Not Quite Enough (Not Quite series) (9 page)

“This is the waiting room.”

“Show me. And you,” she pointed a finger into his chest. “You’re coming with me.”

“But—”

She stopped his words with a hand in the air. Monica blinked a few times before she said, “A couple of hours. That way you can tell my help back at the main hospital exactly what we need.”

“A couple of hours?”

She held up two fingers.

“Two, tops.”

Tauni, the nurse with the sick patients, went from pleased to see Monica to pissed that she couldn’t leave the clinic immediately to sleep.

Monica tested every skill she owned in mass casualty incidents and rearranged patients according to severity. The immediate need patients were in the clinic’s red room. There was a generator running lights and the oxygen tanks were still full. For how long, Monica didn’t want to guess.

Tauni was a young nurse, much like Monica, but the entirety of her work was in the clinic. Her license was that of a vocational nurse back home. Shandee, the other nurse, returned to the clinic four hours after Monica had arrived. Though Shandee was happy for the help, she didn’t like Monica taking over.

“This is what I’m trained for,” Monica had said to her.

“This is where I work for twenty years.” Shandee was in her fifties; gray hair peppered the dark strands. “I’ve been a nurse longer than you’ve been alive.”

“Age does not dictate my abilities.”

Shandee’s eyes swept over Monica’s frame as if to say she could sit on her to keep her from taking over. “I know these people.”

Shandee had her there. Monica tried not to get any more defensive than she already was. She needed every hand, even a disgruntled nurse who would love it if Monica were anything but a young, petite blonde from the States.

Monica lowered her voice and took a deep breath and started over. “Look, Shandee, we need to make this work for the minimal people we have helping here. You need to take the red room, Tauni in the yellow room, Freya in the green room. Once we have the sickest inside the building we can manage this better.” Though Monica had her doubts. Two critical patients were already in the red room dropping their vitals. There wasn’t enough power to run the X-ray machine and there certainly wasn’t a CAT scan available. Not that there was a surgeon to operate if they knew the severity of the patient’s injuries.

“The red room?” Shandee glanced around and noticed several people watching them.

It was time to put on a smile and tell Shandee what she needed to hear. “I’m told you’re a gifted nurse. These people need your help. I’ll focus on triage.”

Shandee twisted on her heel and walked to the red room.

Monica blew out a frustrated breath.
It’s going to be a long-ass day.

Trent followed her around for the next couple of hours while she dime-store triaged as many patients as she could. After about fifteen patients, two teenage boys—Jerrick, who was Tauni’s brother, and Arcus, Shandee’s son—understood enough of the basics of triage to help.

“If they’re breathing too fast, find me. If their skin is pale below their injury, find me. If they’re not making any sense or are unconscious, take them to Shandee.”

Jerrick led a couple of his friends to help move patients around. Arcus moved in a different direction to look over the wounded opposite Monica and Trent.

Monica crawled up into the back of one of the trucks where a patient lay. She placed a hand on his shoulder and found it stiff and unmoving. One look confirmed what she already knew. “Damn,” she whispered to herself.

How long had this patient been out here? Was he alive when he arrived? Where was his family? Who owned the truck? She started to shiver despite the heat.

Trent was returning from inside the clinic when she jumped out of the back of the truck. “Inside, or out?” Trent asked.

Monica stiffened her spine. “He—he’s gone.”

Trent looked behind her, his half grin faded. “Oh.”

She brought a hand to her forehead and noticed it tremble.

“Are you OK?”

“Fine. We, ah… we need to find a place for him.” She swallowed. There were probably others. Maybe Shandee had already placed the dead in a certain spot… somewhere.

Monica clenched her fists, trying like hell to stop the shaking. Exhaustion nipped at the edges of her sanity. Now was not the time to lose it.

“Hey?” He placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “It’s OK. You can’t save everyone.”

His soothing voice and comforting hand would undo her if she let it. Monica pulled away. “I know that. He’s cold. Probably gone before we even got here.”

Trent stepped back as if stung.

Way to go, Ice Queen.
“I’m sorry. Listen, I know you’re trying to help me, but I can’t think about all this right now. I have to stay focused. OK? Do you get that?”

She needed his help, but didn’t want his compassion. Not yet anyway.

“Got it.”

“Good.” She nodded and realized a tear had fallen. She wiped it away, frustrated by its existence. “Maybe Shandee knows where they’re keeping the deceased.”

The hours lumbered by in the heat and misery. Using the protocols given to her, Monica started IVs on the sickest patients, and administered antibiotics in hopes that the minimum of infection-fighting medicine would help until Walt, Donald… or any doctor at all could come. The patients in the red room were simply too sick to send to the hospital. Monica knew they wouldn’t survive the trip on the Jamaican back roads.

Tauni had gone home to sleep and Trent was still roaming the clinic… somewhere. Trent opted to stay, and had the locals transfer the patients in trucks to the main hospital. All Monica had to do was wait for help. And pray their supplies held up.

