Authors: Shawn Grady
Tomorrow We Die (22 page)
My world became a long narrow tunnel.
Naomi at one end and I fifty yards from her at the other.
I ran to the water’s edge, stripped off my shoes, and tossed them behind. I hurtled forward until the water came up and around me. My feet escaped the lake floor.
The frigid cold stung through my clothing. I paddled freestyle with my head above the surface, kicking with the sagging weight of my pants. My lungs burned. I swallowed and hacked on a mouthful of water. I shifted to a breaststroke, not taking my eyes off her.
She floated at the surface, limp like a rag doll. I was sure she would sink, her body submerging to depths beyond my reach.
A strong wind beat against me. The water grew choppy and white-capped. AprisEvac hovered low by Naomi. Water pellets stung my eyes. I locked on to her white aviator helmet. Like a bobbing orb, it seemed to keep her afloat.
I swam but felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere. Another flight nurse stood in the other open door of the helicopter, one foot on the skid, reaching out a hand. AprisEvac wasn’t equipped with any pulleys or rescue gear. The pilot was taking a huge risk in hovering as close to water as he was.
The beating waves hampered my progress. “Pull up!” My voice blew behind me. “Pull up!”
I ducked underwater. Dropping beneath proved effective for pulling forward. In short order I’d halved the distance between us.
At twenty feet away the water smoothed and tightened. I kept to the surface now and pushed through the fire in my lungs, ignoring the oxygen-starved lightness in my head. I made eye contact with the flight nurse. She turned to the pilot, pointed, and brought both feet onto the landing skid. She crouched downward, holding onto the doorframe behind her, though her seat harness was still intact.
Another yard to Naomi.
Her eyes were shut, unfazed by the water lapping at her face.
I reached her and wrapped my arm over her shoulder. The fabric of her flight suit felt tight and coarse under my fingertips. I didn’t feel any movement in her chest. I placed a thumb on her cheekbone and fingers behind her jaw to lift and open her airway. I rested my ear by her lips, and for a few seconds the coldness of the lake dissipated, the roaring of the helicopter faded.
I didn’t breathe.
And then, like steam from a teacup, I felt a long, warm breath.
I leaned back, tilted up her torso. The helicopter inched closer, the pilot performing a maneuver that could kill us all with the slightest error.
The landing skid neared.
Five feet.
Two.
I reached for the tubular steel. My fingers, numb and cramping, caught it and then slipped off. We lost buoyancy and dunked below. I kicked to surface and gasped.
I stretched out my hand again. I kicked, straining with everything in me.
My palm met metal.
A hand grasped my wrist and the helicopter lifted. My chest cleared the surface, the wind biting through my shirt. I propped Naomi higher with my legs. The flight nurse reached for her arm. But Naomi got heavier, as if the lake had anchored her.
She slipped downward. I let go of the skid, and we plunged to the water.
I brought my arms around Naomi’s torso and leaned back. The helicopter lowered farther, to inches above the lake.
With the skid behind me, I shouted, “You get me. I’ll get her.”
The nurse let go of the doorframe and locked her hands around my chest like a railroad coupling, her full faith resting in that five-point harness.
With her as an anchor, I worked one foot up on the skid and shifted an arm under Naomi’s legs. The helicopter lifted and tilted, giving me leverage. Gravity shifted us toward the cabin as we arced upward. The rotors overhead cut the air with blurring speed. I swung Naomi’s legs over my shoulder and toward the inside, her body bent at the waist. I pushed backward on her shoulders, supporting her chest, and slid her body over the flight nurse and inside the cabin.
The nurse stood from her squat, her hands like a vise around my chest until I grabbed the edge of the cot and the doorframe and scampered inside, rolling over Naomi, who lay crumpled on the floor.
The flight nurse climbed in and the roaring engine and beating air dampened as she slid the door shut and slammed down the latch.
Naomi coughed and hacked and spewed water on the floor.
The nurse grabbed her shoulder. “Keep her on her side.” I made out her name from her flight suit –
Echo
. Gray hair tufted out from her helmet. “Disconnect the helmet strap.”
I knelt beside Naomi and supported her head and neck, detaching the clasp at her chin. Echo slid off the helmet.
Naomi blinked, her face flushed, and eyebrows angled.
“Hey.” I looked into her eyes. “It’s me. We’ve got you.”
