Heart's Command

by Meredith Webber

  The small hand had crept into Harry’s again, its warmth, and the pressure of the little fingers, very seductive.

  ‘I guess you can come,’ he agreed, and ignored the startled look on the mechanic’s face. ‘But you obey orders, hear? If I tell you to stay in the car, you stay in the car.’

  He strode out towards his Land Rover, nodded to his driver, then boosted Anthony up into the back seat.

  ‘Seat belt!’ he snapped, more to show his driver he wasn’t going soft than to scare the kid, who nonetheless obeyed.

  Having a driver made it easier to look around. A front-end loader was pushing sand into a pile behind the line of men—civilians and soldiers—who worked in pairs to fill sandbags with mechanical efficiency.

  Beyond them other men stacked the bags along the levee bank, raising it against the encroaching flood.

  In the main street, another knot of troops waded through the knee-deep water, steering a flat-bottomed boat. Perched in the back of this makeshift rescue craft was a very overweight woman, clutching a bird cage on her knee and loudly berating the soldiers as she was towed to safety.

  Harry heard the raucous screech of a cockatoo adding its protests to those of the woman, and was feeling thankful that all he had to handle was one recalcitrant doctor when Anthony leant forward and grabbed his arm.

  ‘That’s Mrs Mathers and Whitey,’ the excited child told him. ‘Mrs Mathers said she’d rather be swept all the way to South Australia than leave her house again. Last time the waters came, and the sergeant took her to Vereton, someone got into her house and stole all her jewels.’

  All her jewels? The thought intrigued Harry but he had no time to pursue it as his driver was pulling up behind a substantial, if flood-stained building—right behind the small Toyota he recognised as the doctor’s car.

  And in case he hadn’t caught on, Anthony cried out, ‘Kirstie’s here.’ He leapt from the car, running inside before Harry had time to issue a countermanding order.

  Which, perhaps, was just as well as he had no doubt the child would have ignored him.

  He was entering what he assumed was the rear door of the building when he heard a firmly issued, ‘Out!’ Anthony reversed his direction and shot back towards the door.

  It was apparent that ‘Kirstie’ had more influence than the army where the small boy was concerned.

  She was backing down the dark foyer, dragging something—someone—behind her.

  ‘Ah, the major!’ she said calmly. ‘Good. Your man’s hurt his leg. I want to get him out of here. If you take his shoulders I think I can lift his legs.’

  ‘We need a stretcher. I’ll contact our—’

  ‘Now, Major!’

  She cut across his protest and at the same time he heard an ominous creak and realised that the passage ahead of them ended abruptly. Part of the building had already collapsed.

  He bent, seized Woulfe’s shoulders and proceeded to drag him towards the door, hauling the injured man unceremoniously out into the rain before asking his driver to summon the FAP ambulance.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked Kirsten, who was ignoring the patient and peering into the building with a worried frown creasing the pale, smooth skin of her forehead.

  A low rumble and a cloud of dust billowing out suggested there’d been more movement.

  ‘The ceiling’s collapsed. From the back the building looks OK, but just beyond where you found us the ceiling is down on floor level and heaven only knows where the floor is. Your man was in there. He crawled out—but I think Jim Thompson, our mayor, is probably trapped. And I don’t know who else might have been inside.’

  She stepped forward as if to go back into the building but Harry grabbed her arm and hauled her back.

  ‘We’ll stabilise it first. Did Captain Woulfe say anything? How did you come to be here?’

  ‘Jim—the mayor—phoned. About something else. While we were speaking there was a dreadful grinding noise and we were cut off. I came straight down and found the soldier—a captain, is he? Anyway, he was lying in the passage. I should go back in. I’m small, and can probably get through wherever he came out.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing!’ Harry snapped at her, the thought of the woman putting herself in such danger making his blood run cold. ‘Your job’s to treat the injured. See to that lad. Get him up to the hospital and fix his leg. Driver, I want all available men down here, with hydraulic lifting gear and any props, jacks or solid timber that can be used to shore up a collapsing building.’

