Arms of Mercy

by Ruth Reid

  Elijah continued searching for Catherine. He made it a few feet and froze when he spotted a piece of blue material sticking out from under a sheet-covered body. The same blue shade that matched the dress Catherine had been wearing. His mouth went dry.

  No! God, please nett Catherine.

  Elijah stared at the covered body.

  Right size, shape—No!

  His mind screamed denial even as he forced himself to draw nearer. He lowered himself to his knees. Hands trembling and tears burning his eyes, he reached for the corner of the sheet.

  “Excuse me, sir.” A hand came down on Elijah’s uninjured shoulder. “I have to ask you not to . . . disturb—” The man wearing a uniform with an EMT patch on his shoulder turned as white as the sheet itself. He swallowed dryly, the shape of his face warping as his Adam’s apple moved down his throat. Then, regaining his composure, he said authoritatively, “I need to take you back to your designated area.”

  “I have to know if this is—” He couldn’t bring himself to say her name—not in relation to a corpse.

  Feeling the weight of the man’s hand coming under his armpit, gently prompting him to rise, Elijah refused. He pulled the covering away from the woman’s battered face and let out a cry—a blend of sadness and relief mixed with guilt.

  “Sir, let me help you up.”

  Elijah stood on his own, but pain shot through his leg and shoulder, rendering him woozy on his feet. He took a few staggering steps, then felt an arm go around his waist.

  “I’ve got you,” the man said.

  Feeling the trickle of something warm going down the side of his face and neck, he used his good arm to wipe his face. It wasn’t sweat. His bandage needed changing. He straightened his posture. “I think I’m all right nau.” He wasn’t, but didn’t want to be ushered back to the green zone. He needed to find Catherine.

  Ambulance sirens screamed as they left the scene. Over to his left, machines with oversized clippers grabbed on to a section of the bus and peeled its metal back like it was opening a can of tuna fish. Workers systematically began removing passengers from the wreckage.

  “Ward, we can use more help over here.”

  “Be with you in a sec.” He aimed his thumb sideways in Elijah’s direction. “Got a walking wounded to take to the green staging area.”

  “I don’t need help,” Elijah said. “I can find mei way back to mei designated area.”

  The worker hesitated. “I’ll stay with you. I’d hate for you to pass out.”

  Elijah couldn’t stomach the idea of tying up this man’s time when he could be helping people with greater critical issues. If the blue-tagged people were left unattended, surely he didn’t need personal assistance to walk back to his zone. He headed toward the designated area, and when he discovered the worker had jogged off to help the people from the other bus, Elijah veered toward the bus he and Catherine had been on.

  Approaching the battered vehicle, he somehow managed to evade emergency personnel. A quick evaluation told him the bus had been struck somewhere around the fifth row. Catherine’s row. But where was the severed section?

  Elijah bent at the waist and vomited. His head pounded, his throat was raw, and every muscle in his body ached. He would find her before someone escorted him back to his area. Elijah wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve.

  Looking down, he caught sight of what looked like skid marks, not from tires but from metal, stretching across the pavement. At first he thought the markings were made from the other bus because they led to where the bus was dangling off the cliff. Then another possible scenario jumped into his mind, along with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.

  The thought sent him stumbling toward the wreckage of the dangling bus, hoping he was wrong and it wasn’t Catherine’s section that had been pushed over the edge by the other bus.

  Chapter 17

  Without taking his eyes off the scattered bus remnants at the bottom of the ravine, Elijah ambled alongside the guardrail, searching for the best place to cross, an area that wasn’t so steep. He stayed mindful of the other bus dangling over the forty-foot drop. He didn’t want to find himself under it if the chains didn’t hold.

  “It isn’t safe to go down there,” said a deep baritone voice behind him.

  Without looking at the man, Elijah replied, “I have to,” and kept going.

  “That bus isn’t safe. If even one chain snaps, it might launch the remaining portion over the cliff.”

