Aftershock Page 2

  More concrete slabs might fall and crush them yet.

  They skirted around a tall pile of rubble. On the other side, a silver sedan rested upside down, its engine running. Gasoline gushed from a ruptured tank. It traveled in rivulets along the ground and trickled down into the open windows of the vehicle.

  The driver appeared dead or unconscious. Her dark hair clung to her bloody forehead and her eyes were closed. Any moment, the car could go up in flames.

  “Help!” a voice cried from inside.

  Garrett shoved the flashlight at Lauren. “Stay back,” he said, rushing toward the vehicle. He had to turn off the ignition before they could execute a safe rescue. Dropping to his belly, he reached into the closest window, which was on the driver’s side. Unfortunately, the slumped-over woman was blocking his access. Cursing, he pushed himself upright and raced around the rear of the vehicle.

  Lauren went with him, holding the light steady but keeping her distance in case the engine blew up. When she saw a woman trying to squeeze through the passenger window, her jaw dropped.

  “Help me,” the woman panted, her hair wet with gasoline.

  She was just a teenager, Lauren realized. She was also pregnant, near full-term. Her protruding belly wouldn’t fit through the narrow space.

  Showing no concern for his own life, Garrett got down on the ground and reached past her, through the passenger window. He turned off the ignition, but that didn’t secure the scene. Lauren watched in horror as liquid fuel streamed toward another burning vehicle.

  If she didn’t act fast, everything would blow sky-high.

  She pulled the fire extinguisher out of her backpack. Jogging forward, she pointed the nozzle at the burning car and pulled the pin, spraying white foam over the interior. The vehicle’s single inhabitant didn’t complain. He was charred beyond recognition, hands melted to the steering wheel.

  Dousing one fire was a temporary fix. There were several more in the recesses of the collapsed structure. She couldn’t get to all of them, and they didn’t have another extinguisher. Eventually the gasoline trail would ignite.

  Trying to stay calm, she returned her attention to Garrett and the girl. Although the air was thick with smoke, and visibility was low, her eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness. Garrett tried to wrench open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Motioning for the girl to stay back, he picked up a softball-size piece of concrete and hammered it against the front windshield. When the safety glass shattered, he knocked most of it loose with his fist.

  Lauren winced, aware that the small shards would leave shallow lacerations all over his knuckles.

  In her panicked state, the teenager wouldn’t listen to Garrett’s instructions. Either she didn’t understand him, or she was frozen with fear. He went in for her with no hesitation, intent on physically pulling her out of the car. About halfway through, she came to her senses and worked with him instead of against him.

  He was gentle with her, taking care that she didn’t scrape her belly or come into direct contact with broken glass.

  At last, they made it through the front window. Lauren released the breath she’d been holding, her knees almost buckling with relief. Yanking a safety blanket from her pack, she rushed forward and wrapped the girl in it. Her eyes were unfocused and her breathing shallow. She needed immediate medical attention.

  “Get down,” Garrett shouted, placing a firm hand on Lauren’s shoulder. She complied instantly, helping the teenager assume a crouched position on the hard cement. He put his arms around them both, making a shield with his body.

  Seconds later, the car exploded.

  The smell of gasoline burned her nostrils and heat crackled behind her back. Even with Garrett’s protection, they weren’t safe here. This was definitely a hot zone. There were multiple injury hazards. Then again, the whole area was a death trap, and she hadn’t seen a way out yet.

  “Tía,” the girl sobbed, looking back at the blaze. If the woman inside had been alive a moment ago, she wasn’t now.

  “We have to go,” Garrett said, lifting both women to their feet. Although the girl appeared distraught and disoriented, she stumbled forward at his urging.

  Lauren saw a white beacon in the distance. A small recreational vehicle appeared whole and undamaged, with no fires nearby. Assuming the RV had a shower or sink, she could wash the gasoline off her patient.

  “There,” she said, pointing it out to Garrett. “The RV will have water.”

  He let go of Lauren’s arm and scooped up the teenager, who was struggling to walk. A pregnant woman was an awkward load, but he bore her weight easily. Lauren suspected that he had military training. He carried himself like a soldier.

  The girl clung to his shoulders, dazed.

  “What’s your name?” Lauren asked, tugging down her respirator mask.

  “Penny,” she rasped.

  “When are you due?”

  “Next week.”

  Garrett’s eyes met Lauren’s over the top of the girl’s head. This wasn’t good. Lauren hurried toward the camper, banging on the side door. “Emergency services,” she yelled. “I need to bring a patient in for treatment.”

  A man in his sixties opened the door, his glasses reflecting flames. He didn’t appear to be injured, and she felt a surge of hope. There were other survivors. “Come in,” the man said, stepping aside. Garrett couldn’t fit through the narrow doorway with Penny, so he set her down and helped her ascend the short steps.

  There was another girl inside, also unharmed. She looked about twelve.