“Where are – ” She coughed. “We’re in the helicopter?”
I nodded.
“How?” She winced, bringing a hand to her flank. “I think I cracked some ribs.” Naomi coughed again, her face contorting with the pain. “What happened?”
Echo brushed Naomi’s hair strands from her face. “What do you last remember?”
Naomi’s expression switched to fear. “I . . . I fell.”
“It’s okay.” I took her hand. “You’re all right now.”
“But, how?”
Echo shook her head. “Your seat harness tore.”
“That can’t happen.”
“I know. I know, dear. But it did.”
Tears shed to her hair. “How far?”
I glanced at Echo. “At least fifty feet.”
She nodded. “Maybe sixty. Besides your ribs, where else do you hurt?”
Naomi’s eyes flicked. “My ankle.” She tried to move it and grimaced. “It might be broken.”
Echo slid her hand behind Naomi’s neck. “Any pain here?”
Naomi swallowed. “No.”
“You’re sure?”
She looked away. “Yes.”
I glanced out the window. We hovered high above the bay. “That hiker is still trapped.”
Echo looked at me. “How bad is he?”
“Impaled leg. Pale and shocky. Can you take both?”
She positioned the helmet microphone by her mouth. “We’re okay to touch down for the original patient.” She stared at the floor and nodded. Her eyes returned to me. “The pilot wants to know if you have an estimated weight for him.”
I gritted my teeth. “He’s big.”
Echo spoke something into her microphone. The helicopter banked and descended. I held the side of a seat for balance.
We leveled, and Naomi tried to sit up. I moved behind her to help.
Echo took her arms. “Easy now. Watch her side.”
Naomi sat up, shivering, her hand in mine, with fingers white and purple.
I looked at my own, pale and trembling. “Where do you keep your extra wool blankets?”
“Outside compartment.” Echo reached back to the cot. “But we have this one.” She unfolded it and wrapped it around Naomi’s shoulders.
The pilot descended toward the flare-marked landing zone. The skids soon rocked and settled on the ground. Echo slid the door open.
I climbed over the gurney and shouted by her helmet. “Stay with Naomi. I need to cut the rod he is impaled on and stabilize it.”
“How’re you going to get him back here?”
“You and me, the pilot, and the hiker’s friend will all need to carry him out on the cot.”
“How far?”
“Couple hundred yards, maybe.”
Echo reached behind her seat and brought out a handheld radio. “Take this and our trauma bag. Let me know when you’re ready to meet up.”
“Okay.” I dropped to the ground and hunched as I strode toward the tree line. I found the shoes I’d thrown off before I swam out for Naomi and pulled them on. My wet clothes pressed to my body. The gusts from the helicopter blades intensified the biting cold.
The engines whined down as I entered the forest. I made a beeline to Eli’s shed. Two barn-style doors stood unlocked at its entrance. I pushed up an iron lever and pulled one side open. It was dank and smelled like sawdust and oil. A pegboard behind a painted workbench held an array of tools. A wood-handled hacksaw hung on the end. I snatched it and broke into a jog up the road, alternating hands with the tool so I could warm my fingers in a fist. I slowed to a stop at the spike trench and blew hot air into my hands.
The female hiker was red-faced and anxious. “Where’ve you been?”
I ignored her and went straight to James, who was nodding off. A quick pulse check confirmed my fears. I couldn’t feel anything at his wrist and only a faint tapping at his neck. His blood pressure was tanking.
“James, I need to cut this bar off beneath your leg.”
He grunted, eyelids hanging low.
“James?”
We didn’t have long. I dropped the hacksaw and unzipped the helicopter medical bag. Inside I found a one-liter IV fluid bag and spiked it with tubing. I started a large bore IV in James’s arm and ran the saline wide open.
“Here.” I handed the bag to the female hiker. “Hold this up and squeeze it.” I wound bandage dressings in an X pattern around James’s leg with extra rolls beside the spike to stabilize it once I cut it free.
I gripped the spike under his calf and set the hacksaw to work.
The metal stripped loose in shavings. “Is he your boyfriend?”
“Husband.”
I nodded. “How much would you say he weighs?”
“Does it matter?”
My forearm burned. “Yes. For the helicopter.”
“Is he too heavy? After all this are they not going to take him?”
“How heavy?”
She stared at James. “I think he’s around two-eighty.”