  Exactly why I’m distancing myself from it. Elijah ignored the man’s warning and straddled the guardrail. He sucked in a breath, then dragged his injured leg over the barricade. He wasn’t about to turn back.

  Lord, give me strength. Elijah tested the ground, his boot sliding on the compacted snow. Maneuvering downhill with his injured leg and shoulder would be difficult enough, but not knowing how deep the snow was in places or where he was stepping was probably suicide. In the moment, the possibility of living without Catherine wasn’t an option and justified his actions. He took another step.

  Please, let me find her alive, Lord. To keep from sliding, he grasped hold of a low-hanging needled branch of an eastern hemlock and used it for support, but the branch snapped and sent Elijah free-falling down the slippery embankment. After a jarring somersault, he tumbled the rest of the way until slamming against a fallen log near the bottom of the ravine.

  He released an agonizing cry that echoed back to him, unable to feel his fingers on his injured side. How would he be able to get Catherine and himself back up the slope? He should have thought this through better. He drew in a deep breath and released it in another cry as he pushed himself up.

  Elijah took another step and dropped down again. Wet, cold, and in horrific pain, he belly crawled, digging his good elbow into the snow while dragging himself forward inch by inch until his body refused. Sharpness seized his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. Darkness shrouded him.

  Vaguely aware he was being lifted off the ground, Elijah peered up at the hovering helicopter. Two men wearing reflective coats and oversized pants stood beside him as the wire-basket system he was lying in began to rise slowly.

  “They’re going to take good care of you at Shepard Hill.” The man with the neatly trimmed mustache patted the cage.

  “Where—?”

  “Try not to talk. You’re going to a hospital in Columbus, Ohio.”

  “Where’s Catherine?” he mumbled. The words sounded like gibberish, and he opened his mouth to speak again but was silenced by a calming pat on the shoulder.

  “Just relax. You’re starting to feel the effects of the morphine.”

  Strapped to a long wooden board, he couldn’t move his hands to signal them to stop. The basket lifted higher, swaying like an infant’s cradle as it rose above the rescuers’ heads, above the tops of the trees.

  A cloth strap placed over his forehead prevented him from turning his head, but he managed to work it free with a little wiggling. In the distance he glimpsed scattered pieces of metal, then just as he was lifted out of visual range, he spotted a heap of smoldering ashes with charred trees surrounding its perimeter. Men searched the wreckage. His eyelids became too heavy to keep them open.

  Lord . . . let them find Catherine alive.

  Voices whispered—voices Elijah couldn’t recognize. He pried his eyes open, but blinding overhead light forced them closed. Flashes of white spots filled the darkness. Once the polka dots faded, he opened his eyes again, this time only a slit, then waited for his vision to adjust. He attempted to raise his hand to block the blaring light aimed directly at him and winced when pain seared his muscles.

  A woman wearing blue scrubs approached the bed rail and smiled. “You won’t be able to move your arm for a while. Your shoulder was dislocated and the circulation was obstructed, but the doctor will need to explain the extent of your injuries.” Her straw-colored hair was pulled back in a ponytail that flopped forward as she leaned in. “I’m Candice. I’m the nurse taki
ng care of you today. Can you tell me your name?”

  “Elijah Graber.” His throat was dry and scratchy. Lifting his uninjured hand to grip the handrail, he noticed the IV tubing running fluid into his body. Again he winced. Even the slightest movement caused pain to cross over from his uninjured shoulder to his injured one. He touched his immobilized shoulder, the ache starting to wane the longer he kept it still.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Graber. Do you know where you are?”

  Elijah read the employee badge clipped to the woman’s shirt pocket: Shepard Hill Memorial Hospital. “The hospital.”

  Beep. Beep. Beep. The piercing noise came from the right. His gaze traced the source of the alarm to the machine hanging from a pole at the side of his bed. If he’d done something to trigger an alarm by moving his hand with the tubing attached, he hoped it wasn’t serious.

