by Radclyffe
“No one should take any unnecessary chances,” Abby said. “We’re all going to be needed at the hospital.”
Presley slipped an arm around Harper’s waist. “I’d feel better if you took the truck.”
Harper caressed her arm. “Okay. But if the three of you run into any problems on the way in, you turn back, okay?”
“I’ll look after them,” Flann said.
Since Abby didn’t know what she faced, she could hardly object to Flann being Flann and assuming she was in charge, but she wasn’t going to be a bystander either. “How about Presley drives, and I’ll watch the roads for obstacles. Flann, you can stretch out in the backseat and keep your leg elevated.”
“Wait a minute,” Flann grumbled. “I should drive. I know the roads—”
“So does Presley.” Abby plucked Presley’s keys from the table, slipped them into her pocket, and gave Flann a no-discussion glare. “If you expect to work later tonight, you need to rest now.”
Flann scowled. “I can see how you got to be chief so fast.”
Abby grinned. “By being right, you mean?”
“I was thinking more like hard-as—” Flann glanced over at Blake and Margie, who didn’t seem to be paying them any attention. All the same, she muttered, “Not quite what I was thinking.”
Presley set the roast that was to have been their picnic dinner in the center of the big oak table. “Everybody should grab a sandwich. If the power is out at the Rivers, the cafeteria won’t have food for long. Grab water from the fridge too.”
“Double-check you have flashlights,” Harper said, slicing thick slabs off the roast as Presley set out bread and sandwich bags.
“Good idea.” Abby put together sandwiches. “Blake, Margie—come and eat.”
When they’d grabbed sandwiches, she made two more and handed one to Flann. “Eat this now. I’ll pack some more for later.”
Flann took the sandwich, her fingers grazing Abby’s. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” Abby said, not entirely sure why she’d made Flann’s without even thinking about it. And that was not anything she wanted to keep thinking about right then.
Inside of ten minutes, they were ready to go. Presley walked Harper to the back door and kissed her. “Be careful. I wish you weren’t going alone.”
“I’ll be fine,” Harper said. “I’ll meet you at the Rivers just as soon as I’ve checked the homestead. Don’t worry if you don’t hear from me. Phone reception is likely to be iffy.”
Presley nodded, her lips tight.
Harper hugged her, murmuring something too quietly for Abby to hear. Presley’s expression softened and she leaned into Harper for an instant, her arms locked around Harper’s waist. Abby looked away, directly into Flann’s eyes. Flann’s pensive gaze skimmed her face and settled on hers, capturing Abby again in the dark, seductive undertow Flann exuded with effortless force. Abby broke away reluctantly and physically turned aside, not trusting herself to resist the strange pull of Flann’s attention. “Blake, Margie—remember, no searching outside.”
“We should check for Rooster,” Margie said.
Blake nodded.
“Rooster is a survivor,” Presley said. “If he hasn’t made an appearance by morning, we’ll all look for him. Abby’s right, though, it’s not safe out there until we’re sure the storms have passed.”
“You’re all going out,” Margie pointed out with her usual certainty.
“Yeah, Mom,” Blake added in solidarity.
Great, Abby thought. Now there’s a pair of them to bargain with.
“Besides,” Margie said, “if we keep an eye on the sky and promise to—”
“No deals,” Flann said, joining Abby. “You stay inside until one of us comes back. Let’s have your word on it.”
Blake and Margie glanced at each other in some kind of silent communication, then at Abby and Flann. Whatever they saw must have convinced them, and together, they said, “Word.”
“Good enough,” Flann said. “Margie, you’ve got all our numbers. We’ll call when we hit the Rivers.”
“Thanks,” Abby whispered to Flann.
“No problem.” Flann grinned. “Never try to negotiate with my sister. She always wins.”
“Runs in the family?”
“Usually.” Flann dropped her voice and leaned close. “You’ve been doing pretty well on that score with me, though.”
