Joe checked the tiny fingers again, having bandaged the forearm to the padded cardboard splint. The only sound Ricky had made during the procedure had been a kind of animal whimper as the bandage had been wound over the gauze pad Joe had used as extra padding where the bones’ ends were stretching the skin to a pale and inadequate covering.
‘Can you still feel me touching your fingers, Ricky?’ Joe waited for the short nod. The kid was mute, Joe had decided, and he was getting used to the only form of communication the child seemed capable of: an intense stare and the occasional nod or shake of his head. ‘Cool,’ Joe announced. The splinting hadn’t caused any deterioration of blood vessel or nerve function. The fingers felt cool but the capillary refill was acceptable—just. Joe would have to keep an eye on it, however. It wouldn’t take long for irreversible damage to occur and hands were far too important to risk them losing any function permanently. Ricky was going to need surgery to repair his arm. Joe could only hope to prevent any worsening of its condition until then.
‘Now…what else?’ Joe noted the increasing flicker of the light from his headlamp with concern. How much more of a physical assessment could he manage before they were plunged into complete darkness? At least he knew already that Ricky’s blood pressure was OK. He’d checked both radial pulses when comparing the blood supply between his arms. No obvious blood loss was occurring from any internal injuries and he couldn’t see any indication of a head injury. Bit difficult to assess the GCS on a patient who couldn’t talk, but Ricky seemed to understand what he said and he certainly wasn’t drowsy. That unblinking stare from the dark eyes gave the impression of being very alert.
The knees were a bit of a worry. There was a lot of dirt amongst the ragged shreds of skin and clots of dried blood. Joe had one gauze pad left in his bag and a tiny sachet of saline he could dampen it with. He divided the pad in half and sprinkled the fluid on each piece.
‘These are for your knees, mate,’ he warned Ricky. ‘Might sting a bit when I put them on but it’ll help keep them clean until we can get a proper bandage.’
It stung all right. Ricky’s indrawn breath was a gasp and tears slowly welled from both eyes to run down his cheeks. Joe quickly taped the rough dressings into place.
‘Sorry, buddy,’ he said. ‘All over now.’
The whole assessment and treatment process had taken quite a while but it had been good to have something to do. Joe had a nasty feeling that they were going to be waiting in this truck for a long time before someone came looking for them.
‘Let’s get ourselves comfortable,’ he suggested. ‘We could fold up these blankets and make something nicer to sit on than this floor.’
The light on his helmet gave up its struggle to continue functioning just as Joe laid the final blanket beside the mattress he’d created to be used as a covering if they got cold later.
‘Gee, it’s a bit dark now, isn’t it?’ He hoped that Ricky’s bravery extended to dealing with what felt like being plunged into a deep hole. ‘I can’t see you any more. Can you see me?’
The silence made Joe realise how dependent he had become on observing Ricky’s head for signs of communication. Well, if he couldn’t do it by sight he’d just have to make use of another sense. He moved forward carefully on his knees, feeling ahead of him until his fingers made contact with a small foot.
‘Hey, there you are! Come over here and sit on the bed I’ve made for us.’
Joe took no notice of the lack of response. He crawled closer and scooped Ricky into his arms, careful not to jostle the splint. ‘I’d better help you,’ he said. ‘I know where it is.’
He was still holding the child as he settled himself onto the cushion of folded blankets with his back resting against the solid wall of the truck. Ricky wasn’t making any attempt to resist being held, and when Joe loosened his grip a little he made no move to climb off his lap. Joe didn’t want to shoo him off. As unused as he was to having a small body sitting on top of him, it wasn’t uncomfortable and if it provided a bit of comfort for the kid then that was the least he could do, wasn’t it? Who knew when—or even if—they were going to get out of here? And Joe had to admit it was kind of nice to have something warm and solid so close. He smiled wryly. Maybe he needed the comfort as much as Ricky did.