  “Don’t let the alarm worry you.” Her reassuring smile helped ease his anxiousness. She pressed a few buttons that terminated the noise. “The alert was sounded to let me know your antibiotic had finished infusing.”

  “How long—?” His words strained. He swallowed hard to help moisten his throat, then licked his lips.

  “Would you like a sip of water?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She picked up a small plastic pitcher on a rolling stand, then poured water into a Styrofoam cup. After placing a straw in the cup and bending it forward, she held it close to his mouth.

  The sip of cold water soothed his throat. He released the straw from between his teeth. “Thank you.”

  “I’m going to set this on the bedside stand, but if you need help reaching it or if you need help with anything else, you can press the nurse call button.” She set the cup down, then pointed out the buttons on a remote. “These buttons control the TV. This one the volume and the other one the channel. The red button is the one you’ll push to call the nurse. When it’s pressed, your room number lights up and beeps at the nurses’ station. Don’t be surprised if someone answers over the loudspeaker.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “You were brought into the emergency room two days ago.”

  He groaned. He couldn’t recall anything between the time he’d been airlifted from the hillside to right now.

  “Elijah?”

  “I’m sorry. Did you ask me a question?”

  “I’d like you to rate your pain. One being mild to ten being severe.”

  “Will you find out if Catherine is here in the hospital? She was on the bus—we were traveling together. Only we weren’t sitting together, so I don’t know if—if . . . I don’t know how badly she was hurt.” Tears pricked his eyes. He’d promised to watch over Catherine, and he’d failed. “Will you find her for me? Her name is Catherine. Catherine Glick.” Talking made him short of breath.

  “Just relax, Mr. Graber. You’ve had surgery to repair your punctured lung.”

  “I have to find her.”

  Her hand was steady on his uninjured shoulder. “I understand. You said her name is Catherine. Are the two of you related somehow?”

  “We’re nett married . . . yet.”

  The tiny lines across her forehead softened. “I can’t make any promises. Security has been heightened with the media swarming to talk to the passengers.”

  Elijah swung his leg out from under the cover but hit the tray table and sent it rolling. Sharp pains rippled through his leg, and he gasped.

  “Mr. Graber, please. Allow me to get the water for you.”

  “I’m nett trying to get water.” He glanced at the flimsy gown he was wearing, and his face immediately heated. “I need mei clothes.”

  “You’re in no condition to be getting out of bed. Your lungs are not strong, the chest tube was only removed recently, and you need more antibiotics. Besides, there’s still a chance you’ll need surgery on your shoulder—”

  “I told you.” Clutching his bandaged ribs, he puffed out short breaths to relieve some of the pain as he pushed himself upright. “I have to find Catherine.”

  She angled her head to make eye contact. “I understand.” The warmth of her smile told him she really did understand. “I’ll see what I can do to locate your fiancée. Okay?”

  Catherine and he weren’t exactly engaged, but he needed help. If he corrected Candice, her willingness to help might diminish, and if that happened, he might never get to tell Catherine everything he wanted. He’d lose her again.

  Besides, it wasn’t like he could leave the hospital without his clothes. As shaky as he was, he couldn’t even get out of bed at the moment. Plus, he’d have to detach himself from the tube connecting him to IV fluids. And even if he accomplished all that, would anyone even talk to him about Catherine if they knew he wasn’t a family member or her soon-to-be spouse?

  “Mr. Graber?”

  Seated on the edge of the bed, he glanced up at Candice.

  “Your IV alarm is going off. I’ll need to check the tubing.” She went to reach for his hand connected to the fluid, but he jerked his arm away. “If you will get back into bed and finish your course of treatment, I’ll do everything I can to find out if your Catherine is a patient here.”

  “Everything?”

