Emergency Echo (4 page)

Tom Gleeson lay on the couch moaning. His face was red and sweaty but he shivered as if he were cold. He clutched at his stomach and watched as his dad spoke on the two-way radio that was set up in the corner of the lounge room.

Outside, the wind howled and the rain beat down on the tin roof. The storm sounded
furious, as if it were attacking their farmhouse. It was late afternoon, but the view through the window looked like a grim evening.

‘I reckon it's his appendix,' said Mr Gleeson. ‘Over.'

‘Given the symptoms … likely …' The crackly voice broke through the hissing static in little bursts. ‘You've described … he's in severe pain … his appendix might have ruptured …'

‘That's bad, isn't it?' Mr Gleeson was a large man, tall and broad, with a leathery sun-weathered face and a deep gravelly voice. He was the sort of outback man who was never rattled by anything, capable of dealing with whatever the harsh land threw at him. But, right now, his voice rose a little. ‘What do I do? Over.'

‘Needs to go to hospital … operation …' came the broken response. ‘Can't fly in this weather … need to wait until the storm is over …' The voice disappeared completely for a few seconds, then returned. ‘For the time being, try to keep the boy comfortable. If you've got any painkillers, you can give him some … cold compress for the fever … lying down … radio again when we can send a plane …' And then there was static.

‘Hello,' said Mr Gleeson. ‘Hello! Flying Doctor Service! Can you hear me? Over.'

Static.

‘Gleeson Farm to Royal Flying Doctor Service. Can you hear me? Over.'

Static.

Mr Gleeson put down the microphone and turned to his son. Tom saw his own fear reflected in his father's eyes.

‘You heard what the man said.' Mr Gleeson nodded to the radio, making an effort to keep his voice sounding normal. ‘Lie down and take it easy. And they'll send a plane as soon as the storm breaks. I'm gonna see if I can find your mum's headache tablets. They said you could have some.'

Tom waited with mounting fear as his dad went to rummage in the bathroom cabinet. From his position on the couch he heard things being dropped and his dad swearing.

Tom wished that his mum was there with him. He missed her. He knew there would be nothing she could really do to make things better, but he wanted her there anyway.

Before long, Mr Gleeson returned with a couple of tablets and a glass of water. Tom choked them down.

And then came the worst part of the whole experience – waiting!

He lay on the couch, shifting from one position to another. It hurt to move, but he just couldn't get comfortable. The medicine his dad had given him didn't seem to do anything. And, as the afternoon wore on, the pain in his stomach seemed to get worse. It was all he could focus on.

Mr Gleeson paced the length of the lounge room, stopping every now and then to gaze out the window. The intensity of his stare as he looked at the storm made Tom think he was trying to will the weather to improve.

Tom drifted in and out of a fevered sleep, his mother's face floating through his dreams.

Eventually the rain lessened and the wind eased. And then the radio burst into life.

‘Royal Flying Doctor Service base to Gleeson Farm. Royal Flying Doctor Service base to Gleeson Farm. Come in, please. Over.'

Mr Gleeson leapt across the room and grabbed the radio mic. Tom tried to sit up but slumped back down, clutching his stomach and groaning.

‘This is Gleeson Farm, reading you loud and clear. Over.' The relief in his dad's voice was obvious.

‘The storm has cleared up our way,' said the man on the radio. ‘Should be clearing down your way by now, as well. We've got a plane fuelled up and about to take off. We've checked out the maps. Given how
isolated you are and the seriousness of the situation, we're hoping to land on the stretch of road coming in to your farm. Is that doable? Over.'

‘Yeah, I reckon so,' answered Mr Gleeson. ‘It's a good long road. Over.'

‘We need you to go and check on the condition of it after the storm. To make sure it's safe. We're going to assume it's all okay, but if it isn't, you'll have to let us know. If there are any problems with the road, we'll try radioing your neighbouring farms to see if there's a better option. But that will add time. And it would be better for the patient if we could come straight to you. Over.'

‘Will do,' answered Mr Gleeson. ‘Over and out.'

Tom watched as his dad got his hat, boots and coat and headed for the door. Tom thought he looked like a proper bushman in that outfit.

It wasn't until he was nearly out of the house, that he stopped and looked back. Tom wondered if his dad had almost forgotten him.

Tom's mum and older sister were in Perth visiting relatives. Tom was supposed to have been going with them, but the idea of spending his school holidays with his aunt and uncle and their six-month-old daughter had seemed to him like a horrifying idea. So he'd begged and pestered and complained until his parents had finally agreed to let him stay on the farm with his dad. The condition was that he had to help out around the farm, which is what he had been doing.
In fact, he'd been feeding the chooks when his stomach pains first began.

‘I think I'd better take ya with me,' his dad said.

Mr Gleeson got an extra blanket and wrapped Tom up in it before carrying him to the ute. Tom bit the side of this tongue in an effort not to cry out. His stomach hurt so much while he was being shifted.

It was still quite dark outside, ominous clouds shifting above, but the rain had eased to a light drizzle. Tom looked up to face the sky, the drops of water cool and pleasant on his hot face.

The ute rattled about as his dad drove across their property towards the main entry road. Tom couldn't help it – he cried out each time they went over a bump. His
dad kept apologising as he drove, but the tracks were not in great condition and tears continued to stream down Tom's face. He was a whimpering, exhausted mess by the time they approached the road.

‘BLAST!' his dad spat the word out like a bad taste.

‘What's wrong?' moaned Tom, wondering how things could possibly get any worse than they already were.

