Survive the Chaos (Small Town EMP Book 1)

by Grace Hamilton

  Still, the man’s heavy weight behind her made it difficult to move, every step requiring every ounce of strength she could muster. The soggy bank looked so far away, but the hose held and they made slow progress sideways toward safety.

  “We’re almost there; don’t let go,” she grunted, propelling her body another step closer to the bank. She felt him use his one good leg to push off the rocky bottom, propelling her forward.

  The second she got close enough to brace herself against a tree rising out of the flooding water and lean into the bank, she turned to grab one of his arms. “I need you to pull yourself onto the bank,” she told him, struggling to catch her breath. Without the water to lighten his body weight, Amanda doubted she could lift him.

  “I’ll try,” he grunted.

  He let go of her waist and weakly gripped at the damp earth along the newly-formed bank, which was nothing more than grass and mud. It was at the height of her chest, though, and he couldn’t stand upright. He wasn’t going to make it, she realized. He didn’t have the strength to pull himself out of the water and onto the steep edge of the bank, let alone without anything sturdy to grab hold of and use for leverage.

  “Okay, okay. Hold the hose.” She helped him get a grip on the hose alongside her hand, and then pulled herself up the hose a few feet until she could safely clamber up the bank, her fingers digging into the grass and mud. Back on the bank, she scuttled sideways until she was just above the man, then shifted so that her leg dangled beside him as she held a branch of the nearby tree to steady herself. “Grab my leg!” she shouted, bracing herself for the extra weight.

  He did as he was told, and she didn’t have to tell him what to do next. In seconds, he’d managed to pull himself up to her waist, and she released one hand from the tree in order to reach down and grip his arm, helping him struggle up until his butt was on the bank. Then, finally, she released her grip on the tree that had thankfully stood its ground and rose to hook her arms under his armpits and pull him further onto the bank, safely away from the raging stream.

  He groaned out a curse as she stopped to try and catch her breath, his head back on the ground and his hands clenched into fists. She stared down at him, noting the wild look in his blue eyes. They looked unnaturally blue against the pasty white color of his nearly frozen flesh.

  “Thank you,” he muttered, and then it looked like he attempted to sit up, but agony passed through his expression as he fell back, unconscious.

  “Great,” Amanda muttered.

  She turned to look back at the house. Her barn was almost completely engulfed, but it appeared that the fire was staying confined to the structure itself; even the nearby fencing hadn’t caught—there must have been enough rain to keep it and the surrounding land just damp enough for safety’s sake. Good enough. It was too late to do anything about her barn or her plane. The priority was getting this man back to her place to assess his injuries and call for help. The boonies were no place for a life-threatening illness or injury.

  Amanda plopped down beside him, checking him over for any serious, obvious injuries. He’d said his leg was broken, but she was worried about a head injury or internal injuries. Possible hypothermia was also a problem, but it hadn’t set in yet—it would probably become the priority if it did, but she thought they were out of the woods now that he was on dry land.

  Taking stock of him, her eyes roamed over the tattoos covering both his arms. She knew better than to judge a book by its cover, and ignored newly uncovered tats as she lifted his soaked t-shirt, looking for any wounds or bruising that would indicate internal bleeding. She couldn’t help but notice he was in good shape. She guessed him to be late thirties, maybe his early forties, and athletic. There was a deep gash over his rib cage that would need to be cleaned and stitched, she guessed, along with what was the start of some bruising that could indicate a broken rib or two, but no signs of internal injuries. And yes, she agreed that his leg was broken when she took another look at the angle it had come to rest at. Or, rather, angles.

  There was no way to tell how he’d come to be in the stream, and she had no idea if his injuries were the result of an accident or being tossed around in the churning water, but it didn’t matter at the moment. Her fingers moved into his thick black hair, gently checking his scalp for lacerations and finding none. She did feel a large bump on the side of his head—a concussion, then.

  She looked between him and the house, and then glanced at her crumbling barn again before looking back to the stranger. “Well, crap,” she murmured, the full weight of the last ten minutes of her life slamming into her.

  4

  Austin blinked several times, staring up at the orange-streaked sky. His head was pounding, and he was cold—really cold. And wet. His left leg throbbed distractingly, and he felt as if he’d just been through the rinse cycle in a washing machine. His hand reached up to touch his forehead, feeling out a prominent bump beneath his hair.

  “You’re awake,” a woman’s voice said, startling him.

  He rolled his head to the side and saw a woman walking towards him. “You…” He swallowed the dry word that would have come next, thinking he’d sounded like a frog just then, and tried again. “You’re the one who pulled me out of the water.”

  She smiled. “It’s generally a nice tranquil stream, but you happened to go for a swim when it’s swollen and violent. It only feels like a river right now because of the spring run-off.”

  “Oh,” he muttered, trying to orientate himself. “But I… I fell into a river.”

  She grimaced above him, and then crouched down to meet his eyes. “You’re lucky to be alive, then—this stream branches off from the river more than a mile from here, and if it looks like this, I can only imagine what the river’s like right now.”