  ‘There’s a hardware store across the main street. I know Jack Henry wired his timber into packs in the hope it wouldn’t float away,’ Kirsten told him, looking up from where she crouched beside her patient.

  Harry nodded acknowledgment of her suggestion and was about to walk away to inspect the building from the outside when the company’s ambulance, apparently alerted by his driver, pulled up and two orderlies jumped out.

  ‘We need a stretcher,’ Kirsten told them, then she straightened and turned to Harry.

  ‘I’ll take him to the hospital, X-ray him and set his leg. If there are any complications I promise you I’ll arrange to fly him out.’

  He was about to protest that his own men could handle the patient when she added, ‘I’ll take the ambulance driver and then send him back down here as soon as possible. I think you’ll need all the help you can get.’

  Which he would, Harry realised, if there were living people beneath the slabs of concrete inside the building.

  He nodded to her and watched as she herded a protesting Anthony into the front of the converted Land Rover, then climbed in the back to squat beside her patient.

  She was having an uncomfortable day, one way or another.

  Kirsten turned her attention to her new patient. He was stirring and she guessed he’d held himself together as he’d crawled out of the collapsed section of the building then had passed out from pain and exhaustion.

  ‘The wall came down on my leg,’ the man said. ‘It hurts.’

  ‘So it should,’ Kirsten told him. ‘It’s broken. What about your head? You were out cold in there. Was your head injured?’

  She leaned over him and ran her fingers over his scalp as she asked the question, seeking any lump or a softness in his skull that would suggest a depressed fracture. She checked his pupils—normal—and found no seepage of clear cerebrospinal fluid from either ear or his nose.

  ‘I might have bumped it on the floor when I went backwards, but I can’t feel any pain in it. I was at the desk—it collapsed on to my leg, but held the rest of the wall off me.’

  He spoke slowly, as if trying to piece together his recollection of the moment, then he seized Kirsten’s hand and tried to lever himself into a sitting position.

  ‘There were two other men in there. Are they out? Does anyone know? They were behind me, near some filing cabinets. I didn’t see them later.’

  ‘Your colleagues are tending to them now,’ Kirsten told him, knowing there was no point in getting the man more agitated. His pulse was steady and his breathing seemed unimpaired, but agitation didn’t always show in physical ways. ‘I’m going to get you fixed up then go back down there myself, so they’ll be well looked after.’

  She mentally crossed her fingers, hoping she was right and that the two men—Jim and whoever it was?—were safe!

  Anthony was directing the ambulance driver to the side entrance to the hospital.

  ‘I’ll need a hand to get him inside then we can handle things from there,’ she told the driver. ‘Could you tell the major there are two men still inside the building?’

  He nodded, and she knew he’d be heading straight back down to the accident site.

  ‘Anthony, you shoot inside as soon as we stop and ask Mary to turn on the X-ray machine. Then find your sisters and check they’ve fed the rabbits.’ She knew the only way to keep him out from underfoot was by giving him a task.

  Though what he’d been doing down in the town she had no
idea. Probably stowed away in one of the army vehicles.

  They pulled up and the child shot off as ordered. The driver opened the back of the vehicle and undid the brakes on the gurney before sliding it out, steadying it as first one and then the second pair of long, wheeled legs dropped to the ground.

  Mary Williams came running out and took one end, and Kirsten assured the driver they’d manage now and waved him on his way.

  ‘The council building’s collapsed,’ she said to Mary. ‘This fellow crawled out but Jim and someone else are still inside.’

  ‘The council building? It’s solid stone. I can’t believe that going.’

  I can’t believe any of this, Kirsten thought, but most of her attention was on her patient. Together they wheeled him through to the X-ray room.

  ‘I’m going to start fluid and some painkiller running into you,’ she told her patient, ‘then we’ll X-ray your leg and give you a light anaesthetic while I realign the bone, X-ray it again to see I’ve got it right, then immobilise it with plaster. Thirty minutes, and you’ll be resting, more or less comfortably, in a bed.’

