Chapter Twelve Among the Wreckage
Chapter twelve
Among the Wreckage
Reece drove his fists into the heavy bag, swinging it hard on its chains, rattling the reinforced beams overhead. Jab. Cross. Jab. Cross. Harder. Faster. His knuckles burned through the thin wraps, sweat pouring down his spine, his breathing harsh and uneven.
But nothing took the edge off.
Not the ache in his shoulders. Nor the sting in his fists.
And certainly not the memory of Trent turning away from him in that pub as if it had cost him everything to say nothing at all.
“Christ, Morgan! You trying to punch a hole through it?”
Reece ignored Ahmed’s voice echoing across the empty station gym.
Back on rotation. Back on shift. And outside, the storm was tearing through Worthbridge with the rain lashing the windows, thunder rolling deep over the cliffs, and the distant crash of waves like some forgotten battle roaring out of sight.
None of it touched the storm raging inside him, though.
He locked his focus on the bag and kept hitting.
Harder. Faster. Fists slamming through the ache, through the burn, through the relentless, useless knot sitting like lead in his chest.
He didn’t care that every muscle in his arms screamed for him to stop.
Because if he stopped, he’d have to feel it .
And he wasn’t ready for that.
Not yet.
“Oi!” Ahmed tossed a sweat towel at him. “At this rate, you’ll be on the casualty list before your next callout!”
But Reece couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t .
Because stopping meant thinking. And thinking meant remembering the way Trent had looked at him. As if he was the fire Trent couldn’t risk touching.
He threw another brutal cross, the bag swinging wildly, but the tones went off.
Control to Worthbridge Station. RTC, severe. Two adults, two children involved. Multiple entrapments. A-road junction by the South Ridge turnoff. Immediate response requested.
Reece moved before the last word left the Tannoy, adrenaline snapping his head clear, and the crew were out to the pump in under a minute, pulling on fire kits and clipping into their radios as Ahmed relayed the incoming details.
“Severe impact. Vehicle against barrier, significant intrusion into the passenger side. Police requesting cutting crews. Ambulance already en route.”
They hit the road fast, blue lights strobing through the late afternoon gloom, sirens howling as they tore towards the wreck.
Outside, the storm raged on, a relentless downpour hammering onto the windscreen, wipers struggling to keep up.
Forks of lightning split the dark sky above the coastal cliffs, thunder rolling hard enough to vibrate through the chassis of the pump.
The roads were slick, the surface a treacherous sheet of standing water mixed with oil and debris. One bad decision, one wrong turn in weather like this, and it was a death sentence.
Reece’s mind flipped into operational focus. Cold. Controlled.
Storm or not, they had a job to do.
And someone out there was already paying the price of the weather’s wrath.
The second they crested the hill towards South Ridge junction, Reece knew it was bad.
Blue lights flashed wildly through sheets of rain, slicking the road with harsh reflections.
The wreckage sat dead centre of the A-road, crumpled against a crash barrier.
A family saloon crushed near flat on the passenger side, the front end wrapped in twisted metal and the windscreen spider-webbed with fractures.
Glass glittered across the asphalt like fallen stars, and the harsh strobe of police vehicles cut through the chaos.
Ahmed’s voice came through his comms, sharp and clear despite the storm. “Morgan, you’re with me. Passenger side entrapment. Gowen, support extraction on the kids. Let’s move!”
Reece jumped from the cab, boots hitting the flooded tarmac with a splash, and grabbed the Holmatro hydraulic cutters. Rain poured off his helmet as he approached the vehicle.
One glance inside and his gut turned to ice .
The driver was unconscious, head slumped forward, chest barely rising. If at all. The mother sat semi-conscious, pinned awkwardly by the crushed passenger side, blood running in thin streams from a gash above her eyebrow.
But the worst of it, the part that hit like a sucker punch, were the two kids in the back.
Trapped.
Little faces streaked with tears and blood, their small legs pinned beneath the twisted remains of the door and seat frame.
Gowen moved fast, heading to the rear passenger side, already setting up the spreaders to force an opening, and Ahmed barked another order through the comms.
“Glass management first. Morgan, pop those windows. Clear entry!”
Reece smashed out the remaining side glass with his Halligan bar, sweeping it clean before he positioned the cutters against the folded passenger side door.
The blades bit into the metal with a sickening groan, tearing it free inch by inch.
Rain poured in through the open spaces, soaking everyone to the bone.