  “It’s cold, too,” he grunted. She half-smiled at the joke, and he looked back to the sky. It was still light out, but barely. He was guessing it was around nine. He needed to get back to the trailer and let Savannah know he was okay. First, though, he needed a hospital. He was convinced his leg was broken.

  “I brought a pair of crutches,” she said, brandishing a pair of metal ones.

  He stared at them for a moment, wondering if she was serious. “For me?”

  “I can’t carry you,” she told him. “I thought about making a stretcher out of a blanket if I couldn’t get you up, but that was my last resort,” she muttered.

  He sat up, jarring his leg and wincing with pain when he moved it. “I think it’s broken.”

  “You said that already,” she replied dryly. She squatted in front of him again. She was pretty, was his first thought. She had shoulder-length black hair, soaked and sticking to her olive skin around her face and neck. Her wet t-shirt clung to her body, showing off her trim figure. And he knew he shouldn’t look, but she was an attractive woman and he wasn’t blind. A little broken, but definitely not blind.

  “I’m sorry, my head is a little foggy. Can you take me to the hospital?” he asked.

  “I tried calling for help, but my cell is dead and the power is out. That’s why I brought the crutches. I think they’re about our only option, though I’m going to go get my truck now that you’re awake” she added.

  “We’ll make it work, then,” he acknowledged, still wondering how he’d stand on the crutches. “Sorry to be a bother,” he muttered.

  “It’s fine. The hospital’s about twenty minutes away. Sit tight and I’ll bring my truck closer,” she said, standing and jogging away, leaving the crutches beside him.

  He bent his good leg and tried to get to a standing position, but it wasn’t going to happen. He’d just have to wait for his savior to come back. The sky seemed to be getting darker by the minute, but he kept his eyes on the rushing water a few yards in front of him and shook his head. The woman was right that he was lucky to have escaped that water with his life. Someone had tried to kill him. Callum was dead. It felt surreal. He was a boring fluff journalist. Stuff like this didn’
t happen to him.

  Her footsteps behind him were what grabbed his attention. Her truck had to have the quietest engine he’d ever heard—he hadn’t heard a thing.

  “I’m going to need some help up,” he confessed without looking at her, a little embarrassed to be so helpless. It wasn’t something he was used to.

  “Uh, well, bad news—my truck won’t start,” she said, halting beside him with a bewildered look on her face.

  “Your truck won’t start?” he echoed. First the power and her phone, and now her truck? Who was this lady?

  “Nope. Dead. Nothing turns on. I drove it a couple hours ago and it was fine,” she added, apparently reading the judgement on his face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”

  “Is the battery dead?”

  “I don’t see how. It’s a new truck. The battery should be fairly new.”

  He closed his eyes. “Okay, so, no power, no phone, and no truck. How far are we from town?”

  “It’s about twenty miles to Irvine. That’s the closest hospital.”

  “What?” he asked, his head jerking back to look up at her.

  She shrugged a shoulder. “That’s the closest real town. They have a small hospital.”

  “Holy crap. I fell into the river north of Stanton,” he said, shaking his head.

  She let out a low whistle. “That’s forty miles away.”

  “Forty miles!” he practically shouted. “Look, you have to help me get back there. My daughter…”

  She frowned deeper now. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to get you there right now, but first things first, okay? We need to get you back to the house so we can start warming you up.”

  Austin swallowed down the panic in his gut, and then her words struck home. He didn’t feel cold anymore, and that was a dangerous sign. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to pull his wits about him.

  “I’m Austin, Austin Merryman. Thank you for saving me. Please don’t think I’m ungrateful. I am. It’s just… I really need to get home.”

  She squatted in front of him. “Austin, I’m Amanda Patterson. I’m a veterinarian and can take care of your leg until we figure out a hospital trip. I have some painkillers back at the house, but first we need to check you out and make sure you don’t have any other injuries. Let’s take care of the most pressing matters first. I need to get out of these wet clothes I’m wearing, as well.”

  “I hit my head,” he said, the throbbing reminding him of the rock he’d slammed into seconds after he’d hit the water.

  “Austin, I’m going to help you stand up, and then you’ll need to use the crutches to support the majority of your weight. Can you do that?” she asked, her voice calm—clinical.

  It grounded him, as he imagined she’d meant it to, and he nodded. “Yes.”

  “Okay, put the crutch under your right arm. I’m going to lift you from behind,” she instructed, moving behind him.

  “You’re not going to be able to lift me,” he grumbled.

  “I got you out of the stream,” she shot back.

  She made a good point. With her help, he managed to get to his feet—foot. He swayed a little, blinking several times to try and right the suddenly spinning world.

  “I need a second,” he muttered, his hands gripping the crutches.

  He inhaled through his nose, breathing through the pain rocketing through his body. The wave of dizziness made him sway on his one good leg so that he appreciated her hand catching his elbow for support.

  “Take a minute, breathe slow and deep, and we’ll move when you’re ready,” she said, her hand on his back, its warmth coming through the soaked shirt. Beside him, she was even shorter than he’d realized—maybe a few inches past five feet; she was right that he’d have to get to her house mostly on his own foot and the crutches.

  “I’m ready,” he said, taking a first shaky step forward.