Seventy pounds per person if we four-pointed the cot. It was going to be a painful walk back to the helicopter.
James began to slump his head forward. I enlisted his wife to support it and make sure he kept breathing.
Five minutes later I had the spike ready to sheer. I radioed for Echo and the pilot and made the final cut.
My fingers felt like they were going to fall off by the time we cleared the tree line. James’s wife proved to be a good hand, as demanding of herself to carry her own corner as she had been toward me since I first came upon them. We’d stopped five times en route and now, with the bird in clear view, pressed on to our goal.
Naomi lay on the opposite end of the crew cabin, propped by the seat with the cut harness. We leveraged James up onto the lazy Susan–mounted cot, and Echo maneuvered him into the helicopter and locked it in place. She climbed into her seat, and the wife stepped up on the skid.
Echo put out a hand. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to take you.”
The engines screamed to life, followed by a deep rocket-engine roar. The rotors began a slow turn.
“Where are you taking him?”
“Washoe County Hospital in Reno.”
The woman squeezed her husband’s hand. “I’ll be there soon, baby. I’ll be there soon.” She stepped down.
Echo grabbed the door handle. “Drive safe. Don’t rush. We’ll take good care of him.”
She slid the door shut. The rotors became a translucent disc. The
chop-chop
sound of the blades increased. I led James’s wife back to the tree line. She walked sideways, forearm by her face, watching. We found shelter in the trees and watched the bird lift about fifty feet off the ground – and then stutter and hover in midair.
Something wasn’t right.
The helicopter jostled, then began a shaky descent toward the landing zone. Dirt and sand flew and it touched down. I told the wife to stay behind a tree and fought my way through the dust storm back to the helicopter. I glanced at the pilot, making sure I had the okay to approach. He gave a thumbs-up.
Echo opened her door and shouted, “We’re too heavy. We’ll need to take Naomi in and come back for James.”
Naomi rose, shaking her head. “No. He’s critical. Take him.”
“Absolutely not. I’m not going to leave you here when you could have internal injuries.”
Naomi’s eyebrows tented. “This patient is bleeding out. I’ll have Jonathan here.”
Echo pushed her lips together. “Okay.” She handed the spare trauma bag back to me. “She’s your patient. We’ll do a hot off-load at County and come back for her. Thirty minutes, tops.”
“All right. I’ve got her.” I walked around the nose of the helicopter and met up with Naomi, who already had her door open.
She held a hand around her belly and the other on the heavy blanket over her shoulders. She draped one foot toward the skid.
I extended my arms. “Here. I’ll carry you.”
She leaned toward me. I lifted, and she shrieked.
“You okay?”
Her eyes shut. “Just get me to where I can lie down.”
I kept my head bowed, tromping with heavy legs away from the bird. Pellets sprayed my neck. James’s wife came out from the trees and lent help carrying Naomi.
We set her down behind a thick tree, the helicopter blaring and rising over the bay behind us. Tear lines streaked her cheeks.
I rested my hands on my knees, breathing hard.
“What happened,” the wife said.
“Too heavy. They’ll be back for her.”
I crouched next to Naomi. Her face tightened in pain. Her lips were a shade of purple, jaw shaking with the cold. The pulse at her wrist felt strong and regular, but rapid. Her breathing was labored.
James’s wife stared up the hill. “My car . . .”
“Is that your Prius at the main road?” I said.
“Yes.”
“It’s a long drive. Be careful.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
I glanced at Naomi, her eyes shut and her teeth gritted. I shook my head. “The helicopter will be back before we’d even reach the hilltop. You go.”
“Okay.” She started, then turned. “Thank you.”
I nodded, and she took off up the hill.
The last noise of the helicopter faded. I pulled the stethoscope from the trauma pack and listened to Naomi’s lungs. Clear, but diminished bilaterally with her shallow breaths. Difficult to tell if she had a punctured lung. Her respiratory difficulty could have been stemming from the pain of the fractured ribs alone.
“Here.” I hooked up an oxygen mask and strapped it on her face.
The sounds of the forest returned – the sway of pine needles in the breeze, the intermittent skitter of squirrels. The knocking of a woodpecker drummed in the distance.
What were the chances that Trent still lurked?
Dusk encroached. The trees formed a labyrinth of olive and russet. I felt around my belt for the Beretta.
Gone.