But Nate was looking at Gemma and their eyes reflected their fear. Why couldn’t he feel his legs?
‘There’s blood…damn it, Doc, I’m bleeding like a stuck pig. My head…’
‘Ian, listen to me. This is important. Can you put a hand on the source of the bleeding?’
‘I… Yeah…’ But his voice was fading.
‘Put as much pressure on the source of the bleeding as you can,’ Nate told him. ‘We’ll be with you just as soon as possible.’ Then he turned to the people around him. ‘We have to get that plane off.’
‘And how the hell are we going to do that?’ The fire chief wasn’t very bright at the best of times and he was looking at Nate for guidance.
‘We need a crane. A big one.’
‘It’ll have to come from Blairglen.’
‘Then get on the radio and get it here,’ Nate snapped. ‘Fast.’
‘It’ll be at least an hour.’
‘An hour’s better than nothing. Move!’
But…an hour was impossible. Numb legs and a bleeding head wound… An hour would be far too long.
‘We can’t leave him under there for that long,’ Gemma said, and Nate shook his head.
‘We don’t have a choice. If we try to move things while the plane’s still there, we risk the whole thing coming down on top of him. As it is…let’s work with shoring timbers and see how far in we can get.’
‘But you won’t be able to get under the plane. If you try and raise the iron, the whole thing might tip-or just crumple.’
‘Well, what else do you suggest?’
‘That I go in.’ She tilted her chin and met his look of startled surprise. ‘Nate, there’s twelve inches’ or more space between the iron and the rest of the rubble. If we can see him then I can reach him.’
‘You’re kidding.’ Nate looked blank.
‘I know the gap’s too narrow for you or any of the guys, but I’m the thinnest of the lot of you. I think I’ll fit.’
‘Gemma…’
But she was thinking it through out loud. ‘The brigade will have ropes. They can attach a couple round me, then when I’m in there I can haul in stuff that I need-and you can pull me out if you have to.’
‘And if the lot settles…’
‘It won’t. It looks solid enough.’
‘It doesn’t look anything of the kind. It could come down at any time’ he said explosively. ‘Gemma, I can’t allow it.’
‘And how are you going to stop me?’ Already she was on her knees, peering under the iron-then moving to lie on her back so she was looking at Nate face up, half in and half out of the iron. ‘Do you have any other ideas?’
‘You can’t-’
‘Tell me-if the iron was three inches higher would you be going in?’
Nate didn’t hesitate. A man was dying. ‘Yes, but-’
‘Well, there you go, then.’
‘But you have Cady.’
‘And you have Mia. And I’ll bet Ian has kids-doesn’t he?’
He stared at Gemma with desperation in his eyes, but she was demanding the truth. ‘Three.’
‘Well, there you are. Just…if anything goes wrong, look after Cady. Promise?’
There was nothing else to say. ‘I promise.’
‘Put on overalls and a hard hat,’ the fire chief ordered, seeing the impossibility of further argument. He was handing over his own equipment and then stood back, baffled. Like the rest of the men. This was a chit of a girl. It seemed so wrong-that she put herself in danger while they stood back and did nothing.
‘Hell, Gemma…’ Nate looked ill.
‘I’ll be fine.’
But as she hauled on her overalls Nate stooped and touched her-a feather touch on the forehead. It was a tiny gesture and only Gemma knew what it truly meant.
It was a blessing. And a prayer.
Nate would be in my shoes if he could be, she thought. He was desperate to be doing what she was doing.
To be honest, she wasn’t all that thrilled about doing it herself.
But needs must. Under the iron there was a man who could well be bleeding to death.
‘They didn’t warn us about this type of thing when we enrolled for medical school,’ she said lightly as she stuck her hard hat on her head. ‘Sometimes accountancy or kindergarten teaching or cleaning lady look like really attractive professions.’