  By the time he managed to make it up the three steps onto the covered front porch of her home, he was exhausted. He had zero strength left. Ahead of him, she opened the screen door and gestured for him to go inside.

  “Have a seat on the couch,” she ordered him, lighting some candles near the door so that he could see.

  He hobbled over on the crutches before he collapsed onto her couch, grimacing in pain as the action jerked his leg once again.

  “I’ll be right back,” she promised, heading out of the living room.

  He let the crutches fall against the couch beside him and squeezed his eyes closed, pain threatening to pull him under. When he’d managed to swallow it down and get past it, he opened his eyes and looked around the farmhouse. It looked cozy, with a plaid throw tossed over the back of a recliner and a small flat-screen TV on a plain stand. It was simple, very much like other farmhouses he’d seen and been in. When Amanda returned with more candles, she wore dry clothes herself and didn’t waste any time before ordering him to take off his shirt. He leaned forward, struggling to pull his soaked t-shirt off. It was only with her help that he managed. She immediately covered him with a warm blanket, tucking it in around his neck.

  “Pants,” she told him flatly.

  He grimaced. “Really?”

  “Your leg is broken, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Your pants are wet, right?”

  He nodded again.

  “Then strip, Austin. You’re covered with a blanket and I promise not to peek,” she added, a cheeky grin flaring up on her face.

  “Thank you,” he told her, struggling to get his frozen fingers to work to undo his belt buckle. There was no way he was asking her for help with this. He managed to get the pants halfway down his thighs before she had to take over, working at the soaked shoelaces of his boots before gently pulling the pants down over his injured leg. It still hurt like hell.

  “I need to clean the cut on your side before we deal with this leg,” she said next, ignoring the fact that he was essentially naked under the blanket.

  Austin nodded yet again—what else could he do? “Okay.”

  “I might need to stitch it closed… since I’m really not sure how to get you to the hospital,” she said, the last words coming more hesitantly.

  His eyes popped open. “What? That bad?”

  “I mean, I would have preferred we wait, but we can’t wait too long,” she advised him.

  “Why?” he asked.

  She shrugged, her eyes squinted in thought. Even in the candlelight, he could tell she was concerned. “It isn’t bleeding,” she answered, “which is a good sign, but I don’t want to risk an infection. The sooner we close it, the lower the risk of an infection. You have about twelve hours after an injury to stitch it,” she explained.

  Twelve hours wasn’t much time when they didn’t have an immediate plan. “That does it, then. Stitch it.”

  “Are you sure?” she pressed.

  He stared up at her. “You said you were a vet, right? You know what you’re doing?” he asked.

  “I do. I’m guessing you might need eight to ten stitches. I have a numbing agent that will help,” she said, holding up a bottle.

  “Do whatever. I need to get home. My daughter, she’ll be there alone, wondering what happened to me.”

  Amanda gently sat down on the couch beside him, clearly trying not to shift the cushion below his injured leg as he maneuvered the blanket away from his side.

  “What did happen to you?” she asked, dumping a clear liquid on a gauze pad before she pressed it against the injury that he’d barely even realized was there. He blamed the frigid temperatures for numbing his body, which was a small blessing. He imagined he’d be very stiff and sore tomorrow, not to mention covered in bruises.

  “I fell off a bridge,” he lied.

  She raised an eyebrow. “You should learn to be more careful.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She smiled tightly and held the gauze to his side as she pulled a candle positioned on the table behind the couch closer. �
�Ready?” she asked. He nodded and expected real pain when she put a needle to his skin, but there was only a pinch before he felt tugging and some stinging as she continued. Maybe along with the cold, the numbing agent had truly helped dull the sharp pain he knew he should be feeling. If anything, the stitching hurt just less than getting a tattoo. As he watched her tediously pull the black thread through his skin, he remembered the pain he’d felt in his side when the bullets had started to fly. That was it. He’d been grazed by a bullet and hadn’t even realized it in the moment. He wasn’t about to tell this woman he’d been shot at, though.

  Finished with his side, she pronounced his break a simple one and used a horse splint to brace his broken leg before using some hot pink vet wrap to keep it in place. The support of the brace provided almost immediate relief. He could already feel the muscles in his leg relaxing a bit.

  “Sorry about the pink—it’s all I had on hand,” she said with a grin. “We’ll do a real cast tomorrow if we can’t figure out how to get you to the hospital. I took care of a dog’s broken leg just last week,” she said, as if to make him feel better. “So if you can handle the color, we’ll be okay.”

  He shrugged, thinking he was at least beyond lucky that he’d landed in a vet’s hands rather than the average farmer’s. “My masculinity can handle a pink cast if it comes to it.”

  “Good. Now, I have a camp stove. I’m going to fire it up and make us some hot soup,” she said, taking off the latex gloves she’d been wearing. “I’ll light some more candles, as well.”

  “I really need to get home,” he reminded her tiredly.

  “Austin, I understand you need to get back to your daughter, but I honestly don’t know how to get you there. Not tonight. Tomorrow, I can get to a neighbor and see about help—the closest farm’s a few miles down the road.”

  He took a deep breath. “That’s right. No phones or power.”