“I’m not counting.” Abby savored the heat of Flann’s bare arm against hers for an instant, an unexpected guilty pleasure, before snatching up the bag of sandwiches. “All right then, we’re ready.”
Harper drove out first with Presley close behind. They had to stop twice before the end of the long driveway so Presley and Abby could climb out and help Harper clear downed tree limbs from the road. Flann grumbled about not helping but stayed in the car.
When they reached the two-lane, Harper turned in the opposite direction and was gone. Abby shivered at the sudden sense of being very alone in an alien landscape. Despite it being only early evening, the sky was unnaturally dark, layered with angry black storm clouds. Their headlights were the only illumination as they traveled slowly toward the village. The farmhouses they passed had no power and stood as blackened silhouettes against the ominous horizon. Presley, both hands gripping the wheel, managed to circumvent all of the downed limbs in the road for the first few miles. When they rounded a bend, she let out a sigh. A distant glow heralded the village up ahead.
“At least some of the village has power,” Abby said.
Presley said, “Hopefully the hospital does too.”
“They’ve got the generators,” Flann said, “but they’ll only do for twenty-four hours or so.”
“I’ll get on the line with the power company as soon as we arrive and get an idea of what the local grid looks like,” Presley said.
Abby leaned forward and narrowed her eyes, trying to make out the shape in the road ahead. Her breath caught. “Pres, there’s a truck off the road.”
Presley stopped quickly, ten yards from a pickup truck leaning precariously on its side, its rear wheels barely on the shoulder and its front pointed down a long slope that ended in a ravine filled with pine trees. Abby lifted her door handle. “I’ll have to go check and see about the driver.”
Flann gripped her shoulder from behind. “Wait a minute. You’re not equipped for field intervention, and it’s dangerous trying to work around a vehicle like that. It could shift, slide down that incline, and take you with it.”
“I can’t take the chance someone might be trapped.”
“Dammit, Abby—” Flann sounded more worried than angry. “At least try 9-1-1 first. If they can be here soon, they’re the best hope for anyone trapped in the car.”
“I know that.” Abby ought to be annoyed by Flann’s objections and offended by the restraining hand on her shoulder, but she wasn’t. Flann made sense, but that wasn’t the reason she accepted Flann’s protests either. Flann didn’t want her to get hurt, and being cared for rather than caring for someone else was so unusual she’d forgotten what it felt like. Oh, her mother and Blake cared about her, but they didn’t take care of her. She hadn’t thought she needed or wanted it, but it was nice. “I’ll call them just as soon as I see about the driver. I’ve got to at least see if he’s in there and alive.”
Flann opened her back door. “I’ll come with you.”
“You won’t. There’s no way you can manage that slope on your leg.” Before Flann could argue more, Abby jumped out.
“Abby!” Flann called.
A car door slammed and Presley yelled, “Wait for me. I’m coming too.”
“Don’t try to get inside,” Flann called again as Abby and Presley slogged away through the puddles and tangled branches.
When they reached the spot where the pickup had gone over, Abby started down the steep, slick slope first, testing each step carefully as her foot sank into wet soil and loose gravel. The humid air smelled of ozone and the thick, cloyi
ng odor of drenched earth.
“Oh!” Abby’s foot slipped, her legs flew out from under her, and she barely caught herself on an outstretched hand. Sharp stones gouged her palm, and she bit back another gasp of pain.
“Are you all right?” Presley asked.
“Yes. The footing’s treacherous. Be careful.” Turning, Abby held out a hand and they helped each other down the last few yards to the truck cab. The truck canted toward them on its running board, the passenger-side wheels elevated into the air. Abby felt the hood of the red pickup truck. It was cold. The engine had either shut off or run out of gas. She pulled aside branches of a shrub caught in the wheel well and peered through the driver’s window. A dark form leaned against the door, a seat belt strap angled across the window.
“He’s belted in place.” Abby rapped on the window. “Hello! Hello, can you hear me?”
No response.