  ‘Can you manage here?’ Kirsten asked Mary when the patient had been hooked up to a drip. ‘I want to check on Cathy and set up for the plaster.’

  Mary nodded and Kirsten left her to it, heading for the theatre and worrying about the soldier as she walked.

  She’d felt the grating of the bone which had told her whatever had fallen on his leg had fractured his tibia and, no doubt, fibula as well. Because the fibula wasn’t weight bearing, it could be disregarded, but the tibia would need to be set and immobilised while the bone knitted together.

  Should she send him on? Have him airlifted out?

  She thought of the number of fractures she’d handled since arriving in Murrawarra. Where men rode motorbikes around their properties, these injuries were common. In fact, she probably had more experience than either of the doctors in Vereton who would, no doubt, send their patients to an orthopedic specialist in Dubbo.

  ‘I’ll set it,’ she muttered as she entered the theatre and found Cathy and Ken both occupied in the final stages of delivery of the new addition to the West family. Merryll Cooper, the nurse’s aide who’d stayed on with the skeleton staff, was hovering over a trolley set up with a baby bundle containing everything that was needed to welcome the new arrival to the world.

  ‘You sneaked up on me,’ Kirstie said to Cathy, who was pushing and panting and cursing the absent Rob all at once.

  Ken had looped the problematic cord well out of the way so the head slid past it without risk of strangulation. As Kirsten watched, Ken gave a competent twist, the shoulders came through and a tiny baby boy slid out and was held aloft for his mother to admire. Then, when he gave his first cry of protest, he was handed to her.

  ‘Well done, all of you,’ Kirstie said. She glanced at Ken. ‘You can manage?’

  He nodded and she knew she hadn’t had to ask. He loved maternity work, and fussed more than the mothers over the babies in his care.

  ‘Don’t forget to phone Rob,’ she reminded Cathy. ‘As soon as you’re both cleaned up, Ken will settle you into bed and bring you a phone.’

  She left the beaming mother and went towards the room they’d set up, more than slightly tongue in cheek, as the plaster room.

  It had been a small chapel, now deconsecrated but still adorned by plaster saints who seemed to watch approvingly over the work. She pulled out what she’d need, at the same time preparing herself mentally for the task ahead—first aligning the bone, then stabilising and immobilising it. She’d need Mary’s help.

  Again doubt surfaced. Should she send him on?

  Lt Ross appeared as she was debating this.

  ‘The major said to tell you we’re on our own for at least three hours. The Vereton police have just advised the back road’s now cut, and our choppers are grounded behind the floods until new fuel’s flown in. Apparently it will take that long to bring back one of the search and rescue choppers from the action further north.’

  The bit about the fuel made absolutely no sense at all to Kirsten but she understood that the major was actually giving her permission to set his soldier’s leg.

  Though the other men, if badly injured…

  ‘Has he asked for a civilian chopper?’

  ‘He’s told them what’s happened and warned them one might be needed,’ James replied.

  Kirsten nodded, hoping in her heart that one would be needed. The alternative was too grim to consider. And the flood peak hadn’t reached them yet.

  Returning to the X-ray room, she found her patient all but asleep, the soporific effect of the drugs already working. Mary had the films up in light-boxes, and Kirsten studied them. The break in the tibia was clear but clean, and there were no dark shadows to suggest blood-vessel involvement.

  When she reduced the fracture in the tibia, the fibula would also move into alignment. A simple task, she assured herself, annoyed that the major’s sudden appearance in her life should be making her doubt her professional ability.

  With her patient temporarily knocked out by a mild anaesthetic, Kirsten moved the lower limb until she was satisfied the bone was realigned, then manoeuvred the gurney back for another X-ray.

  ‘Spot on,’ Mary told her, holding the film up to the light before slotting it into the box.

  Kirsten studied it closely, then nodded her agreement. Now all she had to do was plaster the limb.

  All? It was a dreadful job, one she was sorry she hadn’t left to the army first-aid personnel who doubtless could set limbs.