It was time to go. Gemma looped her ropes around her waist and slid her body under the iron.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IT WAS hot and exceedingly wet. These were the first things Gemma noticed. The men had used extinguisher foam to prevent the place going up in smoke and then they’d played water over the iron to cool it. But the iron was buckled and twisted and torn, and the water had seeped through. It stank now of the aviation fuel it was mixed up with. The cavity was vilely uncomfortable and it was incredibly claustrophobic.
‘If you were thinking of having a cigarette while you wait for me, maybe you should think again,’ she gasped as she hauled herself ever so carefully towards the farmer.
‘Holy heck.’ Weak to the point of death or not, Ian sounded as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘It’s a woman!’
‘Now, don’t tell me a woman’s place is in the kitchen,’ she told him, wiggling under a jagged piece of iron that was almost as low as her nose. ‘Otherwise I’ll be forced to go make you a nice batch of scones instead of rescuing you.’
‘You’re…rescuing me?’ His voice sounded a long way away. Like he was concentrating on pain rather than what was happening around him. Really bad pain.
‘Someone has to do the rescuing.’ Keep it light, Gemma told herself. She was trying desperately not to let fear pervade her voice but it was damnably hard. ‘What do they say? Behind every successful man there’s a woman? And in cases like this, the woman’s right out in front. Because the woman’s the only one who’ll fit.’ She tried to keep her voice light and confident-no easy task when there were bits of iron sticking into her legs, a splinter had just rasped her cheek and the smell of the spilled fuel was overpowering. ‘How are you doing?’ She’d worked her way six feet under the iron. Another eight or so to go…
‘Not…not too good.’
‘Do you know who I am? I’m the lady doctor.’
‘I heard about you.’ It was a huge effort for the farmer to talk, she thought. He was drifting toward unconsciousness.
She had to stop talking. Shoving her way though the mass of crumpled iron and wood took all her concentration.
‘Are you OK, Gemma?’ Nate was shining the fireman’s flashlight past her, trying to light her way, but the gap was too narrow and the flashlight’s battery was fading. His voice sounded sick with anxiety.
‘I’m fine.’
She wasn’t the least bit fine. The fumes were making her head dizzy and she felt sick.
But somehow she kept going. Somehow…
And finally she reached Ian-just. By stretching out, her fingers could fleetingly touch his face. It was contact as welcome for Gemma as it must have been for the farmer. ‘Hey, Ian, don’t you dare go to sleep on me. Not when I’ve crawled all the way in to say hello.’
‘I don’t…’
‘You don’t even know my name.’ She pushed against a piece of timber blocking her path. It moved-just a bit-but the iron above it didn’t seem to shift so she pushed it down toward her legs. She gained another couple of splinters in the process but it gave her a clear passage. ‘I’m Gemma.’
‘I’m Ian.’
‘That’s great.’ She now had clear access. She let her hand drift over his face until she found what she was looking for. There was a steady pumping of blood from his forehead. ‘Let’s get this stopped.’
At least she’d known to expect this. She had a wad of dressing roped against her waist. Now she hauled it up and pushed it as hard as she could against his head. She could feel the blood pulsing under her hand. It was a filthy gash, she thought grimly. Deep and jagged and r
ipped into more blood vessels than she cared to imagine.
It was just as well she was here. He wouldn’t last for an hour without her.
But would he last for an hour with her?
It was almost impossible to adjust a pressure bandage in these conditions. The flashlight was fading and she was working almost blind. She bound tape around the farmer’s head and tightened it until she could tighten no further-and then she had to feel with her fingers whether the flow was easing.
And blessedly it was. ‘Yes!’
It was a minor triumph. The big farmer was slipping toward unconsciousness. ‘I feel so… Geez, Doc, I think I have to sleep…’
‘Don’t you dare sleep on me,’ she ordered. ‘There’s forty cows out there depending on you. They’re hanging their heads over the gate right now waiting for your ugly face to appear.’
‘They’ll want milking.’
‘I reckon someone else might milk tonight.’ Heck, she was losing him. The pulse under her hand was fast and weak. ‘Nate…’
Nate was waiting, crouching back a little from the entrance to her cavern so as not to block the little light she had. ‘Gemma.’ There was no hiding the anxiety in his voice.