“Is there anyone else in there?” Presley asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t see past him. I need to open the door if I can.”
“Be careful,” Presley said. “If the truck slides while you’re trying to open the door, you can get caught underneath.”
“You should stand back out of the way.”
“You just be ready to jump too.” Presley scrambled back up the slope. “Clear.”
Abby grasped the handle, hoping the door wasn’t locked. She squeezed and the door gave a little. Holding her breath, she carefully pried it open. The lower edge hit the ground and stuck, but she had enough space to wedge herself into the opening. If the truck shifted now, she’d be carried down the rest of the way with it. Flann would never let her hear the end of it. Grinning at the absurdity of the thought, she shouldered into the narrow crevice.
A man in his sixties sagged against the steering wheel, the seat belt holding him upright. The windshield was shattered and his forehead was bloodied in a starburst pattern from the impact.
“Sir? Sir, can you hear me? I’m a doctor.” He didn’t move as she pressed her fingertips over his carotid artery. Strong and steady.
A light shone in over her shoulder. Presley with a flashlight. “How is he?”
“Alive.” The light helped and Abby quickly ran a hand over his chest and abdomen. She couldn’t find any signs of external bleeding. “He’s not shocky yet, but he could have internal injuries. Definitely has a closed head injury. He’s alone.”
“What do we do?” Presley asked.
“We can’t get him out of the cab without proper equipment. We could make a spine or back injury worse. Shine the light into the backseat.”
“Good right there?”
“Yes. Just give me a minute.” Abby stretched an arm behind the seat and snagged an old wool blanket from the floor. “Okay—you start back up. I’ll be right behind you.”
She covered him, carefully backed out of the cramped opening, and edged her way up the slope to Presley. Going up was a lot harder than going down and she slipped a few more times. She’d need a shower before she’d be able to see patients. She concentrated on getting back to the top, trying to keep as much dirt and contamination out of her lacerated palm as she could.
Flann leaned against the hood of Presley’s car, shining a light to guide them back. The night had gone black. Her face was mostly in shadow, but Abby could feel the tension radiating from her from ten feet away. Her solid presence chased some of the cold from Abby’s middle, and she realized she was shaking.
“There’s a man down there with a head injury,” Abby said.
“We’re not going to get him out without more help,” Flann said. “You look like you took a fall. You okay?”
“Just muddy.” Abby resisted the ridiculous urge to straighten her clothes and tame her tangled hair. Like it mattered what she looked like just then.
“Get in the car and get warm,” Flann said, her tone gruff. “Pres, you okay?”
“Just wet. If we can’t reach emergency services,” Presley said, “we’ll have to drive the rest of the way into town and find the sheriff or someone else.”
“I hate leaving him here,” Abby said.
“Getting the proper help is the best thing we can do,” Flann repeated. “Come on.” She circled Abby’s waist. “Inside.”
Abby climbed into the car before she realized Flann had directed her into the rear seat. Flann slid in and shut the door, blocking her exit. When Flann’s arm came around her shoulders, she didn’t pull away. The warmth felt good. So did Flann’s body.
“Presley, you good to drive?” Flann asked.
“Fine.”
“Wait.” Abby pressed 911 and prayed for a connection. After what seemed like an interminable period of time, a woman answered briskly.
“Fire rescue, what’s your emergency?”
“This is Dr. Abby Remy. I’m on—” She looked at Flann.
“County Road 54.”
“County Road 54 just east of 71. There’s a red pickup truck off the road with an unconscious driver inside. We need a response team.”
“Is there any evidence of gas leaking or fire?”
“No.”
“Are there any other passengers?”
“No. The driver’s pulse is strong and I didn’t see any evidence of external hemorrhage. How long until a team can get here?”
“I have one on the way. They’ll be there in under five minutes.”
“Thank you.”
Flann said, “Pres, you should go. We can’t do anything here, and we can at the Rivers.”
“Abby?” Presley asked.
“I agree. We need to get to the hospital.”
