Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Holly was a terrible person.
While Luke drove as fast as he could despite the rain, toward the destruction they’d heard a few minutes ago, all she could think of was the kiss.
Luke tried his phone again, but there was no cell signal. “I hope whatever we find isn’t as bad as it sounded.”
She did too. Car accidents and gang violence were two reasons why she’d switched from emergency medicine to obstetrics and gynecology.
Both disciplines had blood and trauma, but in her job there was always the hope of a better future.
“Luke, when we get there, if they need a doctor I’ll need my trauma kit. It’s in my pink suitcase.”
He nodded. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. He just kept his gaze on the road and the truck at a steady speed as it sped around the mountain turns. It was obvious from the confidence with which he gripped the wheel that he’d spent a lot of time driving around these mountains.
Luke glanced at her with an apologetic gaze. “I wish we had some towels or blankets to dry you off with.”
“I’m okay.” Not really. She was wet, soggy, and chilled.
But when she touched her lips, reliving the moment his lips had touched hers, the feeling of his hands on her waist, she warmed up.
She was a grown woman who’d been kissed before, but there was something in Luke’s kiss that touched a part of her heart she’d thought was gone forever.
Despite his gentleness, she’d recognized the powerful passion he’d kept under control.
An act she appreciated. It was as if he knew she was more fragile emotionally than she looked. As if he could see the scars cut into her heart that still needed time to heal.
Luke turned up the heat, and the rain eased into a misty drizzle.
When he lowered the window, the thick, humid air smelled like wet stone and rubber tires.
“We might not even be going in the right direction. The way sound echoes in the mountains, it’s possible the accident—or whatever we heard—is behind us. ”
“We can only do our best.” She shivered, more from the memory of their intimacy than the wind. Even though her wet jeans stuck uncomfortably to her legs, and her T-shirt probably left her too exposed, the adrenaline rush from hearing an accident kept her heart racing.
“Is that something you learned in medical school?” Luke asked.
“Yes. One of the ER doctors used to tell us that when we were students. It wasn’t comforting, but it helped us manage our emotions when we knew we couldn’t save someone.”
After two more switchbacks, the twisted wreckage came into view like something from a war zone.
A semi-truck jackknifed across the shoulder, hazard lights blinking, front end smoking.
Three motorcycles scattered across the road, with one pinned beneath the truck’s cab.
Shattered metal, torn leather, a skid mark of something dark stained the pavement.
Luke drove the truck onto the shoulder and parked.
“No EMTs yet.” Holly was already unbuckling.
He jumped out and pulled her heavy pink suitcase from behind the drivers’ seat and laid it on the ground, in front of the truck.
By the time he dropped it on the wet pavement, she had the zipper undone. Clothes and toiletries ended up on the side of the road until she pulled out a sleek, black trauma kit, heavy-duty and fully packed.
“Wow.” Luke took her arm and helped her up. “Is that a portable ER?”
“A basic one.” She touched his arm and pointed to the truck where flames were now coming out of the cab. “The driver is still inside.”
Luke ran over to the truck, shouting about an extinguisher to the driver who half-heartedly waved from the cab’s window, probably because he was wounded and in shock.
The rain had settled into a slow drizzle that made the road slick and the hair that had fallen out of her messy bun stick to her cheeks.
She brushed the strands away and ran toward the broken men strewn around the road. There was no sign of emergency vehicles. That meant she might be the only help these men would have until they notify someone about the accident.
The hiss of steam, the crackle of flames, and the stench of smoke mixed with diesel and blood forced her to pull her wet T-shirt up over her mouth so she could breathe.
The truck’s undercarriage had ruptured, and a slick puddle of fuel was spreading into the shoulder’s gravel.
Her heart nearly stopped until she remembered Luke was a firefighter.
He could handle this. Meanwhile she focused on her patients.
She dropped to her knees beside the first body and removed her T-shirt from her mouth.
His arm was bloody, and he was unconscious.
His blonde hair, straggly beard, and black leather cut ID’d him as one of the bikers she’d seen earlier that day.
