that. "You can't just go around dispensing morphine—"
"Gilly was a medic in the marines," Red interrupted mildly. "Didn't you know? So I suggest you turn this part of the show over to him."
Meg stared at Gilly. She hadn't known. She should have known that about one of her own men, and having him here now could make all the difference. She swallowed back her relief and said, "Well, that's good. You can be a big help. But still—"
Red's hand fell heavily on her shoulder. "Let the man do his job, Meg."
His voice was mild, but she saw the warning in his eyes. She held his gaze for just a moment, then dropped her eyes awkwardly. She looked at Gilly. "There's plenty of aspirin," she said. "And I've got some stuff for cramps in my purse.''
"Muscle relaxants, that's good," he agreed. "Anything we can get."
Meg raised her voice and addressed the room at large. "All right, who has dope?"
Coughs and murmurs ceased abruptly and over a dozen pairs of eyes turned to stare at her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Red and Gilly share a startled, disbelieving grin.
"Come on, gentlemen," she said impatiently. "You're not going to tell me in a group like this nobody's carrying anything. We need it, so turn out your pockets. Let's see what we've got."
Ten minutes later Gilly had collected half a bottle of diazepam, some penicillin, a few other prescription drugs with varying degrees of usefulness, as well as an assortment of other materials that had never been prescribed by a physician. That, along with the precious hoard of morphine Red brought from his plane, should ease the worst of the suffering until help arrived.
"Good call, chief," Gilly told her absently, and Meg realized with a surprising flush of pleasure that that was the first time he had ever said anything nice to her.
Turning the responsibility for the injured over to Gilly took some of the burden off Meg, but it wasn't nearly enough. The common room, the corridor and the offices were wall-to-wall with the exhausted and the injured; those who were lucky enough to have only broken arms or ribs moved around carefully, doing what they could to help, but the air was thick with muffled moans and the barely disguised murmur of panic. The wind continued to roar and the snow continued to fall. What if help didn't arrive in time? What if one or all of them took a turn for the worse? It was not unheard of for villages like Adinorack to be cut off for weeks. How could they survive that long without medical aid?
Meg knelt beside Dancer, offering her a cup of tea. "Maudie made it," she said, forcing a tired smile. "God knows what's in it."
Dancer was propped up in a sitting position against the wall, the white bandage across her forehead making her pale face seem even paler. "I feel stupid sitting here," she said, accepting the cup. "Like I should get up and help. But every time I stand up my head goes all cuckoo on me."
"You've got a concussion," Meg said. "You're supposed to rest. There's nothing you can do, anyway."
"Yeah."
Dancer looked around bleakly until her eyes rested on Joe, who was stretched out on the sofa across from her. He was shivering under several layers of blankets, and his face was white and drawn with pain despite the medication Gilly had given him. He tossed his head and murmured in a semiconscious doze.
Dancer's voice was subdued as she said, "He's pretty bad off, isn't he?"
Meg could only nod.
"I always liked him. Kind of weird, you know, like all you guys are. But sweet."
Meg shivered convulsively as another gust of wind shook the building. "God, I hate this place!"
Dancer sipped her tea. "Well, it's not high on my list of resort spots right now, either."
Meg smiled at her, curiously. "How did you end up here anyway, Dancer?"
"Some guy, what else?" She shrugged. "He was going to make my dreams come true. Instead he dumped me in the middle of nowhere without bus fare. Story of my life."
"Haven't you ever thought about going home?" And then it occurred to Meg that she did not even know where home was for Dancer. The woman had been her only friend for two years, and Meg did not even know where she was from. But the past was not something anyone seemed to talk about much here; the subject just never came up.
Dancer answered, "I guess it crossed my mind once or twice. But you know, it's funny. After you've been here awhile things start to change. Not that this place seems less bad—it doesn't—but it's just that every place else seems, well, less real. Do you know what I mean?"
Meg's eyes moved around the room until she found Red, who was sharing a bottle of brandy with a man whose arm was in a sling. She murmured softly, "Yes. I think I do." Then she smiled at Dancer and patted her knee. "You just sit here and rest, but try not to fall asleep. Let me know if you need anything."
Dancer grinned, looking more like her old self. "Girl, what I need you can't give me."
Meg chuckled as she got to her feet.
She had gone perhaps two steps when a cramp seized her left calf muscle. It was so severe she actually cried out loud. She caught herself against the wall to keep from falling, and Dancer said in alarm, "Hey, Meg, what—"
"It's okay!" she assured her, but her voice was strangled and breathless as she bent to try to massage the knotting muscle. "Just a charley horse. So stupid-"
"Sure is." Red's hands closed around her waist as he helped her out of the flow of traffic to sit on the floor. "Always keep your legs warm while exercising. Any good ballerina can tell you that." He sat across from her, elevating her calf on his upraised knee as his strong, deft fingers dug into the cramped muscle.
She gasped with pain and tried to push his hands away. "Stop it! That hurts!"
"Good. It's supposed to."
She didn't answer because her lips and her eyes were pressed tightly together to suppress tears. She felt foolish and embarrassed for having been disabled by such a minor incident, but that didn't make it hurt any less.
Red unzipped her boot and pulled it off, working his fingers beneath her jeans, against the bare flesh of her calf. "See there, serves you right. Where's your thermal underwear?"
"In the.. .trash," she gasped, making another futile grab at his hand. "Where's yours?"
His eyes twinkled. "I'm wearing it. Didn't you notice?"
Another time she would have been embarrassed, because the truth was she had not noticed, and angry with him for being crude enough to remind her. But just then his fingers found the most painful knot and it was all she could do to keep from crying out.
"Do you want me to get you a hot towel?" he asked after a moment.
"No," she answered, releasing a shaky breath. "It's a little better."
Red lowered his knee so that her leg rested across his thigh, continuing to knead her calf firmly. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, going out so unprepared. The General would be disappointed."
Meg closed her eyes in sheer relief as the cramp at last subsided, leaving behind a dull ache that Red's expert fingers did a great deal to soothe. "The General," she said, "would be disappointed in a lot of things."
"How are your toes?" He pulled off her sock. "Frostbitten?" He cupped her foot in his hands on his lap, massaging her toes. "Damn, you always did have the coldest feet of any woman I've ever known."
On a mischievous impulse Meg could not quite explain, she moved her foot just a fraction to press firmly against his crotch. And though Red smothered a yelp and jerked away as her icy foot met his most sensitive parts, there was a sparkle of appreciation in his eyes for her unexpected playfulness as he snatched up her foot again. "I'll get you for that."
"You already did," she reminded him. "I've probably got bruises on my leg."
"Just trying to help."
He lifted her other foot onto his lap and removed her boot and sock, warming both her feet in his hands. Meg should have protested, but she couldn't; it felt too wonderful to be catered to, even for a moment. She leaned her weight back on her palms and enjoyed it.