Then the ambulance screeched to a halt, tyres skidding on the rain-slick tarmac. Reece didn’t need to look. He knew that gate-crashing run anywhere.
Trent launched out of the passenger side, rain plastering his curls to his forehead as he sprinted towards the wreckage. He slammed his kitbag on the ground beside the driver’s door, then crouched low to assess.
“Driver’s unresponsive!” Trent called through the roar of rain and sirens, pressing his gloved fingers hard onto the man’s carotid. “No pulse. Prep for compressions!” He flicked his gaze to Reece. “I need him out of the seat!”
Reece nodded, moving on instinct. He unclipped the crushed seatbelt, hands moving fast to support the driver’s head and neck.
Gowen appeared at his side to assist, and together they manoeuvred the man free of the mangled seat.
It wasn’t textbook, couldn’t be, not with this level of intrusion, but every second mattered, and they laid the man flat on the cold, rain-drenched tarmac beside the wreck.
Trent was over him in an instant, on his knees, straddling the man’s thighs for proper leverage. His hands locked together, palms centred perfectly over the sternum. He started compressions. Exactly as protocol demanded.
“One, two, three, four…” Trent counted under his breath, shoulders and arms driving the rhythm. His back straight, he transferred his weight to achieve the depth needed with each compression despite the slippery surface.
Behind them, Trent’s crewmate moved around to the back of the vehicle, squeezing into the small opening Gowen had created. She crouched low, her calm voice soothing the children while she assessed their injuries and began basic triage.
“Got a possible fractured femur on the girl, superficial lacerations on the boy. Both pinned but conscious,” Liv called out. “Mother’s breathing shallow. Possible pneumothorax! Need to prep O2 and chest seals!”
Reece registered all of it, but his eyes kept dragging back to Trent.
Rain and blood streaked down Trent’s forearms, the lines blurring together over pale, trembling skin.
His face was tight with focus, jaw clenched so hard Reece swore he could hear his teeth grinding through the crash and chaos.
He counted out compressions in a low, broken voice, each word hitching harder as the seconds dragged on.
Reece knew exactly how this went. How fast CPR chewed you up and spat you out.
One minute felt like drowning. Two minutes? You hit the wall. Hard.
But Trent didn’t stop.
Didn’t even falter.
His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, arms shaking so badly his locked hands slipped over the man’s rain-slicked chest. His knees dug into the flooded road, soaked through and shivering, and still he kept going.
Reece hovered there, helpless, clenching his fists at his sides. He could see the exhaustion pulling Trent under, the way his body begged him to quit. And yet…
“Trent! Swap out! you’re done!” Reece barked, dangerously close to panic.
But Trent shook his head, chest heaving.
“No!” His voice cracked on the word. “Not done. N ot yet! ” His darted his gaze towards the wreckage, where the children’s cries still echoed faintly. “Come on, mate… not in front of your kids.”
Reece’s stomach twisted hard at that.
Trent’s shoulders shook violently with every compression, and he trembled from the strain, his soaked uniform clinging to him.
“ Trent! ” Liv’s voice snapped from somewhere behind, sharp and urgent. “ You’re at the limit! Swap out, now! ”
“I’ve got this!” Trent shouted back.
But even as Trent spat defiance, his arms shook. A harsh, uneven hitch in his rhythm that made Reece’s stomach lurch painfully. He couldn’t stand there and watch this. Couldn’t let Trent destroy himself trying to drag back a man already lost to them.
So he dropped to his knees on the rain-slicked tarmac, closing his fingers firmly around Trent’s wrists. “That’s it. You’re done. Let me take it from here. ”
“No—” Trent gasped, twisting, eyes wild and raw with fear and something that Reece could have mistaken for grief. But Trent didn’t know this man, this family, and while, yeah, this was horrible, it was also part of the job. Trent had to know that. This couldn’t be his first tragedy.
Reece had seen this before. The fight. The refusal to let go when every part of the body screamed for it to end. Without giving him a chance to resist further, Reece scrambled behind him, hooked his arms under Trent’s and physically hauled him back, locking him to his chest.
“You’ve done enough,” Reece whispered against the side of his head, holding him tight to his chest as Trent sagged into him, his body wracked with silent sobs, the fight draining out of him second by painful second.
Ahmed rushed in from the side, taking over compressions, while Reece kept his arms locked around Trent’s trembling frame as the rain fell harder, cold and unrelenting.