  Chapter 18

  Elijah slowly opened his eyes. The hospital room was dark except for the light spilling into the space from the hallway. His gaze lingered in a corner of the room. If it weren’t for the side effects of the pain medicine that had him groggy even hours later, he would have sworn someone was lurking in the shadows.

  He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and the tape from where the IV was placed scratched his eyelids. Elijah blinked away the sting, then reached for the handrail and attempted to pull himself up.

  A shadowy silhouette moved toward him. “How are you feeling, Mr. Graber?”

  “Better, I think.” He didn’t recognize the man’s voice, nor could he get his eyes to focus on him.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions if you’re feeling up to it.”

  “Okay.” He had a few questions for the doctor himself, one being when he could leave.

  “Do you mind if I turn on the light?”

  “Nay, go ahead.” Bracing for the flood of brightness, Elijah closed his eyes, then slowly reopened them after he heard the hum of the fluorescent bulb. The man wore a black woolen overcoat, not a white doctor’s coat as Elijah had expected. His leather hat was pulled down low over his forehead, the brim worn from years of wear.

  “Are you mei doktah?”

  “No.” He stepped forward and removed his hat, exposing a receding hairline. “My name is Alex Canter, and I work for the law office of Rulerson, Markel, and Boyd.”

  “How do you know mei name?”

  He bowed his head shyly. “I confess. I’m paid to snag new clients. Most people describe my calling as being an ambulance chaser. Granted, it’s not a glamorous depiction of my work, but I’ve got to do something to put food on my table.”

  Based on the man’s girth, it was evident that business was thriving. His jowls reminded Elijah of the lazy hound he had once owned.

  “I overheard someone say you were one of the bus accident victims, and”—he shrugged—“I took a peek at your wristband while you were sleeping. Were you on the bus carrying the theater group? Fiddler on the Roof, right?” He made a hand gesture of a beard to his shadowy jaw and smiled. “You look the part.”

  Elijah glanced at the plastic band fastened around his wrist with his name, a barcode, and a string of some sort of identification numbers stamped on it. “I was a passenger on Budget Bus.”

  Mr. Canter had no qualms admitting to the unscrupulous manner in which he obtained his information, but just because he confessed to being here without permission didn’t mean he should be trusted. Having second thoughts about agreeing to answer more of the man’s questions, Elijah reached for the remote and positioned his thumb over the nurse call button.

  “You might want to hear what I have to say b
efore you summon the nurse, who will undoubtedly call for security and have me banished from the building.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been escorted out of other hospital rooms.”

  “A time or two.” The man shrugged again. “But, hey, I’m not here to cause problems—just the opposite.” He slicked back a few strands of thinning hair with the palm of his hand. “In fact, I want to help you. I’ve already spoken with several of the victims from Budget Bus as well as from the private charter company. It isn’t official who was at fault, but either way I’m certain we’ll have a strong case.”

  “You’ve spoken with the other passengers?” Elijah sat up higher in bed but regretted the sudden move as pain caused the nerves in his body to sizzle. Once he could muster the strength, he restated the question more directly. “Did Catherine send you to find me?”

  Alex stared blankly. “Nobody sent me. Well, my managing junior partner did, but who is Catherine?”

  “She’s . . .” Elijah shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a gut idea to talk with a . . . an ambulance chaser.”

  Alex crossed his arms. “Did someone from Budget Bus tell you to say that? The only thing they’re trying to do now is damage control.”

  “I don’t understand. The damage is already done.”

  “Exactly. So, we’re on the same page. That’s cool.” The visitor slid a chair closer to the bed, then opened a briefcase and removed a portable device that looked like the same instrument people used on the bus to play video games on. He pressed a few buttons and the screen lit.

  Elijah frowned. “Are you going to play a video game nau?”

  “Oh no, sir. I use this to take notes. My handwriting is illegible. Plus, it holds all of the forms I need to fill out. I can link it to a portable printer, and it also works as a camera. Have you seen the new tablet yet?”