‘We’re ready for the backboard,’ someone shouted. ‘And the oxygen.’
Jennifer moved forward. The wind caught her hood, pushing it back and driving heavy rain into her face. She pushed her fringe back from her eyes, able to see the accident victim clearly for the first time. A young man, his face was injured and bloody but not enough to disguise his features. Jennifer felt a familiar twist of her gut. She knew the patient. He was Liam Bellamy—the son of the fisherman who had just had the hook removed from his hand.
‘Liam?’ Jennifer leaned closer and raised her voice. ‘Liam? It’s Jenny Tremaine. Open your eyes for me.’
‘He’s not responsive.’ The deep male voice came from the back seat of the car. ‘Except to painful stimuli. I’d put his GCS at about 8.’
‘Airway clear?’
‘It is now.’
Jennifer nodded. Liam’s mouth was closed around the end of the plastic oropharyngeal airway.
‘Here’s the oxygen.’ A mask was passed in beside Jennifer. ‘It’s running on 15 litres.’
Jennifer fitted the mask to Liam’s face. As she pulled the elastic strap behind his head her hands brushed the arms of the man still supporting Liam’s head. She glanced up, registering the stranger’s appearance for the first time. She blinked and stared, her jaw dropping. The man smiled without amusement.
‘Hello, Jennifer. Fancy meeting you here.’
‘Andrew!’ The name came out as an astonished gasp.
‘Here’s the backboard.’ Robert’s voice was right beside Jennifer’s ear. ‘How do you want to do this, Doc?’
‘Slide the end of the board onto the seat. I’ll look after his head and you take the legs. Let’s keep him as straight as possible.’ Jennifer nodded at the man in the back seat as he let go of Liam’s head. She supported the weight on her shoulder, her arms around the young man’s body as they turned and lifted their patient onto the backboard. The other members of the local rescue team crowded in to help lift the board onto the waiting stretcher and transfer it to the back of the modified Land Rover that served as an ambulance. Jennifer had her kit open and IV equipment already out by the time she was joined by her unexpected colleague. She didn’t glance up until she had inserted the IV cannula and flicked the tourniquet open again.
‘Andrew Stephenson,’ she said softly. ‘I just don’t believe this.’ Her gaze shifted. ‘Is that saline ready to go, Mickey?’
The young fire officer nodded. He handed the end of the tubing to Jennifer who connected it to the line in Liam’s forearm. She checked the flow as the bag was suspended, then reached for her penlight torch.
‘Have you got a spare dressing?’ Andrew was still standing outside the back of the vehicle. ‘I’ve managed to cut my leg on some metal.’
Jennifer nodded. ‘Find one for him, Mickey.’ She was still focussed on her patient. She pulled Liam’s eyelids open and shone the torch on his pupils. ‘Liam, can you hear me?’
The response was an incoherent mumble of words but Liam’s arms moved. Jennifer caught the one with the IV line in.
‘Try and keep still, Liam,’ she said firmly. ‘You’ve been in a car accident.’
‘He’s lightening up a bit.’ Andrew took a package from Mickey. ‘Thanks, mate.’
‘Why don’t you get in out of the rain?’ Jennifer suggested. ‘I’ll have a look at your leg.’
‘I’m all right.’ Andrew had his foot on the first step of the Land Rover. He enlarged the rip on the leg of his jeans.
‘That’s one hell of a cut.’ Mickey sounded impressed. ‘I think you’d better let the doc take a look.’
Andrew had already folded a large gauze pad and pressed it to his leg as Jennifer looked up. ‘Andrew is a doctor, Mickey. We went through medical school together.’
Not precisely together, she amended silently, fitting her stethoscope to her ears. More like at the same time. Competing fiercely for the top spot of their intake. Alternating their positions at the head of the class and taking intense satisfaction in proving themselves superior to the other in whatever field they were competing. Academic, practical or even social—the struggle had blurred the boundaries of all aspects of those years. Looking back, the antagonism had provided a memorable background to Jennifer’s tertiary education. It had been a fight she had revelled in. And the enemy had been Andrew Stephenson.
‘You sound like an American tourist,’ Mickey told Andrew.
‘I’ve been living in the States for a few years,’ Andrew responded. His tone was weary. ‘I suppose I’ve picked up a bit of an accent.’
‘Liam’s got a flail chest but breath sounds are equal at present.’ Jennifer’s attention shifted briefly to Andrew. ‘You’re a general surgeon, aren’t you?’
‘Not any more.’
‘What?’ Jennifer’s brow furrowed. ‘Have you specialised in something, then?’
‘Not exactly.’ Jennifer’s stare at Andrew wasn’t productive. His head was bent, his attention on the dressing he was holding to his calf. A dressing that was already soaked with blood.
‘Is that an arterial bleed?’ Jennifer snapped.
A figure appeared beside Andrew before he had time to respond. Tom Bartlett glanced at Andrew’s leg, then towards Jennifer.
‘I’ve got one of the boys to take your truck back to the hospital with the two people from the other vehicle, Jenny. They don’t seem to be injured badly but they’ll need checking. How’s Liam?’
‘He’s pretty seriously injured. Under normal circumstances I’d be calling for a helicopter to get him to Christchurch. We’ll have to get an ambulance in by road.’
‘No go, sorry.’ Tom’s face was grim. ‘There’s been a massive slip on the other side of the hilltop. Our access is completely cut off.’
Jennifer marshalled her thoughts rapidly. ‘You’ll have to come with me,’ she told Andrew. ‘I’m going to need some help.’
‘I can’t.’ Andrew shook his head. ‘I’m on holiday. My camper van’s over there.’
‘I don’t give a damn about your holiday.’ Jennifer couldn’t believe Andrew’s casual attitude to this situation. ‘This is serious,’ she told him coldly. ‘Liam’s life might depend on you sacrificing a few hours of your precious leisure time.’
‘What I meant was, I don’t have a current practising certificate for New Zealand.’ Andrew met her furious glare without blinking. ‘I’m not licensed to treat patients here.’
‘I don’t give a damn about that either,’ Jennifer said briskly. ‘You’re qualified to help. And you need medical attention yourself. You’ve already lost quite enough blood.’
‘What about the camper van?’
‘Stop arguing and get in,’ Jennifer ordered. She looked at Tom. ‘Can you sort out the van?’
‘Sure. Where do you want it?’
‘The hospital car park is blocked. Have it taken up to my place.’
‘Hang on a minute—’
Jennifer ignored Andrew’s protest. ‘Did Wendy get hold of you, Tom?’
‘About extra staff? Yes.’ Tom nodded confirmation. ‘I got hold of Janey and she’s going to round up Michelle and Suzanne.’