Shortly after noon the next day two small miracles shed light in Monica’s world. Walt arrived in an ambulance, a real equipped medical transport, complete with a portable monitor and supplies. The second miracle was power. Real power, not the flaky kind that was knocked out with the wind. Monica would have been giddy if she’d managed anything other than a catnap beside the red room wall.

Like a zombie, she led Walt from patient to patient, explaining everything she’d done. “The antibiotics are dangerously low. We’ve managed a gram of Ancef on the worst of them, and a secondary dose on these four,” she said pointing to those in the room. “We ran out of tetanus last night. Our gauze, antibiotic cream, splints… everything is nearly gone. There’s not quite enough of anything to fill everyone’s needs.”

Walt shook his head and pulled her aside. “We need to get Mari to the main hospital.” Mari was a thirty-two-year-old woman who’d come in with a penetrating wound to her abdomen. Every hour her vital signs grew graver.

“I didn’t think she’d make the trip in the back of a truck.”

Walt patted her on the back, as if assuring her for her decisions. “She might not make it anyway. I can’t operate here. It’s worse than Donald thought. No one told him half the building crumbled.”

“Shandee assured me the only thing under the debris was a storage room.”

Monica hid a yawn behind her hand.

“When was the last time you slept?”

She was fading, and knew it. “It’s been a while.”

Walt tilted his head to the side in question.

“Back at the main hospital. But I’ve managed a few winks against the wall.”

“Is there any place you can go here? A quiet room?”

“Are you kidding me? The people are roaming the streets. Most have lost their homes. You saw it out there. If it wasn’t for Trent, I wouldn’t have managed even a shower since we arrived.”

“Who’s Trent?”

Monica glanced around the room searching for him. He’d left during the night for a few hours, and returned with coffee. Thank the heavens.

“The pilot. He’s around here somewhere.”

As if Trent heard his name being called, he emerged in the doorway.

Monica waved him over.

“Trent, do you remember Dr. Eddy?”

“Walt,” her colleague corrected her.

The men shook hands.

“Thanks for stepping in,” Walt said.

“There’s not a lot I can do.”

Walt glanced between them. “Can I ask a favor of you?”

“Sure.”

“Can you get Monica out of here for a while? She needs some sleep.”

She wanted to argue. She’d already put Trent out enough. The poor guy didn’t have much of a choice. As it was, Monica recruited any able-bodied person to some task or another. But Trent had something none of the rest of them did. He had a house that still stood… and a shower. “You don’t have to,” she offered but knew her lame voice gave away her desire for a little downtime.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I keep waiting for you to drop.”

Walt laughed. “Not our Monica. She’s the embodiment of the Energizer Bunny.” He nudged Monica with his shoulder. “Get out of here. I don’t want to see you for at least ten hours.”

Monica’s eyes grew wide. “But—”

“Another group of medical relief arrived. I’ll have Donald send more help.” He made shooing motions with his hands.

“If you’re sure.”

“Go.”

Monica caught Trent’s smile as they turned around.

“Oh, and Monica?”

“Yeah?”

“You did great.”

Chapter Seven

Trent shot out of bed, his heart racing, sweat dampened his sheets.

He didn’t remember his dream. He didn’t need to. His body recognized the uncomfortable burn of memories… lost dreams. It had been two years since a dream forced him from his bed.

Why now?

But he knew. A woman slept in his home, a beautiful, intelligent, and smart-ass woman who sparked memories.

With his sleep patterns completely screwed up, Trent pushed back the covers, encountered Ginger who had taken to the bed since the earthquake, and padded barefoot around his room. The moon shed some light inside the house, and kept him from running into walls. He slipped on a pair of sweatpants and walked quietly past his guest’s bedroom and out onto his back deck.

The warm Caribbean air was a welcome relief. Up here, on his perch that overlooked the ocean, he could forget the world literally crumbling around him. Here he could listen to the gentle waves far below and the crickets calling in the night.

Here he could forget.

Here he could heal.

Ginger walked in a circle at his feet and curled up in a ball before settling to sleep in a different spot.

Jamaica had been his sanctuary, a sabbatical that was no doubt coming to an end. It would take years for the island to regain its legs, for tourists to have a desire to return.

He could relocate Alex and Betty… if they wanted to leave. Blue Paradise Helicopter Tours could return when the island rebuilt.

Without work, without something occupying his mind, Trent would likely feel guilty and he’d avoided that pesky emotion for a long-ass time.

The past five days he’d felt plenty.

Has it only been five days?

Five long, grueling days that would all fold into themselves for some time to come if he stayed on the island.

Ginger whined at his feet and jumped up. The crickets grew quiet, and the night seemed to pause.

The earth rolled, a small shock that stopped nearly as soon as it began. Trent wondered if it woke his guest. Did Monica open her eyes and roll back over? Ginger was already curling back into a fuzzy ball to sleep.
Ah, to be a dog…