‘Ian’s legs are stuck fast. There seems to be some sort of beam over them-I can’t see to tell you more. I need saline and plasma. And morphine.’
‘You can administer them while he’s in there?’
She didn’t have a choice. There was a deep pool of blood under her hand and the farmer’s head was still oozing.
‘Of course I can,’ she managed, her tone far more confident than she felt. ‘What’s a little confinement and darkness to a beaut anaesthetist like me? Can you send in what I need?’
‘Can do.’ They’d rigged the rope around her waist in a loop, so that as she tugged her equipment along the cavity toward her, the other side of the loop returned to the outside world. It was a makeshift supply line but it would have to do.
Damn it, it must.
‘And I need a decent flashlight.’ This one was all but dead and she had to be able to see what she was doing. Surely firefighters carried torches.
These firefighters didn’t. ‘Ron…do we have a decent torch?’ she heard Nate ask the fire chief, and by the sound of his expletive she knew the response had been a helpless shake of the head.
‘There’s one up at the house,’ the farmer muttered. ‘In the back porch.’
‘Did you hear that?’ Gemma asked, and heard Nate swear again as he relayed the information to those behind him.
‘Yes, I want you to find it.’
He’d heard-but he was dealing with morons.
‘They’re going now,’ he told her.
Gemma thought, Good-if two of them went then maybe combined they might just have enough brain power to find the torch.
Meanwhile…
‘I need to rip your shirt,’ she told the farmer. She was working one-handed-the other was still applying pressure to his head.
‘Don’t mind me-it’s not my Sunday best.’
‘Great.’
It was thick flannel-much worse than his Sunday best, Gemma thought, as it was much stronger-but somehow she did it. She released the pressure on his head for a fraction of a second, put her teeth into the cloth and ripped. It was a small triumph but it was enough to give her a boost. It was wonderful what you could do when you had to!
And then there was a call from the outside world and Nate was shining a new flashlight in to light the darkness.
‘I’m sending this in, Gem.’
Gem… Her grandfather had called her Gem, she thought inconsequentially. Once upon a lifetime, he’d called her that and she’d loved it. It was a term of endearment that hadn’t been used since he’d died.
And why it had the capacity to pull her off stride here…
Not for long. She had herself together soon enough, hauling the syringes and packs of saline and plasma toward herself. Nate had rigged up the flashlight so it bobbed along with the supplies, lighting their path. It meant that when they caught on an obstacle he and Gemma could see what was happening. Holding one end of the loop each, they could wiggle it past.
Finally she had what she needed. All she had to do was set it up. Easier said than done.
‘What sort of feeling do you have in your legs?’ she asked, and the farmer gave a weary grunt.
‘Pins and needles.’
Well, that was something. Better by far than the nothing he’d reported earlier. If he’d received a blow to his spine he could have temporary nerve damage and the pins and needles might be a sign that they were recovering.
‘I like pins and needles,’ she told him warmly. ‘It means you’re getting your circulation back.’
‘All the better to bleed with.’
He could joke. Great.
Now all she had to do was get fluids aboard-rebuild his blood supply-and hope like crazy they could get him out without any further damage.
It was a long, long wait.
Getting the plasma and saline running was a nightmare. She needed room, she needed drip stands, she needed nurses to hold equipment… In fact, what she needed was a hospital. But, somehow, working by the light of the torch and manoeuvring through dust and wreckage and the stench of spilled fuel-somehow she managed it. It had been the most non-sterile procedure she’d ever done, she thought grimly, but it couldn’t be helped and infection was the least of their worries right now.
With the lines established, she let the farmer’s pain relief kick in. He dozed and she no longer fought to keep him awake. Sleep was the best thing. The less stress he was under the better.
At least his head wound had ceased bleeding. She had no way of telling what the damage was to his legs. That would have to wait. Meanwhile, his pulse seemed to be getting stronger. Surely that meant there wasn’t a leg wound spurting blood. Surely that meant he had a chance.
