by Ponzo, Gary
Hope gave a squeal that was more temper than anything else. I heard the scrabble of booteed feet and turned just in time to see sixty-five pounds of canine muscle pounding toward me at a flat run. Lemon’s normally goofy expression had been replaced by a snarling mask.
I yelled, “GET DOWN!” at the top of my voice. Lemon was normally obedient to voice commands and however quickly she came to Hope’s defence I assumed she was not a fully trained attack dog.
Her pace slackened, head ducking in confusion, but she didn’t veer off. When she was three long strides away I braced myself and swung my left arm out and across my body, saw her focus on this new and tempting target.
As she gathered and leapt, jaws opening, I snatched my arm back and twisted to the side. The dog flew past me, her vest skimming my sleeve close enough to rasp as she went. I grabbed the cotton scarf from round my neck and wrapped it quickly around my left wrist and hand.
“Call her off, Hope,” I warned as Lemon skated on the loose gravel in the gutter of the road and came about for another run. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
Hope snorted. “Yeah, right. Think you can?”
“Unless that vest she’s wearing is made of Kevlar, I know I can,” I said. “Don’t make me prove it.”
Hope hesitated. As she did so Lemon leapt for me again, although less forcefully this time. Again I whipped my arm back just as her teeth clacked shut on empty air. She was looking more puzzled than aggressive now but if I wasn’t careful she was going to forget all about wanting to protect her handler and try to bite me out of sheer frustration instead.
“Hope!” I snapped.
She finally seemed to realise the danger she was putting her dog into. Seeing her waver, I started to move my right arm back as if reaching beneath the tails of my shirt.
She let out Lemon’s name on a yelp and the dog went to her instantly. Hope dropped to her knees and wrapped both arms around the Lab’s neck, sobbing into her fur. Lemon looked up at me over Hope’s shoulder, breathless and, unless I was imagining it, ever so slightly sheepish.
I didn’t attempt to go near the pair of them until the girl had quietened. Instead, I just stood far enough back that I’d have warning if she suddenly decided to send Lemon in for another go. I unwound my scarf from my hand and arranged it around my neck again. It was the one I usually wore when I was out on the bike to stop the draught whistling down the collar of my leather jacket. In the past I had vaguely thought it might do double duty as a makeshift bandage or sling if need be, but fending off attacking dogs had not been on my list of alternative uses.
“I wouldn’t have hurt her unless you forced me to,” I said gently. “It wasn’t Lemon’s fault so why should I take it out on her? She loves you enough to protect you. That’s something she should be rewarded for, not punished.”
That brought on a fresh paroxysm of weeping. I suppressed a sigh and waited her out. Eventually Hope’s sniffs subsided. Lemon sidled out from her grasp and shook herself vigorously. Hope remained slumped on her knees. She spoke without lifting her head, her voice so low I hardly heard her.
“What do you want, Charlie?”
“Highest on the list at the moment would be not to get bitten,” I said, deliberately light. “Second would probably be a bacon sandwich.”
She didn’t lift her head and her voice remained a subdued mumble. “But what do you want not to tell.”
I sighed. “I don’t want anything, Hope. No, that’s not true. What I want is for you to stop stealing stuff from the streets. I want you to get on with your job without trying to get Lemon into trouble. I want you both to do what you’re best at. You know Joe Marcus values you two above everyone else on the team. Don’t let him down. And don’t let yourself down either.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
As if to prove Joe Marcus’s faith in them, later that morning Hope and Lemon made another live find in one of the old apartment blocks.
Word spread fast. Within twenty minutes the area was swarming with personnel. I gathered that the government had been about to declare the rescue phase of the operation officially over. Finding someone still alive at this stage was considered big news.
So, not only did Dr Bertrand arrive with Joe Marcus, flown in by Riley in the Bell, but the Scots copper Wilson also turned up with his dig team. He greeted me with a serious nod on his way to survey the lopsided building.
I stayed out of the way and kept an unobtrusive eye on Hope who stood off to one side. Lemon sat next to her, the beloved chew toy clutched in her jaws. Her gold-tipped ears flapped like pennants at each new burst of activity, as if she knew she was the cause of it all.