‘OK, mate? Are you warm enough?’ Joe put his hand gently on Ricky’s head to feel for the expected nod. The feel of stroking the thick thatch of hair was a sensation that Joe unconsciously wanted to repeat. The kid’s hair was filthy and felt rough with grit but it was still kind of nice to stroke. Bit like patting a puppy, Joe thought. In fact, Ricky was more like a puppy than an average kid. So quiet and with those liquid brown eyes that made you want to provide some kind of protection and reassurance. The comparison pleased Joe. He liked dogs. He didn’t like kids. They were demanding and noisy and expensive. And they carried with them a burden of responsibility that Joe had never been tempted to meet. His own childhood had been a miserable experience and he had vowed long ago not to contribute to the possibility that that could happen to anyone else. Even marriage was no guarantee that a kid’s life would be a happy one. He’d seen too many relationships break up and the kids always went to the mothers. And then they got stepfathers. Or ‘uncles’.
Did Ricky have any pseudo-father figures in his life? Joe found that thought a lot less pleasing. Not that Jessica would have any trouble attracting male companionship. The first sight of her had sent Joe into a bit of a tailspin. That stunning halo of auburn, shoulder-length curls, chocolate-coloured eyes just like Ricky’s and a small-featured face that advertised intelligence coupled with an appealingly shy modesty. And then there were those slim hips usually encased in figure-hugging jeans and the casual tops that did nothing to hide a generous bust.
Joe sucked in his breath hard enough to make him cough. Yep. There was no denying that Jessica was an attractive package. He would have been in like a shot if she hadn’t slipped the fact that she was a single mother into the self-introduction she’d given the USAR class. It was the firmest rule Joe had regarding women. No way was he ever going to be an ‘uncle’. Or a father, for that matter. That was why his marriage had gone under all those years ago. Lisa had been so sure she could change the rules and the campaign had become progressively nastier over the three years the marriage had lasted. He wasn’t going to buy into that kind of mess again either. No way!
The head stroking seemed to soothe Ricky, who nestled closer to Joe and laid his head on his shoulder. He probably needed to sleep, Joe decided. He’d like to obliterate a bit of time that way himself but there were too many tension-generating thoughts competing for attention. The truck was pretty stuffy and the air outside was probably still thick with dust. What percentage of oxygen did the stuff they were breathing still contain? And were there any stray pockets of lethal gas infiltrating the basement atmosphere? If he went to sleep, he might never wake up. Joe needed to try and distract himself.
‘I should be at home right now,’ he informed Ricky. ‘At my house. I was going to catch up on some laundry and dirty dishes and mow the lawns this weekend. And then I was going to treat myself to a whole day in the garage, working on my car.’
Joe shifted his position slightly and Ricky pressed closer into the hollow under his shoulder. Joe was getting accustomed to the feel of the child now. He felt soft and relaxed. A trusting kind of weight, totally unlike holding a frightened young patient. It was kind of nice, really.
‘My car is the best,’ Joe continued after the short pause. ‘I used to have a hot rod and do some circuit racing and burnouts but I got a bit sick of that so I decided to get one I could just enjoy driving around town. Something special. Something I’d dreamed about having when I was sixteen or so.’ The memory made Joe smile. ‘I was so excited when I found this car—a 1966 Ford Mustang convertible. Even though it was a wreck, I loved it. I’ve spent the last two years restoring it in my spare time and it’s nearly finished.
‘It’s gorgeous,�
�� Joe confided softly. ‘It’s my baby.’ Nobody knew how much Joe loved his car but Ricky was hardly likely to tell anybody, was he? ‘Coup Cam roller rockers, Flowmaster 2 chamber mufflers, Pertronix ignition, rear disc brakes and…’ Joe sighed happily ‘…original 1966 Shelby 10-spoke rims on the wheels. I had to get those sent over from the States and they cost a bomb but, man, they were worth it!’
The distraction was great. Joe was so absorbed in his description of his dream car he’d almost forgotten where they were.