Please…
‘How’s it going, Dr Campbell?’ If Nate hadn’t been constantly there she would have gone mad, she thought, but he hardly stopped talking. He told her every single thing that was happening on the outside world. ‘We have twenty men and a truckload of shoring timbers,’ he said now. ‘Now we’re just waiting for the crane.’
‘Couldn’t twenty men lift a light plane?’
‘Are you suggesting they stand on your roof while they do it? You’d be squashed flat. Learn patience, Dr Campbell.’
But he was more impatient than she was. And more fearful. As confident as he sounded, she could sense the fear behind his words.
And once the whole structure moved, groaning and shifting as it resettled on its fragile base. She heard Ian whimper in pain as the timber over his legs dug deeper and Nate shouted a warning.
It didn’t keep moving. The iron above her nose settled from three inches above to one inch-it was pressing hard on her breast and she could no longer get out the way she’d come in. She was as trapped as Ian. It was still OK. Just.
And finally Gemma heard the yells that signified the arrival of the crane.
Even then the danger wasn’t over. There was an interminable wait.
‘We’re attaching cables from above,’ Nate told her. ‘We need to secure the plane, but if we climb over the iron then we risk collapse with the extra weight. So we’re swinging men out on the crane hooks to attach cables from the air.’
Finally it was done.
‘It’s set,’ Nate told her, trying to keep his voice calm. Trying to stem the awful anxiety. ‘We’re taking the plane’s weight now.’
The iron creaked and groaned, but almost as soon as it moved there were men shoving in shoring timbers-at the entrance, then a foot in, then two feet, three feet-moving with a speed she hadn’t thought possible. They shored it up so as the iron creaked and shifted with the release of the plane’s weight it didn’t shift further down onto her face but onto the solid presence of the timbers.
The iron lifted. An inch. Two, then three, then…
&nb
sp; Then Nate was crawling in beside her, before the iron was fully lifted.
She was horrified. ‘Get out. Only one of us needs to be here.’
‘There’s no danger now. The men will haul the iron off. Put this over you.’ He’d hauled in a plate of solid steel, heavy but effective. He shoved it between their heads and the roof of the cavity so that as the men worked steadily toward them from the outside they were protected from falling dust and debris.
‘Don’t stay…’
‘I’m staying.’ His arm was around her, holding her close. She was wedged tight against the farmer and Nate found Ian’s hand underneath her body so that Gemma was cradled between the two men. Ian had slipped into oblivion but Nate’s presence was all she needed. Nate…
‘Just wait.’
She could wait. All of a sudden the fear had been lifted. All she could feel was Nate.
There was a shout of triumph and then miraculously the sheet of iron was lifted away. Instead of staring into darkness, she was staring into the sunlight and the shock was so great she closed her eyes in disbelief.
Daylight…
There were men helping her to her feet-men taking the plasma and saline bags from her-holding them up while more men worked on the timbers trapping Ian.
Nate’s arm was steadying her, ensuring she was OK.
‘I’m fine.’ She wasn’t. She was shaking like a leaf but there were more important things to worry about than her wobbly knees. ‘Look after Ian.’
They were lifting the big beam holding Ian. He’d fallen face forward and the beam was lying over his back. No wonder he hadn’t been able to move. But…it didn’t look crushed, she thought. There was debris holding either end, so most of its weight wasn’t on him.
Maybe he’d been lucky. Or…relatively lucky.
Nate was kneeling beside him. The morphine Gemma had administered had taken hold and he was barely conscious, but he was aware of the men around him. As Nate took his hand he even managed a feeble smile.
‘It’s good to see you, Doc.’
‘It’s good to see you, too, Ian.’ Nate took a neck brace from one of the ambulancemen and fitted it with care. ‘Hold still. We’ll shift you just as you are.’ If there was a compression fracture of the spine the last thing they needed was for it to shift. ‘Ian, don’t move your legs or arms in any way-let us do the moving. Don’t try and help us. Can you feel your fingers and toes?’
To the Doctor: A Daughter Page 13