  “Do you have a shower?” Lauren asked.

  “In the bathroom.” The man gestured toward a small door. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  She glanced at Garrett, who appeared poised to go back outside. What she needed was a safe space to treat Penny, and the interior of the motor home looked adequate. There was a small table and a twin bed in back. “Can you bring me the oxygen tank and mask from the ambulance?”

  Garrett nodded. “Of course.”

  “I’ll go with you,” the man said to Garrett. “My granddaughter can stay here.”

  Lauren gave the grandfather her hard hat and respirator.

  “How much water is there?” Garrett asked.

  “About ten gallons,” he replied.

  Garrett turned to Lauren. “Try not to use too much.”

  She understood why. They needed to conserve water. If the earthquake’s epicenter was in downtown San Diego, there might be thousands of casualties. Tens of thousands. Disaster response teams would have their hands full.

  They could be here awhile.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AS SOON AS THE MEN WERE GONE, Lauren helped Penny remove her gasoline-stained dress.

  The little girl, who introduced herself as Cadence, put the soiled fabric in a trash bag. Penny’s undergarments were dry, so Lauren left them alone. She ushered her patient into the cramped shower stall and turned on the spray.

  “Any contractions?”

  “No.”

  Lauren’s top priority was Penny, not the fetus, so she evaluated her overall condition. She didn’t appear to be bleeding or have any broken bones. Her breathing and pulse rate were accelerated, but that was to be expected.

  After they washed the gasoline off her hair and skin, Lauren placed a stethoscope over her rounded abdomen. She was all baby, with slim legs and arms. Her belly looked stretched to the limit, her breasts full.

/>   The fetal heart rate was also slightly quicker than normal. Lauren would have to monitor mother and child very closely. They were lucky the traumatic series of events hadn’t caused her to go into labor; Lauren had a feeling she’d be busy with other patients. “You’re doing great,” she said, and meant it. “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  There was something familiar about Penny, but Lauren couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe it was just that a face like hers invited closer attention. With her flawless features and above-average height, she could have been a model. The dress she’d been wearing looked designer, and her undergarments, while demure, appeared high-quality.

  Cadence, who had a suitcase full of clothes, found a roomy T-shirt and a pair of baggy pajama pants for Penny to wear. Lauren helped her get dressed and encouraged her to sit down on the bed. After Garrett brought in the oxygen tank, Lauren put the mask on Penny’s face and instructed her to take deep breaths.

  “We have more wounded,” Garrett said.

  A chill traveled up Lauren’s spine. “I’ll be right there.” She gave Penny a tremulous smile. “You just sit tight and rest, okay?”

  Penny curled up on the bed and closed her eyes, exhausted.

  Lauren turned to Cadence. She was a pretty girl with dark eyes and curly black hair. Biracial, she estimated, although the grandfather was Caucasian. “Can you give her some water and a snack, if she’s hungry?”

  Cadence nodded solemnly. “I’ll take good care of her.”

  Outside, it looked like a war zone. Garrett and his new helper were carrying a body on the stretcher they’d found inside the ambulance. The patient, an older woman, was unconscious and appeared to have a broken femur.

  Lauren steeled herself as they approached.

  “There are others,” Garrett said, his face contorted as he bore most of the patient’s weight. “We need the stretcher back.”

  “Okay,” she said, studying their surroundings. There was an open space in front of the RV where she could do triage. “Set her down there and bring me something to cover the ground. Blankets, floor mats, whatever you can find.”

  “I have a cot in the RV,” Cadence’s grandfather said.

  “That would be great.”

  “I’m Don, by the way.”

  “I’m Lauren,” she said, kneeling to examine the woman. “Can you turn on your headlights?”

  “Be glad to.”

  A moment later, the area in front of the motor home brightened. She got an IV started while Don put up the cot and Garrett searched for the requested items. He delivered a pile of floor mats, along with most of the equipment from the ambulance, setting it down near the front of the motor home.

  As the morning wore on, Garrett and Don brought two more patients, both bloody. Lauren tried not to panic when she saw the extent of their injuries. She had plenty of experience in clearing airways and giving injections, but she wasn’t a doctor. As a paramedic, her job was to stabilize patients for transport. These people needed the E.R., not a Band-Aid.

  When Garrett and Don carried in a fourth victim with serious injuries, she couldn’t hide her dismay. They transferred the unconscious man from the stretcher to the last available space in front of the RV.

  Mopping his forehead with a handkerchief, Don went inside to check on Cadence. He was finding it difficult to keep up with Garrett, too.

  Garrett sat down beside Lauren, watching her work.

  “Are there more?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “Yes.”

  “My God.”

  “Some I can’t get to. Others...don’t look like they’ll survive the move.”

  She struggled to remain numb. This was no time to break down. The victims were counting on her. “What about rescue?”