It was not an easy extraction—I was beginning to realise they never were. Once Lemon had indicated for them, the dig team were able to locate the survivors—a young mother and her baby—relatively quickly.
Getting them out was another thing altogether.
The pair had been the living room of their second floor apartment when the earthquake hit. The old building, mainly timber with brick protrusions that were nowhere near up to modern codes, had folded like a house of straw. The two of them were found in the cellar, still surrounded by the remains of the sofa on which they’d been sitting.
To complicate matters, the woman had apparently broken her pelvis in the fall. By the time they’d cut a small exploratory hole through to her she was so incoherent she couldn’t even tell them her name. She was convinced the hands of the rescuers reaching out to her were those of the devil himself trying to pull both her and the child down into hell.
The last thing she could be persuaded to do was hand over the baby which she cradled mute and still in her arms. Initially Wilson thought it might be either dead or a doll until he caught the faintest movement. When this was relayed back the sense of urgency kicked up another gear.
“We need to separate ’er from the child, even if that means shooting ’er with some kind of tranquiliser dart,” Dr Bertrand declared brusquely. “If the child is not already near to dying, it soon will be.”
I was all for it, but the suggestion did not meet with general approval. Meanwhile, Joe Marcus had assessed the state of the structure and was not encouraging.
“It we weaken one critical piece of support, the entire building could pancake on top of them,” he said. “I’m amazed it’s lasted this long with the aftershocks we’ve gotten over the last couple of days.”
A plan was hastily devised to dig down outside the footprint of the building itself and go directly into the cellar by tunnelling through what remained of the foundations. It sounded like lunacy to me but everybody else nodded their heads gravely. Wilson volunteered to be first into the hole.
“I’ll drag her out by force if I have to, eh?”
But by the time they’d scratched their way through concrete, hardcore, earth and stone—a job which could not be done either quickly or quietly—the woman was in the throes of a complete meltdown. When Wilson squeezed in alongside her she lashed out with fists and whatever loose objects she could find to throw.
“Crazy bitch,” Wilson said, climbing stiffly out of the hole and touching his fingers to a sliced wound on his cheek. “At this rate the lassie’s gonna bring the thing down on herself and the wee bairn.”
“Would it help to have a female face with you?” I asked.
Joe Marcus shook his head immediately. “I’m not risking Alex getting herself injured. She needs all her fingers working just the way they are.”
“Actually, I was thinking of using someone far more expendable,” I said. “Me, in fact.”
It was interesting to note there were far fewer objections to that idea than to suggestions the French surgeon should put herself in any danger. Always nice to know your own worth.
Wilson rooted through his pack for a plaster large enough to cover his cheek. I borrowed a harness and what looked like a cycling helmet with an LED light attached from one of the other dig team members and waited for a final decision. It didn’t
take long before Marcus headed over.
“OK, Charlie, you’re good to go. We’re running out of time so this is your last chance to back out.” His tone offered no opportunity for second thoughts.
I shook my head. “No thanks,” I said. “I’m all set.”
Wilson grinned at me. “Ladies first then, eh?”
I clipped the polypropylene recovery line to my harness and jumped down into the hole, then switched on my head lamp and slid head first into the short tunnel through the foundations. I low-crawled on my belly, using my elbows and the toes of my boots for purchase and wishing there had been time to dig a bigger hole.
When I emerged into the tiny cavern that was the cellar, the first thing that hit me was the four-day stench, acrid enough to make me gag. The second thing was a piece of brick, which bounced off the side of my helmet, accompanied by an inarticulate scream from the trapped woman.
“Please, I’m here to help,” I said loud enough to be heard above her wailing. “We just want to get you out of here.”
In the beam of my light her wild eyes showed briefly from beneath a matted tangle of hair. She threw another rock but with less force, as if she’d exhausted what little energy she had left. Still clutched in her left hand was the dirty bundle of rags. I feared the worst, but as I emerged from the tunnel she squeezed the bundle tighter and it let out a feeble squawk of protest.
