Finding His Wife, Finding A Son. Marion LennoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
had to be some way to turn those damned car alarms off, Luc thought. There were fractions of time between the blaring but never enough to call and receive a warning.
At least batteries were starting to fail. The barrage of sound was lessening.
Another sheet came free.
Hell.
This guy hadn’t been so lucky. A sheet of iron had caught him. He’d have bled out almost instantly, Luc thought, and wondered how many others were to be found. They were waiting for proper machinery to search the crumpled part of the plaza itself. How many...?
And then...a cry?
The sound was from their left, heard between car sirens.
Kev demanded instant stillness. The sound had come from at least three sheets of iron across. If they went for it, they risked crushing others who lay between.
They waited for another break in the alarms. Kev ordered his team to spread out to give a better chance of pinpointing location.
‘Call if you can hear us?’ Kev yelled.
‘H-here.’
A woman’s voice. Faint.
A roofing sheet was pulled up, the rubble lifted with care but with urgency. It revealed nothing but crushed concrete. These pillars were rubbish.
Someone’s head would roll for these, Luc thought. They looked as if they’d been built with no more idea of safety standards than garden statuary.
He was heaving rubble too, now. By rights he should be out on the pavement, treating patients as they were brought to him, but with the local doctor working in the nearby hospital he’d decided the urgent need was here. If there was something major the paramedics would call him back.
All his focus was on that voice. That cry.
‘Stop,’ Kev called, and once again he signalled for them to stand back and locate.
And then... The voice called again, fainter.
This area held the worst of the crushed concrete. Sheets of roofing iron had fallen and concrete had crumpled and rolled on top. They were working from the sides of each sheet, determined not to put more weight on the slab.
‘Please...’ The sirens had ceased again for a fraction of a moment and the voice carried upward. She must be able to hear them. She was right...here?
Others had joined them now, hauling concrete away with care. Half a dozen men and women, four in emergency services uniforms, two burly locals, all desperate to help.
‘Reckon it’s the doc.’ One of the locals spoke above the noise. ‘Hell, it’s the doc. We gotta get—’
His words were cut off again by the car alarms, but the urgency only intensified.
And finally the last block of concrete was hauled clear. The sheet of iron was free to be shifted.
Willing hands caught the edges. Kev was there, taking in the risks, assessing to the last.
‘Lift,’ he said at last. ‘Count of three, straight up...’
And the iron was raised and moved aside.
Revealing a woman huddled underneath.
Luc was underneath before the iron was clear. He was stooping, feeling his way in, reaching her. He was lifting a cloth she’d obviously used to protect her face, wiping her face free, clearing her airway. He had a mask on her almost instantly. The initial need was clean air, more important than anything else.
She was matted with grey-white dust. Her eyes were terrified. ‘My...my baby...’
And then she faltered as she stared wildly into his eyes. Even with his mask, even with the dust, she knew him.
‘Luc?’
* * *
He felt as if all the air had been sucked from his body.
Beth!
His wife.
Not his wife. She’d walked away eight years ago. For a while he’d tried to keep in touch but it had been too hard for both of them.
‘Stay safe.’ That had been Beth’s last ask of him. ‘I know you can’t keep out of harm’s way but, oh, Luc, don’t you dare get yourself killed.’
And she’d touched his face one last time, and climbed aboard a train bound for Brisbane.
Stay safe. What a joke, when here she was, trapped by a mass of rubble, so close to death....
The nearest car alarm stopped abruptly. In reality its battery had probably died, but to Luc it felt like the world had stopped. Instinctively his hand came up to adjust his own mask, a habit entrenched by years of crisis training.
His mask was fine. His breathing was okay.
And he wasn’t hallucinating.
Beth...
‘Leg trapped,’ Kev at his side murmured, and just like that, the doctor in Luc stepped in. Thankfully, because the rest of him was floundering like a stickleback out of water.
‘You’re going to be okay,’ he told her, in a voice he could almost be proud of. It was the voice he was trained to use, strong, sure, with a trace of warmth, words to keep panic at bay.
He needed to get the whole picture. He leaned back a little so he could see all of her.
She was slumped against the remains of a pillar. There was a mound under her shirt, and she was cradling it with both hands. A slab of concrete had fallen over her left leg. Her right leg was tucked up, as if she’d tried to haul back at the last minute, but he couldn’t see her left foot.
His gaze went back to her face, noting the terror and the pain, then his gaze moved again to the mound at her chest. A child?
He put a hand on the mound and felt a wash of relief as he registered warmth and deep, even breathing. He slipped a hand under her T-shirt and located one small nose. Clear. Beth had managed to protect the airway.
Beth’s child?
This was sensory overload, but he had to focus on imperatives.
‘Your baby?’ he said, because the fact that a child was breathing didn’t necessarily mean all was well.
‘T-Toby.’
‘Toby,’ he said, and managed a smile. ‘Great name. Beth, was Toby hit? Do you know if he’s been hurt?’ He lifted the mask a little to let her speak.
‘I felt... I felt the fall.’ Her voice was a hoarse whisper, muffled by the mask. ‘I crouched. Toby was under me. He seems fine. He’s fallen asleep and I’m... I’m sure it’s natural. It’s been...it’s been a big day at childcare.’
‘Huge,’ he agreed. He was acting on triage imperatives, taking her word for the child’s safety for the moment as he moved his hands down to her leg. The dust was a thick fog the light was having trouble penetrating. He winced as he reached her ankle and could feel no further.
‘It’s...stuck...’ Beth managed.
‘Well diagnosed, Dr Carmichael,’ he said, and she even managed a sort of smile.
‘I’m good.’
‘I suspect you’ve been better. Pain level, one to ten?’
‘S-Six.’
‘Honest?’
‘Nine, then,’ she managed, and then decided to be honest. ‘Okay, ten.’
And she wouldn’t be exaggerating. He looked at the slab constricting her leg and he felt sick. She’d been under here for more than an hour. Maybe two. What sort of long-term damage was being done?
There was no use