This was chaos.
He couldn’t cope.
Dev had been at a house call only minutes from here when the call had come. An emergency transmitter on the bus console—installed because one of the schoolkids was a severe asthmatic—was linked directly to Dev’s cellphone. Jake had obviously hit the transmit button and yelled that he was needed. Nothing else. The transmission had ended before he’d got details. So Dev had headed along the bus route, expecting an asthma attack, swearing at Jake for not telling him more.
And found this.
Chaos.
There was no one but him.
The truck driver was sitting on the roadside, shocked into immobility. Jake, the local bus driver, was staring at the bus as if he couldn’t believe what was happening.
Children were clambering out the back window of the bus—using it as an emergency exit. Someone seemed to be lifting them out from the inside. They were helping each other down.
Jake was useless.
The bus could slide at any minute.
‘Jake, will you help get these kids out?’ he snapped. ‘I want everyone off the bus—now.’
Why hadn’t Jake already done it? It had been almost five minutes since he’d called.
There were ten or twelve kids on the verge now, clustered in a shocked, confused huddle.
There were still more on the bus. If it slid…
It mustn’t slide. Not yet.
He was helping the kids down from the back windows now, hauling them out, swinging them down to the roadside, giving each a cursory check as he went. The children were battered, bleeding, crying, but there was no time for comfort. He’d practically fallen over the young woman so he’d checked her first, but getting the kids out had to be the highest priority.
Damn, why hadn’t Jake done this before anything? he thought as he realised just how precariously the bus was balanced. The man must be more shocked than he’d thought.
Maybe he was lucky Jake had had the capacity to call him at all.
The kids were still emerging, sliding out into his arms as he lifted them down. Some were crying, but most were so shocked they were simply following instinct. They were from the local primary school—kids aged between six and twelve.
He needed help. He had to get more help.
He had to keep pulling kids out. The bigger ones were out now but someone inside was handing the littlies out to him. The teacher?
‘Come on, you can do it. You must.’
Yeah. The teacher. Colin Jeffries. Devlin recognised his voice, giving shaky directions from inside.
‘I think…I’ve got all I can,’ Colin called, his voice wavering. ‘There’s a couple more trapped but I can’t…I can’t…And Jodie’s in real trouble.’
‘OK, come out yourself,’ Dev called.
Colin did, sliding awkwardly backwards out through the bus’s rear window—the emergency exit that was the only way anyone could get out. Dev moved to help him. In his mid-fifties, his suit ripped and spattered with blood, Colin was bleeding profusely from a deep gash on his face, and he was hauling a kid out after him.
‘Jodie needs help,’ he told Dev, and he laid Jodie down at Devlin’s feet before sitting—abruptly—himself.
There was blood everywhere. Far too much blood.
Some of it was the schoolteacher’s. More than enough to tip him over into unconsciousness, Dev thought grimly.
But the child’s blood was pumping. Triage. Jodie.
‘Get some pressure on your head,’ Dev snapped at Colin. ‘Put both hands against the bleeding and push—hard.’
He was doing the same himself, pressing hard against Jodie’s shoulder. Hell, he had to stop this.
But there was so much need.
Priorities.
There were kids all around him, milling, seeing him as the only authority figure.
‘Jake?’ he called, but the bus driver didn’t respond. The driver was staring at the bus as if he was seeing something he’d never seen before.
Dev didn’t even have time to shake him back to reality.
OK. There was only him. He raised his voice as he worked over Jodie. Most of these kids had been his patients for the three years he’d been practising medicine in the town. He knew their parents from childhood. They knew him.
‘Can the oldest—Katy and Marty, that must be you—collect the kids together? Sit everyone down well away from the bus. We’ll get your parents here soon. But first, Marty, can you run and get my bag from the back seat of my car? It’s not locked. Run.’
That was all he had time for. He wasn’t looking at the kids. Or at the teacher. This was Jodie—Jodie McKechnie, a tiny ten-year-old who he knew well, and her situation was desperate.
There was blood pumping from her shoulder. Bright arterial blood.
It had to be a torn artery.
Jake was still standing immobile. Helpless.
There was no time here for helplessness.
‘Jake, grab my phone.’ He gestured to his belt and then as Jake stared at him as if he didn’t know what he was talking about, he yelled. ‘Jake, grab the phone. Now!’
Jake moved. Trancelike.
There was no time for sympathy. ‘Call the hospital,’ he snapped. ‘I want every available person at the hospital out here now. Tell them that. And then help get those kids clear. Colin says there’s still kids on the bus. You have to get them off. You must.’
But that was all he had time for. Jodie. He was losing Jodie.
Hell, he needed pressure. He’d have to clamp blood vessels. He had to stop this bleeding.
There was still chaos around him.
But he could only do what he could manage now. If he didn’t stop the bleeding within minutes, Jodie would be dead.
Marty appeared at his side with his doctor’s bag—already open—and Devlin blessed him.
‘Help Katy now,’ he told him.
That was all he had time for. He blocked out the remaining chaos. He had one child to care for.
He had one life in his hands and he could think of nothing else.
Emma lifted her head with extreme caution. What on earth had happened?
Where was she?
She stared around her, stunned. Cautiously she pushed herself to a sitting position, willing the fog to clear so she could finally figure out what must have happened.
There’d been a crash. There must have been a crash.
But she couldn’t remember. All she knew was that she was sprawled on the road. She remembered lying still, trying to make her head work, exploring every piece of her body, unable to believe that she was still alive.
Until the voice had arrived. The face. She remembered the face.
The face above her had cemented her feeling that she was in some other space. Not here. Not in reality. The face was her husband’s.
And Corey was dead.
No. He wasn’t dead. He was here.
Maybe she was dead.
No, she told herself fiercely, trying hard to get a grip on reality.
Corey was dead.