his car and pulled out his medical kit, complete with oxygen and suction. In his line of work he needed a fully stocked kit ready to go in his car at a moment’s notice, and tonight he was grateful that he’d decided to irritate his father and drive the Datsun. If he’d been driving the BMW, he’d have been up the creek without a paddle.
He sprinted to the inert form, his heart pounding, his pupils dilating as his brain processed all the possibilities. It was a man. A middle-aged man. Had he fallen asleep at the wheel or had there been a medical emergency like a heart attack or a stroke that had caused him to veer into their path?
Charlie donned a pair of gloves and assessed the man methodically as drilled into him during his student years. D. R. A. B. C. H. Danger. Response. Airway. Breathing. Circulation. Haemorrhage.
The man was unresponsive. Unconscious. His airway was compromised, his gurgling respirations concerning. He was breathing. Just. He had a pulse. But it was rapid and weak.
His face was covered in blood. Charlie looked at the car and noticed the massive hole in the windscreen. The man must have been catapulted out through the glass, sustaining numerous lacerations. A quick head-to-toe check revealed multiple contusions, bilateral fractured tibias and what appeared to be an arterial bleed from the femoral artery if the bright, pulsing blood from the man’s groin was any indication.
Great! He tore the fabric of the man’s jeans, pulled a wad of gauze out of his kit and placed it over the bleeding site, applying firm, even pressure. He needed help. He flipped open his phone and dialed triple zero with one hand and prayed for service in an area that was generally sketchy at best. The nearest ambulance was twenty minutes away.
‘Hey, lady, I could use a hand here,’ he shouted into the stillness of the night while he waited for the operator.
Carrie jumped, snapped out of her daze by the urgency of his voice. Of course. She was a doctor, for goodness’ sake. But the thought of getting out of the car, of assisting the stranger, paralysed her with fear. The familiar dread descended on her and her heart was hammering madly again. He didn’t know what he was asking. And anyway…she couldn’t leave Dana.
Carrie watched him working as he spoke into the phone as if she was watching it on a television screen. Like it wasn’t really happening. He obviously had a medical background. He was calm and capable, with a huge boxful of medical supplies at his side.
She had a strange feeling of disconnectedness. Maybe it was the residual effects of shock. Maybe his appeal for help had tipped her over. Her hands shook as she thought about getting out of the car and lending a hand. She couldn’t do it. The mere thought was enough to make her hyperventilate. It terrified her more than the near collision had.
Charlie cursed as he hung up. They were coming, sending two road units and a chopper and alerting the nearby local rural fire brigade, but would it be soon enough? The man’s obstructive breathing sounded loud in the night filled otherwise only by insect song. Hell! The driver needed his airway managed as well as his haemorrhage, and he couldn’t do both.
‘Lady! Get your butt here now,’ he shouted, turning his head so he could pierce her with a look that was a cross between commanding and desperate. ‘I’m trying to save this guy’s life!’
Carrie felt the man’s demand slice through her panic and touch the doctor she had shut away for too many years. Despite her shaking, despite the dryness of her mouth and the pounding of her heart, something inside responded to the stranger’s urgent appeal. She checked on Dana. Still asleep. Almost against her will her hand reached for the door.
Charlie looked up as the woman approached. Oh, hell. She was pale and visibly shaking, looking at the unconscious bleeding patient as if she’d never seen blood before. She looked horrified, as if she was going to either faint or vomit. Or both. Great. She was going to be as useless as a screen door on a submarine.
She’s all you’ve got, Charlie boy.
‘Gloves top drawer of the kit,’ he barked. If she didn’t snap out of this stupor they were both in trouble. Yes, she’d been through a lot tonight. No doubt she’d thought she’d been a goner at one stage but there was a life hanging in the balance and time was of the essence. He didn’t have time to baby her. He only hoped she would respond automatically to his demands.
Carrie crouched and pulled out a pair of gloves. Her movements were stiff, robotic, as if someone else was controlling her. Pushing her buttons.
‘Down here. I need you to put your hand here,’ he said. She didn’t move and he almost lost it.
‘I…c-can’t.’ Carrie’s teeth chattered violently.
Charlie bit his tongue and took a deep calming breath. ‘Look, lady, I know you’ve had a shock tonight but this is really, really important.’
Carrie felt herself responding to the softness in his voice. To his calm appeal. ‘I c-can’t.’
‘Yes, you can,’ he said encouragingly. ‘I need firm, even pressure.’
His kept his voice quiet and composed despite the well of frustration rising inside him. Of all the people in the entire world he was stuck with a neurotic female who would probably faint before much longer.
He looked at her for confirmation and breathed a sigh of relief as she reached out a shaking hand to cover his. He removed his slowly. ‘Firm. Even. Do you understand?’
She didn’t answer him, just stared with a look of horror at the blood covering her glove. She was looking at it as if she’d never seen the substance before.
‘Y-yes,’ she stuttered.
Charlie looked down at her technique, pleasantly surprised to find that she had quickly mastered it. As long as she kept the pressure applied she could prevent this man from bleeding to death, and it freed him up to manage the airway.
Carrie didn’t feel the bite of the bitumen into her knees through the thin fabric of her hand-made cotton tie-dyed trousers. She didn’t hear the hum of insects or the stutter of her own panicked breath. She didn’t even hear the stranger rooting around in his medical kit. The injured man’s blood totally consumed her.
She could feel its warmth though the thin barrier of latex. She could smell its pungent metallic aroma heavy on the warm night air. Knew that it would be sticky as it clotted around her hands. Don’t die. Don’t die. Don’t die. The chant helped her keep her mind off the roar of her own blood in her ears, the sweat beading her forehead, the nausea rolling through her intestines. She was breathing fast. Too fast.
Charlie cursed under his breath as he applied an oxygen mask to the man’s face. She was going to hyperventilate at any moment.
‘Hey,’ he said, forcing himself to minister to her needs for a few seconds while the patient’s life hung in the balance. ‘You’re doing great, OK? Just slow your breathing down. Can you do that?’
Carrie shook her head, feeling everything around her spinning out of control. Her lips were tingling. Her gloved fingers, covered in blood, were tingling. ‘I can’t…b-breathe,’ she gasped.
Charlie bit back an expletive. ‘Yes, you can. Look at me.’
Carrie couldn’t move. She could only see the blood. Her mind started to play tricks. She was getting flashes of another place and time. Another patient. Another life-and-death situation. So much blood. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to expel them.
‘Look at me!’
His command ricocheted across the space between them and Carrie’s head snapped up.
He saw the sheer panic in her eyes. ‘You’re doing really well,’ he said gently, lifting his hand and squeezing her shoulder. ‘The ambulance should be here soon.’
Carrie felt the warmth of his hand anchoring her in the suddenly spinning world and her panicked thoughts eased momentarily.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
‘C-Carrie,’