  “Cell phones aren’t working,” he said. “Most of the radio stations are down. I caught the end of a short broadcast in Spanish.”

  “And?”

  “The only words I understood were San Diego and ocho punto cinco.”

  Eight point five. Jesus. The city had never been hit by a quake this size. She closed her eyes, feeling a tiny amount of moisture seep through her lashes. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get dehydrated and have no tears to shed. “We might be in here for days.”

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  “Have you seen a way out?”

  “Not yet. I’ll keep searching.”

  His steady gaze met hers and she held it, studying him. His eyes were a cool, dark green, framed by spiky lashes. In this light, she could see that his hair was dusty-brown, and a little longer than military allowed. With his square jaw and strong nose, he was rugged looking. Handsome, but not a pretty boy.

  He wasn’t a fresh recruit, either. She guessed his age was at least twenty-five, probably closer to thirty.

  Like Don, he was showing signs of wear. There were crease lines in the dirt on his face. His T-shirt was bloodstained, and damp with perspiration. He hadn’t stopped doing heavy labor since this nightmare had started.

  When she realized that she was staring at his powerful build, her mouth went dry and heat rose to her cheeks. She hadn’t felt a twinge of sexual chemistry with anyone since her breakup with Michael. Experiencing it now was awkward, to say the least. If she’d met Garrett under different circumstances, she might have tried to flirt with him. He was hot and fearless. Why couldn’t she find guys like this in non-life-threatening situations?

  Lauren concentrated on taking her new patient’s vital signs. As she removed the stethoscope from her ears, a telltale rumble echoed through the chamber.

  Aftershock.

  “Get down,” Garrett ordered, yanking her away from the victim.

  Heart racing, she did what he said, pressing herself flat on the ground and folding her arms around her head.

  Apparently, she was still capable of terror. It coursed through her like a sickness, robbing her ability to think. Chunks of concrete fell from above, smashing the ground near them. She coughed as the air thickened with dust. Moving quickly, Garrett leapt on top of her, protecting her from the debris.

  She was aware of the earth shuddering beneath them and the structure groaning overhead. A car alarm went off in the distance, filling the cavern with rhythmic honking. The scene was too disturbing to process. Perhaps that was why her focus shifted from grim reality and tooth-and-nail survival to the more pleasurable sensation of Garrett’s hard body covering hers.

  His chest was molded to her back, his strong thighs bracing hers. He had a taut, well-muscled physique. His stomach was flat and tight, his crotch nestled against her bottom. That, and the feel of his biceps framing her upper arms, made her shiver.

  He even smelled manly, like motor oil and hard work.

  Eventually the shaking stopped. The car alarm went quiet. They stayed still, making sure it was safe. His breath fanned the hair at the nape of her neck and his heartbeat thudded between her shoulder blades.

  This was one of her favorite positions.

  She shifted beneath him, embarrassed. What an inappropriate time to think about sex! Too late, she realized that the way she’d lifted her bottom against his fly could be interpreted as an invitation.

  He rolled away from her and she scrambled upright. His gaze scanned her flushed face. She wiped the dirt off her cheek, swallowing hard.

  A muscle in his jaw flexed and he looked away. “Sorry,” he muttered. “If you get hurt, we’re all screwed.”

  It to
ok her a few seconds to understand what he meant. He was apologizing for jumping on her. As if she’d be offended by his gallant attempt to keep her safe. “It’s okay,” she said, moistening her lips. Her voice sounded husky.

  “Everyone all right out there?” Don called from the RV.

  Garrett answered with an affirmative, and Lauren pulled herself together. She should be worrying about her patients, not her libido. Thankfully, none of the debris had tumbled their way. A few IV bags had been knocked loose. She was already running low on supplies, but she worked with what she had, and cared for the victims as well as she could.

  Around noon, one of her patients began to experience severe respiratory distress. Lauren was aware that he had broken ribs. When she listened to his chest sounds again, it became clear that one of the splinters had punctured his lung.

  “Oh no,” she breathed, noting his rapid pulse and low blood pressure. He’d been semiconscious; now he was completely out, his skin turning blue. His carotid artery and jugular vein were distended, screaming for oxygen.

  “What is it?” Garrett asked.

  “His lung collapsed,” she said, trying to stay calm. This was a life-threatening emergency. Placing the oxygen mask over his face, she increased the output levels. Then she searched her supplies for a large needle and a syringe. Cutting away the front of his shirt, she found the intercostal space above his third rib.

  She tore an alcohol swab open and wiped the spot. Working quickly, she stabbed the needle straight down into his chest.

  It was a clean strike, sinking into his pleural cavity. She drew back the plunger and watched the syringe fill up with blood.

  Damn.

  A collapsed lung failed to function properly because of excess air or fluid in the cavity. If the problem was too much air, the lung couldn’t contract on its own, but she could do needle decompressions to release tension. Although excess blood could also be removed, she wouldn’t be able to stanch the flow.