‘I’m almost ready to start the body and paintwork,’ he told Ricky excitedly. ‘A few more mechanical bits to do and the hood needs fixing but then I’m going to paint it and I have to decide what colour and whether I want to customise it with something like stripes or maybe some flames along the side. Mmm.’ Joe liked the idea of flames. ‘Mind you, I’d have to be careful of the base colour if I wanted flames. I couldn’t paint it red, could I? Maybe dark green would be good. Or blue. What do you reckon, buddy?’
‘Blue,’ Ricky said clearly.
Joe’s breath caught. The unexpected sound of Ricky’s voice jerked him back into reality and then into a stunned silence. Ricky could talk. He exhaled carefully.
‘Hmm.’ Joe tried to sound casual. ‘Blue could be good. Maybe a really dark blue. I saw a Chevy painted like that once.’
‘Chevrolet,’ Ricky said.
Joe blinked. ‘That’s what a Chevy is all right.’ He found himself smiling. ‘Just how many cars do you know about, Ricky?’
‘VW Beetles,’ Ricky said after a long pause. ‘Cadillacs,’ he added shyly after another pause. ‘Mustangs and Jaguars.’ He sounded slightly more confident now. ‘Mummy was going to buy me a Porsche today. I want a red one.’
‘Don’t we all, buddy?’ Joe’s grin faded slowly. Just who had given this kid the label of being ‘disabled’? Joe didn’t approve of children being shut into labelled spaces. He’d been in one himself. More than one over the years. He’d been a ‘nuisance’ at home. A ‘deprived child’ and ‘behavioural problem’ at school and even ‘disturbed’ in later years. Looking back, it was as easy to see how his environment had caused the labelled spaces he’d been assigned as it had been difficult to pull himself out of the rut and make something of his life.
A stirring of something like anger made itself felt. Was Ricky’s label somehow the result of his environment? Was he really disabled in some way? He hoped the kid had someone fighting in his corner apart from a shy single mother. Jessica didn’t look like much of a fighter but, then, she’d astonished him by her fierce determination to protect her child. She loved Ricky, that was certain, but had she been misdirected somehow about his intellectual abilities? Not that he himself knew much about the subject but a kid who knew that much about cars was one out of the box as far as Joe was concerned.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad, being trapped in here for the moment. It was crazy but Joe could almost believe he was enjoying himself. Not that the conversation was exactly flowing.
‘I had a toy car when I was your age,’ Joe admitted to Ricky. ‘I took it everywhere with me. Sometimes at school I’d hide when the bell went and then I’d sneak back and have the sandpit all to myself to make roads in. Sometimes it took them ages to find me.’ And sometimes they hadn’t bothered to look. It hadn’t been a case of being seen and not heard that had earned approval for Joe Barrington. It had been more like being not seen and not heard. He’d never told anybody that little snippet of his life before but, then, he’d never had anybody around who he would have considered might be remotely interested.
‘Real cars are even more fun,’ he advised the child. ‘When you grow up you’ll be able to have your own real car—like me. What sort would you like?’
He was close enough to be able to discern the movement of Ricky’s mouth even in the darkness and the smile tugged at something deep within Joe.
‘A Mustang,’ Ricky declared. ‘Just like Joe.’ And then he yawned and his head drooped lower on Joe’s chest.
It was ridiculous but the odd prickling sensation in the corners of his eyes was unmistakable. Joe hadn’t cried since he was a kid and he wasn’t about to start again now. It was perfectly obvious that Ricky had made that choice because it had been Joe’s choice. The kid was simply following his example so why should that make him feel so peculiar? Almost humble. Or proud, maybe. Joe couldn’t put a word to his reaction and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Or maybe he did. And maybe it didn’t matter, considering their situation. They might never make it out of this truck alive. Joe tried to push the negative thought aside.
‘Tell you what, buddy. When we get out of here you can come and visit me. I’ll show you my car.’
‘OK.’ The words were slow to arrive. The next ones were no more than a sleepy mumble. ‘Thank you, Joe.’