‘That damn tree's come down across the road,' complained Mr Gleeson. ‘The one I've been meaning to get rid off since we got this place.'

‘So … the plane … can't land?' Tom's voice was a shaky little whisper.

‘Don't you worry, son,' his dad assured him. ‘Got the chainsaw under the tarp.'

Tom bit his lip as the ute jolted to a stop. He had done enough blubbering, he decided. He needed to be strong. His dad had enough to deal with.

Tom watched through the window as his dad fetched the old, rusty chainsaw from the back of the ute. He watched him struggle to get the thing started, repeatedly pulling at the starter cord. He watched him as he got to work on the tree, branch by branch, piece by piece.

Tom pressed his cheek against the cool glass. The water drops trickling down the window made everything blurry. But his mind was also foggy. It was hard to concentrate on … anything. The only constant was the pain in his stomach. But even that didn't stop him from falling asleep.

He opened his eyes what seemed like only moments later to see his dad dragging the last of the tree off the road.
That was quick
, he thought, and closed his eyes again.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzz.

There was a buzzing sound in his head. Loud. Like a giant insect.

He opened his eyes. A plane was on the road. It was small and squat, and had a grey metal nose and undercarriage with white on top. It had three propellers, one on the nose and one on each wing.
How did that get there?
he wondered at the plane.

Tom stared at the man coming out of the plane, jogging towards him with a bag in his hand. He was fuzzy. Out of focus.

Darkness closed in on Tom.

‘But everything … everything …' Alice was finding it a little difficult to get her mouth forming words properly. The pain had eased but she was feeling quite muzzy, like someone had put cottonwool in her ears and a layer of gauze over her eyes. She concentrated and tried again. ‘Everything turned out okay in the end?'

‘Well, I'm here, aren't I?' Grandad chuckled nervously, glancing at the window.

Alice grinned at him. ‘You got through that flight. You'll …' She paused again to focus. ‘You'll probably get through this one.'

‘Hmmm.' Grandad scratched at his chin. ‘Probably.'

‘That would have been a De Havilland plane,' chimed in Doctor Helen. ‘The RFDS mainly used to rent them before starting to put together a fleet in the 1960s.'

‘I wouldn't know,' said Grandad. ‘Planes aren't really my thing.'

‘Well, it was a thrilling story,' continued Doctor Helen. ‘Quite a coincidence, isn't it? The two of you both having appendix problems during a storm.'

‘Just at opposite ends,' added Grandad.
‘My storm was before the flight. This one is during.'

I don't care about the storm
, thought Alice.
It's my appendix I'm worried about.

Ever since Doctor Helen said that her appendix had probably ruptured, she could think of little else. Sure, Grandad's story was exciting and had distracted her for a bit, but it had been about a burst appendix. She couldn't get the words out of her mind.
Burst. Ruptured.
She kept imagining a little pink fleshy organ inside her body exploding. A splatter of blood and a surge of pus flooding through her innards.
Gross!
She couldn't imagine anything worse.

The plane suddenly lurched. A cry of surprise and pain escaped from Alice's lips.

Maybe there is something worse,
Alice thought.
The plane going down.

‘Brace yourselves,' the pilot's voice came through the speakers. ‘We're heading into the storm.'

Not crashing
, thought Alice, with some relief.
Yet.

The plane shook and lurched again.

BOOM!

The thunder crackled around them. Alice clung to the stretcher, her knuckles going white with the strength of her grip. Not that she could fall off, as she was securely strapped down. The bag of liquid for the IV drip, attached to the ceiling of the cabin above her, swung from side to side like a pendulum. She hoped that it wouldn't fall.

Alice looked over at Grandad. His face was ashen.

‘We'll be starting our descent soon,' Pat
assured, his voice calm and measured, as though he'd flown through storms worse than this many a time. ‘So you won't have to put up with the rollercoaster for too long.'

The plane dipped suddenly.

Alice made retching sounds as she tried not to be sick. She was alert now – alert and scared.

Nurse Cameron unbuckled his belt and handed her an air-sickness bag. The plane dropped and he fell over into Grandad's lap. Apologising, he hoisted himself up and into his own seat, quickly buckling up again as the plane steadied.

Pain ripped through her again and Alice groaned.

‘Sorry about that,' came Pat's voice.

Alice clung to the bag, holding it up near her
mouth and taking deep breaths as she fought the nausea.
What a horrid circumstance to be in
, she thought. As if the pain and bursting appendix weren't enough, she was also worried about the plane surviving the storm.

Alice looked over the top of the bag to the windows on the opposite side of the cabin. She couldn't see anything through the wet glass. It was all just murky grey nothingness as they flew through the clouds. Water hit the windows in a constant barrage of large drops.
It's like someone has a hose pointed at each of the windows
, thought Alice. Then there was a flash of lightning, followed shortly by the booming of more thunder. She shifted her gaze and looked into Grandad's eyes.

‘I'm scared,' she whimpered.

‘I know you are, honey.' He was trying
to sound reassuring, but Alice saw how his hands still gripped the sides of his seat. He was probably more scared than she was. ‘We're almost at the landing. You hang in there, brave heart.'

‘Alice!' Doctor Helen's voice cut through the sound of the engine and the storm. ‘Your grandad isn't the only one here with a story.'

Alice lowered the sick-bag and listened.

‘My grandfather,' she said with a little smile. ‘Oh, yes. He was a pilot. He worked for the Aerial Medical Service in the 1930s, which is what eventually became the Royal Flying Doctor Service. And it's because of him that I'm now a doctor with the RFDS.'

The shaking of the plane faded into the background as Alice listened, the story transporting her.