That meant the other victims were probably from the same group that’d been at the convenience store.
She opened her trauma kit and snapped on gloves, tore open gauze, and started triage. Airway clear. Bleeding from a wound on the back of his neck. Spine straight. No helmet. Swelling on the temple. His crushed helmet lay feet away, probably blown off his head upon impact.
It didn’t take long to get him settled enough so she could move on.
Somewhere behind her, the truck gave a hiss and a pop, and then Luke barked something she couldn't make out. A whoosh of foam and the acrid stink of chemical suppressant followed.
She forced herself not to look. Her job was to focus on one patient at a time.
The second biker lay four feet away, on the shoulder.
Half of his massive body hung over the edge of the road, with a deep ravine below.
She didn’t want to move him yet, but she didn’t like his precarious situation.
He was conscious but disoriented, and if he tried to roll over, he could end up falling off the mountain.
“Shh.” She touched his forehead, bringing his focus back to her.
“I’m here to make sure you’re okay.” He had a broken femur and a terrible forehead gash that began beneath his helmet.
Her job right now was to stop the bleeding and keep him calm so she could stabilize the situation and get to the next victim.
“I’m going to take care of you, but you have to promise not to move, even if you’re in pain.
If you do, you might fall off the cliff. And we don’t want that.”
His pupils were dilated, and he kept waving one hand. Still, some of her directions must’ve broken through the fog of pain because he nodded.
She gently turned his head to straighten his spine and so he could see the valley—to focus on something beautiful—while she adjusted the leg as best she could, using her scarf and a splint from the kit.
He screamed from the pain and sank into unconsciousness.
“You’re okay,” she said, more for herself than for him. “Help is coming.”
Is it?
She glanced back. Luke was in the cab of the truck now, a radio pressed to his ear, one hand braced on the doorframe.
The truck driver sat on the grassy slope on the other side of Luke’s white pickup.
Blood covered his face, and from the way he kept shaking his head, he appeared dazed.
At least there was no compound fracture or gut wounds.
Luke caught her eye and gave a sharp nod.
Help was coming. Hopefully soon. Now she prayed the drizzle would stop. She, along with everyone else, was now soaked.
A loud sound rocketed around the mountain, and the ground shook. It stopped just as suddenly as it began.
Luke, who was still on his phone, was looking toward the west, as if he could see around the steep corner, and the rest of the road leading to Milltown. Then he shook his head.
Whatever had just happened, she didn’t have time to worry about it.
She hurried to the next biker who’d crawled out from beneath his motorcycle, making his broken ankle worse.
Like the last biker, she spoke softly, set his ankle, and shifted him into a more comfortable position despite his dislocated shoulder.
She could fix that too, but it wasn’t an emergency.
Since he was an enormous man, she’d rather adjust his shoulder in a hospital setting.
She draped one of her two emergency aluminum blankets over him, hoping that would stop him from shivering.
Finally, she knelt next to the truck driver.
He had a deep gash along his scalp, but the bleeding had slowed and he was more coherent.
She kept pressure on the head wound while talking low and steady, asking about allergies, pain levels, the last thing he remembered.
His voice was slurred. She made a mental note about a possible concussion and wrapped her last emergency aluminum blanket around his shoulders.
“There’s another one,” the trucker said between coughs. “Beneath the truck.”
She turned to see Luke still on the radio. His back was to her, and he was pacing. But she didn’t see any other victims or bikes.
“Help him,” the truck driver said. “He’s hurt.”
Once the truck driver was stabilized, she hurried over to the tractor trailer.
A long line of diesel fuel was coming from someplace beneath the truck and spilling over the cliff.
Luke was still on the radio, and she didn’t see anything on the side of the truck that faced the road.
Because the semi had jack-knifed, the back corner of the container was pressed against a guard rail that was so bent, it didn’t look like it could hold for much longer.
With small, careful steps, she maneuvered over the fuel spill and worked her way along the narrow shoulder to the other side of the trailer. A mangled bike was stuck beneath the truck, with its front tire reaching over the edge, as if seeking freedom.