  With Mary’s help she wheeled their patient to the plaster room. She had a treasured supply of one of the new synthetic cast materials, thermoplastic strips that dried in thirty minutes. It was lightweight, easy to wear and impervious to water, so a patient could shower, or even swim in it, although she wouldn’t recommend that the captain do any swimming for a while.

  ‘Will you use the expensive material?’ Mary asked, guessing at her thoughts.

  ‘I think so,’ Kirsten replied. ‘The army deserves the best. My only doubt is my own ability. It’s more difficult to apply.’

  ‘Only because you have to work more quickly,’ Mary pointed out. ‘And you’re neat and speedy with your hands when you’re applying plaster.’

  Buoyed by the nurse’s confidence, Kirsten made her decision.

  The soldier raised sleepy eyelids and Kirsten told him what she was about to do, then watched him drift back to sleep.

  While Mary filled a bowl with water and slid plastic sheets and a small foam prop under the patient’s leg, Kirsten prepared thin, pliable splints to incorporate into the plaster. Later a heel support would be added, but that would depend on when X-rays suggested he could safely bear weight on the injured leg. She eased a length of stockinette up onto his thigh where the top edge of the plaster could rub, put padding around his knee to protect the bony protuberances, put another stocking over his ankle and heel, and more padding around the bone.

  ‘The main thing is to work with the palms of the hands,’ she told Mary as she took the wet strips of material from the nurse and moulded them around the patient’s leg. ‘Using the fingers can leave indentations that press on the patient’s skin.’

  ‘It’s a knack I tried to master when I first began nursing,’ Mary said, ‘but I never got the hang of it. My palms don’t work like my fingers do. I’m glad there’s always been someone else around who was better at it than I was.’

  ‘You mightn’t be the best plasterer in the world, but you’ll do me as an assistant,’ Kirsten told her. ‘So many people can only do one thing at a time—like wetting the material. You’re feeling the patient’s skin, checking its integrity and gauging the temperature at the same time. I can explain a hundred times to some nurses about the chemical reaction between the impregnated cloth and water causing heat, and they still wouldn’t feel it as I work.’

  Mary grinned at her. ‘Hey, there’s no need to butter me
up. I offered to stay, remember?’

  Kirsten looked up from her task to meet Mary’s eyes. ‘We did do the right thing, staying? Didn’t we?’

  Mary’s smile faded. ‘That army major giving you a hard time?’

  Kirsten shrugged and Mary continued. ‘Of course we did the right thing. In fact, you agreeing to stay on saved a lot more trouble than that officious gent realises. It was only when you said you were staying, no matter what happened, that most of the locals agreed to go. Otherwise they’d all have camped out on the hill here, if only to save the hospital.’

  Kirsten smoothed the last strip into place then ran her palms down over the plaster to make sure it was snug enough to immobilise the bone.

  ‘Will you clean him up? And trim the ends of the cast as soon as it’s set. I’ll send Ken in to help you get him into bed. Leave the cast uncovered and test his toes for neurovascular compromise every hour. Talk to him at the same time, make him respond. I want to know if there’s the slightest indication of delayed concussion. I’m going back down to the council chambers but I’ll have the cellphone if you need me.’

  Mary raised her eyebrows but knew better than to argue, and Kirsten hurried away, wondering if an hour had been long enough for the soldiers to have stabilised the building.

  And if anyone else could possibly have survived the collapse.

  She found James hovering in the corridor, and asked him to drive her back down to town. It was only a kilometre, but arriving dry would be nice.

  ‘I’m in charge up here,’ he replied, but his tone told her what he thought of such a tame position.

  ‘You needn’t be away long and I promise you no one will steal the building or go through your top secret files.’

  He blushed and smiled and dipped his head.

  ‘Wait at the side door while I get transport,’ he said. ‘And if the major tears strips off my hide I’ll blame you.’

  By the time Kirsten had told Ken her plans and asked him to give Mary a hand, James was waiting outside with yet another version of an army-modified Land Rover.

  ‘This one’s a mobile office. In fact, Major Graham usually drives it. Though when he went down town earlier he wouldn’t have realised he’d be staying there.’