“Let me see your hand,” Flann said, taking Abby’s wrist as Presley pulled away from the wreck.
“What?” Abby said.
“Your hand is bleeding.”
“Oh,” Abby said. “It’s nothing, just a few scrapes.”
“I’ll check it when we get to the ER,” Flann said.
Abby was too weary to argue. Presley drove slowly through town, detouring around intersections blocked by police and fire trucks. Sirens blared intermittently and emergency vehicles passed them, most headed toward the Rivers, a few out of town. When the hospital on the hill came into view, glowing like a beacon from lights in dozens of windows, Abby sighed with relief.
“It looks like the village was mostly spared,” Flann said quietly. “Power’s out here and there, and the water main on River Road looks like it sprang a leak, but hopefully there won’t be too much more damage. The houses out of town are far enough apart that the twister probably missed most of them. We might’ve gotten lucky.”
Presley turned into the winding drive up to the Rivers.
“I’m not too sure about that,” Abby said, taking in the line of emergency vehicles pulled up in front of the ER. “It looks like we’ve got a full house.”
Chapter Fourteen
When the kitchen lights came back on, Blake blinked and Margie whooped.
“All right!” Margie jumped up. “Come on.”
Blake followed Margie down the hall into a room that looked like a library, although most of the bookcases were empty. “What are we doing?”
“Getting lamps.”
“Why?” He whispered, although he wasn’t sure why. The whole night resembled one of those movies where a bunch of kids go into the woods and some maniac shows up. Though now that he thought about it, those movies seemed really stupid compared to what had just happened.
“You’ll see. Here.” Margie handed him a desk lamp. “We’ll use these to keep the chicks warm.”
He followed her back to the kitchen, the lamp under his arm. “Do you think these will be enough?”
“As long as the kitchen doesn’t cool off too much,” Margie said.
Blake wiped the sweat from his neck with his arm. The storm hadn’t helped the heat at all. It was worse, the air a heavy thick blanket he could almost feel sitting on his shoulders, even inside. “Not much chance of that.”
“They
need to be kept at ninety degrees at this age.” Margie placed her lamp on the floor next to the box and passed Blake the cord. “Put yours on the other side.”
Blake positioned his, plugged them in, and angled the round metal shade so the beam fell into the box. The chicks huddled in one corner in the straw. They were about the size and color of tennis balls. They looked awfully fragile. Blake’s chest tightened. “I wish we had the right stuff for them.”
“It’s just for tonight. The regular lamps aren’t as good as heat lamps,” Margie said, “but it will help.”
Margie filled a saucer with water and placed it in one corner of the box. The small noisy balls of fluff hopped in a scrum over to the dish and pecked at the water.
Blake grinned. Weird that watching chickens, something he’d never given a thought to before, could create a little spurt of happiness. He laughed and didn’t even feel dumb about it. “They’re really cute.”
“Wait’ll they start to molt in a few days. They look so totally alien, half down and half feathers.”
“What about food?”
Margie sighed. “Yeah, I know. The chicken food is in the barn.”
“Oh.” Blake didn’t need to say it. Off-limits.
“Do you think starving chicks constitutes an emergency?” Margie’s blond brows were drawn down, like she was working out a difficult math problem. Or plotting how to avoid getting caught coming in after curfew.
“Well, we can’t let them go hungry.” Blake was okay being stuck inside overnight, especially since he’d given his word on it, and he could live forever and be happy never to get caught in another storm like the one that just tore through, but the chicks… “We didn’t figure them into our decision.”
“The tack room is up at the front of the barn. That part didn’t look damaged.”
Blake walked out onto the back porch. Other than the glow from the kitchen, there were no lights anywhere. The sky was completely black. No stars, no hazy cloud of reflected illumination hanging on the horizon. “Hey, Margie? Isn’t there supposed to be a light over the barn?”
Margie joined him. “Yeah. The line down there must be out.”
“We have the flashlight, right?”