Maybe the effort of talking had finally pushed Ricky over the edge of exhaustion. Or maybe the fact that he had spoken at all indicated an acceptance of Joe and a measure of trust that allowed the child to finally relax enough to slip into sleep. Joe found his own head drooping in the silence that followed. He eased himself down onto the makeshift mattress and used his free hand to pull the spare blanket over them both. He lay with Ricky still nestled in the crook of one arm. Amazingly, and almost instantaneously, he slept.
It was the noise that woke him. Joe realised as he struggled back into consciousness that the noise must have been present for some time—a background rumble that had been incorporated into disjointed and disturbing dreams of entrapment and being buried alive. Perhaps they had been too distant at first to pull him out of his exhausted slumber. Joe moved cautiously. He must have been asleep for a long time to feel this stiff and sore. Or had he injured himself during that headlong dive for safety? Ricky was still asleep, totally immobile, his small face pale and expressionless. For one awful second Joe thought it might be more than sleep, and the horrible sinking sensation was enough to make him shake the child’s shoulder gently.
‘Ricky. Ricky! You OK, buddy?’
Ricky stirred, opened his eyes briefly, nodded and then went back to sleep. Joe watched his breathing and felt his pulse and breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. Then he moved, climbing off the makeshift bed they had shared and feeling his way along the edge of the truck until he reached the heavy doors and could open them. The noise instantly increased in volume and Joe knew exactly what was causing it. A bobcat clearing rubble from an area on the other side of the car park. Almost at the moment of recognition, however, the noise stopped. Joe heard a signal from a whistle calling for silence and he stared through the darkness, trying to pinpoint where the sound had originated from. He listened for another sound—anything that might indicate the arrival of assistance—and tried to dampen the excitement he felt building. They were going to make it out of here after all. Both of them.
‘Rescue team here. Can you hear me?’
‘Here!’ Joe yelled. ‘We’re over here.’ His voice was hoarse due to dust inhalation and too much coughing. It wasn’t nearly loud enough for anyone to hear. The wait for another call seemed agonisingly long and Joe was torn between moving in the direction of approaching rescue and staying close to Ricky. Staying close won, so he waited, knowing he would hear the call again.
‘Rescue team here. Can you hear me?’
‘Yes!’ Joe put all his energy into the yell. And it was enough. He heard another whistle signal and excited voices and then he could see the criss-crossing beams of light raking air that still looked thick, illuminating ghostly shapes of dust-laden cars. Then a beam caught Joe’s face as he hung out the back door of the furniture truck and he had to shield his eyes from the painfully bright glare.
‘There he is!’
And there they were. A USAR team that Joe barely recognised. All strangers apart from the firemen Owen and Roger.
‘We haven’t got a medic with us,’ the squad leader apologised. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine. I just need a drink of water and some fresh
air.’ Joe couldn’t stop grinning. ‘And Ricky’s OK for the moment, too. He’s got a broken arm and he’s dehydrated but…’ Joe turned back, realising that Ricky might have woken now that several headlamp beams were lighting up the interior of the truck.
He had woken and he was looking just as terrified as when Joe had first found him.
‘Oh, no.’ Joe felt a wave of remorse that he hadn’t woken Ricky himself and explained what was happening. ‘Wait here for a minute,’ he told the USAR team, before scrambling back to the corner where Ricky was huddled.
‘It’s OK, buddy,’ he said gently. ‘They’ve come to rescue us. We can go and find Mum for you now.’
Ricky didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. Had he shut himself away again in the space that Joe had believed impenetrable? Joe reached out and stroked his hair.
‘It’s OK,’ he repeated. ‘I’ll look after you.’ Joe held out his arms and Ricky moved—so quickly that Joe was taken by surprise. He now had a silent limpet of a child in his arms, a small face hidden against his shoulder and an arm in a makeshift splint dangling awkwardly.
THE NURSE'S RESCUE Page 5
