There was nothing Cal could do for her. This woman would now be the responsibility of the coroner. He made another thorough sweep of the area with his flashlight, then backed out through the opening.
He signaled to Scout, ordering him to do a quick search to make sure they weren’t leaving anyone behind. The dog didn’t give any indication that there was anyone else present.
A light vibration had Cal bracing himself again and grabbing for Scout’s collar. The rumble passed and he exhaled.
Back in the atrium, he strapped Scout into the hoisting harness and tugged on the guywire, signaling to the firefighter to lift him out. When the harness came back down, Cal secured himself in quickly, and gave the two tugs to let Adam know he was ready. He could hear the winch kick in and he began his slow ascent.
He was almost at the top of the atrium, nearing the elevator shaft, when he felt what seemed to be a gust of air whoosh down the opening. Simultaneously, the building shuddered again, and Cal started to swing and twirl on the hoisting rope. With the next tremor, he was catapulted toward a solid interior wall. He leaned back to try to control his motion and was able to maneuver sufficiently to cushion the impact with his legs when he collided with the wall. The force sent him hurtling backward. Just as he was twirling around once again, another rumble came from the ground beneath and seemed to rise up to engulf him. An ominous grating sound followed.
Cal’s blood ran cold as he watched a ceiling beam tear loose to his right. Still anchored to a column by some rebars, it crashed toward him like a battering ram.
He thrust back and as far out as possible, and flailed his legs to increase the swing of the rope. Unable to control his spin, he was propelled in the opposite direction from the one he’d intended, right into the path of the beam.
JESSICA ACCEPTED THE scissors from Marcia and snipped off the ends of the surgical thread she’d used to suture the long gashes on the face and neck of a middle-aged man. She thought about how close one of the lacerations had come to the man’s carotid artery, and how different the outcome could have been.
“You’re going to be fine, Mr. Bowen,” she assured him. She cleaned another cut on his left arm and applied a gauze bandage. “You’ll have some scarring unfortunately. Treating the wounds with vitamin E cream while they’re healing will minimize the effect.”
“Fortunately, my wife loves me for more than my pretty face.” He smiled weakly as he pulled his shirtsleeve back down.
“There’s no need for you to go to the hospital, but your family doctor should have a look at that wound in a couple of days. Nothing to worry about. I just want to make sure you don’t develop an infection. Your stitches will have to come out in a week’s time.” She gave him an encouraging look as she removed her latex gloves and tossed them in a waste receptacle.
“Thanks, Doctor,” he said as he slid off the treatment table. Their smiles faded as they watched two paramedics carry a black body bag to a waiting transport vehicle. “I’m lucky to be alive,” he murmured.
Yes, he was, Jessica thought. She made some hurried notes on a chart and glanced up in time to see Marcia taking a little girl from the arms of a firefighter. She felt a chill descend on her and a voice inside her head screamed, “No!” Still, she did a quick visual scan of the girl for obvious signs of trauma, and was relieved to find none.
The girl was maybe five. She was wearing lemon-yellow shorts and T-shirt, and had a small white sneaker on her left foot and only a white sock on her right. She had long dark hair. Her hair, like the rest of her, was covered in concrete dust.
Jessica noticed Marcia looking around fretfully, and she knew the nurse was searching for another trauma doc who could attend to the little girl so she wouldn’t have to.
Jessica sighed. Hadn’t she vowed earlier not to let herself be protected? What kind of trauma surgeon was she if she couldn’t deal with any patient that came her way? She could feel the anxiety build inside her—tempting her to let Marcia find another doctor.
No, she wouldn’t give in.
“Marcia,” she called. “I’m done here. I can take her.”
She could see the reluctance in Marcia’s eyes as she approached with the softly crying child in her arms. “Are you sure?” The worry was evident in her voice, too.
Jessica almost snapped that of course she was sure. Knowing full well the anger was directed at herself and not her colleague and friend, she swallowed the harsh words. She hadn’t realized she was wound so tight. She understood that Marcia was trying to help...and she couldn’t deny that it wasn’t without good reason. “Yes, I’m sure,” she responded with a calm she didn’t feel. “But thank you for trying to look out for me.” She forced a cheerier tone into her voice as she reached for the young girl. “Who do we have here?”
Marcia helped Jessica position the girl on the exam table. “Her name is Kayla. She said it’s Kayla Hernandez,” Marcia supplied when the child remained silent, staring at Jessica with large somber eyes brimming with tears. “She said she can’t find her mother, Marina Hernandez,” she added in a whisper.
Jessica hoped the child’s mother was all right. She smoothed the matted hair back from Kayla’s forehead and did another quick perusal, still not seeing any discernible injury. “How old are you, Kayla?”
“I’m five,” the girl said, holding up her hand with all fingers and thumb spread. Then her lip trembled, and her eyes filled with more tears. “Where’s my mommy?”
Jessica gave her a tissue and she blew her nose, while Jessica cast a questioning glance at Marcia. The nurse indicated with a slight shake of her head that she had no knowledge of the woman’s whereabouts.
“I’m certain people are looking for your mother, but for now I’m going to listen to your heart and check your temperature, okay?”
She could handle this, Jessica told herself. After all, the little girl appeared fine, and she appealed to the powers that be that she wouldn’t find any sign of internal injuries.
* * *
THE I-BEAM HURTLED toward Cal. His trajectory, swinging from the hoist rope as he was, would put him directly in the path of that beam. He caught an interior column with his right foot just enough to shove back and marginally away from the beam as it crashed by him.
A searing pain ripped through his right thigh, so intense he couldn’t stifle a yell. He glanced down. The jeans he’d been wearing when he was called in were torn open and a deep, angry gouge welled with blood. He pressed a hand to his thigh in an attempt to ease the pain and control the flow of blood, but neither seemed to subside. Balancing unsteadily on the hoisting harness and trying not to jar his injured leg, he yanked off his T-shirt. He used it as a tourniquet for his leg. When he tightened it, the pain tore through him again.
The rumbling gradually subsided, and the building around him groaned as it settled. Cal held his breath, praying there’d be no further collapses. When it seemed the structure had stabilized, he gave the guywire a couple of tugs, hoping the firefighter was still up top and uninjured—and the hoisting mechanism was operational. When nothing happened, he tugged again.
After interminable minutes, he reached for his radio. If Adam had been hurt, he’d have to come clean with Command about what he’d done. Williams would be displeased but they’d send someone to get him out. There was no way he could climb up with his injured leg.
His movement caused the harness to tilt and he reflexively used his legs to balance himself. The pain that shot through him caused his body to jerk. He