“Luke!” She stepped over bits of metal and plastic and other debris until she knelt next to the bike. “Luke!”
Luke face appeared around the cab’s corner. “Holly? What are you doing—”
“I need help. There’s someone under here.
” She got onto her stomach and reached beneath the truck to find the man’s wrist. From what little she could see, he had a compound fracture and his chest wasn’t rising evenly.
His body was crumpled beneath the truck’s metal underpinnings, and he had to have internal injuries.
“His pulse is slow. We have to get him out of here. I need to get a tourniquet on his leg before he bleeds out.”
“I radioed for help. Police and EMTs are on their way.” Luke lay next to her and peered in, but he rolled away a minute later. “We need heavy equipment to get him out of there.”
“Check on the others. I’ll stay here.” She didn’t want to release the man’s wrist, afraid that if she let go, he’d take that as permission to slip away.
Minutes passed. Her hands ached, she was soaked and shivering from lying on the wet pavement, and her lungs burned from diesel fuel fumes.
Her breaths came out in short, controlled bursts like it had during her ER rotations, like it had in Boston after that building collapsed, like it had every time her life depended on staying very, very calm.
She shifted her head to ease the pain in her neck and noticed the underside of the motorcycle.
The bike was less than a foot away, and even with the cloudy day, she saw a map, wrapped in clear plastic, taped beneath the seat.
The map was folded, but red stars were visible, marking the towns of Kingsmill, Milltown, Wytheville, Gladesburg, and Berrytown.
Time passed and while she kept her fingers around the wrist of the injured man beneath the truck, she focused on the map.
Not because it was interesting, or because she knew where those towns were, but because it kept her focused.
It helped ease her anxiety driven by a lack of control over this whole situation.
Then, like a sound from another world, a chopper’s blade beat overhead, above the trees.
She dropped her forehead to the pavement and released a deep, relieved breath. Bits of gravel dug into skin, and her legs tingled with pins and needles, but still she hung on to the man’s wrist.
Luke was suddenly beside her, his arm bracing her elbow. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “You?”
He nodded once. “Airlift is looking for someplace to land. We have help coming from both directions, the east and the west. They’ll bring ambulances as far as they can.”
She started to ask how far away the ambulances were when the sound of boots crunching gravel turned her head.
A pair of black books stopped near the crumpled bike, and then a man knelt down low enough so she could see his face.
His features, so much like Luke’s, held a relaxed kind of authority.
He had square shoulders, brown eyes, and a familiar jawline.
Luke went still beside her. “Ben?” he asked, voice tight.
“Hey, little brother.” Ben’s smile seemed stressed, and he kept his gaze on her arm stuck beneath the truck. “There’s a landslide about a quarter mile up the mountain, between us and Milltown. We had to walk in because the road’s blocked.”
That must have been the loud roar they’d heard earlier.
“What about the helicopter?” Luke asked.
“The airlift can’t find a safe place to land.”
That was about the worst news possible. “Where is the nearest level one trauma center?” Holly asked.
“Charlottesville. But in this weather, with multiple landslides in the mountains, it’s at least four hours away.” Ben stood so she could no longer see her face. “Luke, I called for ambulances from the eastern towns, but it will be at least two hours before they can get here.”
“We don’t have that long,” Luke said. “And we need a wrecker to free the man beneath the truck.”
Suddenly, red and blue lights shone around her.
“The State Police are here,” Ben said. “I’ll be right back.”
“Luke? Can we put these men into the State Police cars and drive them to the nearest hospital?”
“The State Police came from the east. But the closest hospital is in Milltown. In the other direction. On the other side of the landslide.” He muttered a curse beneath his breath. “I think the helicopter is leaving.”
Sure enough, the sound of whizzing blades was getting softer and softer.
Holly wiped her cheek on her shoulder. “Can we carry these men out over the landside and use Ben’s vehicle to get them to the Milltown hospital?”
“Let me talk to Ben and the other officers.” Luke touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but I believe this man beneath the truck is dying.”