With another hand signal, he alerted Scout that he was now officially on duty, and they headed toward the collapsed buildings and the men gathered on the roadway in front of them.
* * *
JESSICA HANSEN HAD been at Ocean Crest Hospital when the earthquake hit. Because of its severity, the hospital had immediately activated its critical incident response plan, including the deployment of the trauma team. The trauma team was responsible for onsite triaging and treating the injured, and dispatching those who needed additional care to the hospital. As a trauma surgeon, Jessica would’ve been called in regardless, but being at the hospital made it easier for her to mobilize a team and get to the site.
Ocean Crest was the closest hospital to the earthquake’s epicenter, where most of the injured would be, and no more than a few miles from where they were setting up the triage area. A 7.6 quake was virtually unheard of in San Diego, but as a trauma doc she’d experienced quakes of a much lower magnitude that still had significant consequences. She knew this would be serious.
Thank heaven the hospital itself was largely unaffected by the quake. But then it had been designed to higher standards to ensure that it did. From the reports already coming in, they’d need all available resources, both human and physical.
In the hour since Jessica, the other trauma docs and a few of the emergency room nurses had set up at the designated triage site, she’d already seen at least a dozen people, and there were many more waiting.
She swiped impatiently at the sweat and loose strands of hair on her forehead as she finished splinting an elderly man’s badly fractured forearm, and sent him off to the hospital.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she counted slowly to ten. She had to stay sharp, she reminded herself. She couldn’t be unsettled by the young boy she’d treated and sent to the hospital just before the older man. The boy had lost a lot of blood. Too much blood. Her vision blurred and she swallowed hard against the nausea. If she gave in, she’d be no good to anyone.
She felt a gentle touch on her shoulder. “You okay, Jess?”
Jessica slid her clammy hand over her brow and turned. Marcia Rodrigues stood behind her, the furrows on her forehead more pronounced than usual, concern evident on her face. The gray-haired nurse, now in her sixties, had worked in the emergency room at Ocean Crest longer than Jessica’s thirty-one years, but they’d formed a strong bond—both professional and personal. “It was the boy, wasn’t it?” Marcia asked.
Jessica passed her hand lightly over Marcia’s. “Yes, and thank you. I’m okay now.” She glanced around. “Did anyone else notice?”
“No. Of course not. I just know you well.”
Jessica was certain that her episode and the subsequent exchange with Marcia took no more than a minute. But a minute could mean life or death in a crisis situation. She silently berated herself for her lapse. After all, this was why she’d given up pediatric surgery in favor of trauma. If she couldn’t maintain her composure under these conditions, she had to ask herself if she was fit to practice medicine at all.
Jessica barely had time to finish the thought when Marcia brought her the next patient. It wasn’t a child; she knew Marcia well enough that she didn’t think she’d be seeing more children that day, but she was still relieved.
But she was in charge. She shouldn’t have to be protected.
Most importantly, she could not, would not, fall apart. “Focus, Hansen,” she ordered herself under her breath as she examined the mangled leg of the woman in front of her.
AFTER A GENERAL outline of strategy with the other first responders, Cal and Scout went to work. They started with the least damaged building first. They were gratified to have some quick wins—people relatively uninjured and easily extracted. They cleared the first building, then did a fast sweep of the perimeter of the other building and adjacent parking garage. When they were done, no fewer than two dozen people had been helped out of the rubble, most requiring only minor medical attention.
But now it was time for the hard work. Scout and Cal had to go into the more severely damaged building. Cal knew, too, that his unit mate, Hal Robinson, and his cadaver dog, Max, were on scene. Cal hated that. He and Robinson got along well enough, but he hated to lose a person to Robinson and Max. Cal wanted to find people alive and rescue them. It was still their turn, his and Scout’s. He intended to make it a slow day for Robinson and Max.
He and Scout now had to locate the people trapped deeper inside the building and likely requiring more assistance, whether because of injury or where they were. Those they’d been able to rescue said they had coworkers and friends still inside.
Cal and the other first responders had a quick huddle with the incident commander and the city’s engineers, and mapped out a course of action.
Cal gave Scout some more water, stroked the fur on his head. “Okay, pal. Ready to go?”
A short bark confirmed Scout’s willingness. Along with two firefighters, they headed off toward the more damaged building once more.
Since they couldn’t access the interior from street level due to the collapsed floors, they were lowered through the central core by a boom. The city engineers had advised Cal that the building was nearly identical in design to the other, with a central atrium, but in this case, the atrium had held and the floors had collapsed. It wasn’t going to be an easy rescue. Even after all his years as a cop, he still found it exceedingly difficult to deal with death. He hoped he wouldn’t have to encounter it today.
They were in the bowels of the building and had cleared an area that must have been a coffee shop. They headed to the next space when Scout alerted, and started to dig at an area where a doorway had collapsed. This was not a passive indication. There was someone trapped on the other side. Cal shone his headlight around. They were near the center of the floor plate where the building seemed to have crumpled. The upper floors had caved in. He couldn’t see any way into the area Scout had indicated. He ordered Scout to lie down and stay, dropped onto his knees where the dog had been digging and called out. In the relative silence he listened for a response. Gave it a moment.
Nothing.
He tried again. And waited.
Scout’s agitation was obvious. The dog sprang up despite Cal’s command and started digging at the rubble again. Scout’s training was such that he would’ve kept digging until he got through, but he would have injured himself badly on the shards of glass and other sharp edges in the debris. His behavior was a sure sign that there was someone in there. Cal ordered Scout to stand down again. Just when he was about to call out once more, he heard a noise. A cough.
It was a child. A young child. He called out again. Calmly, reassuringly, despite his fear.
He heard a couple more scratchy coughs before the sound turned into hiccupping sobs.
“Can you hear me?” Cal shouted.
After some soft sniffles, he heard a hesitant, “Yes.”
“Okay. I’m with the police and I’m going to help you.”
Cal heard whimpers this time.
“What’s your name?”
There was a pause, another sniffle. “Kayla.”
“Okay, Kayla. Are you hurt?”
“I... I don’t know. But my mom...”
“Your mother is with you?” Cal felt a chill permeate his bones.
“Yes.