I kept talking, trying to reassure her, but I knew I was fighting a losing battle. And when Wilson began to shimmy out into the cellar behind me, she became almost hysterical. Given the circumstances I couldn’t really blame her for that.
“What the feck do we do now?” Wilson muttered.
I rolled my eyes. If we’d been faced with a berserk man he would have had no qualms but this had him floored.
“Get ready to catch,” I said, and launched myself across the gap.
I tried to go as gently on the woman as I could, which wasn’t easy when she rained blows on my head and shoulders as soon as I was within range. But barely being able to move her hips put her at a disadvantage. I was able to get behind her far enough to put a solid lock onto her neck and press hard with my forearms at either side, restricting the blood flow to her brain. Already weakened, she was unconscious inside ten seconds. A startled Wilson managed to grab the baby as it slipped from her grasp. I fumbled in a pouch on my belt and secured her hands with a plastic zip-tie while I had the chance.
“You want to take the bairn out and drag the stretcher back in here?” he asked.
I eyed the filthy dripping baby he was offering toward me and hastily nodded to the mother. “What if she comes round while I’m gone?”
He grimaced. “Ah, good point. Back in a jiffy then, eh?” As he squeezed himself into the confined exit I heard a muffled, “Jesus, wee feller, you stink to high heaven.”
I thought I’d got the better end of the deal, but no sooner had the Scot’s feet disappeared into the tunnel than the earth around me began to shudder.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
As soon as the aftershock hit, the building above me started to groan like an old ship. I’d never suffered from claustrophobia but that sound brought me close to panic.
Most of the time the threats I face are small. Even in Mexico City, where we came under attack from an organised fighting force, I knew it was made up of small individual units. Men, who lived and breathed and bled and died like the rest of us. An earthquake is an implacable monster bigger than a mountain. At five storeys high, the building we were in represented a fraction of it.
And suddenly I felt very small and very puny by comparison.
I swung my head so the beam of my light shone towards the tunnel entrance. No sign of Wilson.
“Come on, come. Get your bloody arse into gear.” The shuddering picked up a notch. I eyed what was left of the cellar ceiling with alarm and muttered, “Not you!”
Dust speckled through the beam of the light as it fell. Over in a dark corner a skewed beam creaked and shifted and then let go with a tremendous dry crack like a rifle shot. I threw myself face down over the woman’s upper body as shrapnel splinters peppered my back.
I glanced across at the hole again, willing myself not to dive for it while I still could. Beneath me, the woman stirred and moaned. I lifted away from her.
The earth gave a violent heave and I heard the slithering tumble of stones and roof tiles and crashing timbers. It was hard to tell if they were directly above or outside. But if they’d fallen into the hole at the far end of the tunnel …
The woman came round groggily. She struggled against the restraints but without any force—she was spent. Nevertheless, I daren’t leave her.
This time, when I looked to the tunnel I saw the flickering of a light, the beam widening as it came nearer. A moment later Wilson’s grimy face shoved through, breathing hard. The relief was like a solid mass lifted from my chest.
“Aw, you could at least have brought me back a double espresso,” I drawled. “And a couple of those little caramel biscuits.”
Wilson grinned wearily. “I can go back if you like?”
He slithered round and dragged the rolled-up caving stretcher into the cellar behind him. It was made of canvas reinforced by wooden slats like the battens in a sail. We unrolled it quickly and tucked it underneath the woman as carefully as we could. She still shrieked with pain at every movement. We secured her in place with the kind of wide buckled straps you’d expect to see on a straitjacket. There was already a rope attached to the foot end.
We lined the loaded stretcher up with tunnel and Wilson jerked twice on the rope. Almost immediately the slack was taken up and the stretcher began to inch forward into the void. The ground shivered and the woman screamed again, in fear this time. I couldn’t say I blamed her for that.
“Do you want to go first—give her a shove?” I asked.
“Better you do it,” Wilson said.
I caught something in his voice and turned so I could put him in the beam of my light. I saw way he was holding his left arm stiffly, and the blood on his sleeve.
“Glass,” he said. “Bloody window dropped on me as I was handing the baby over. Lucky it didn’t cut the wee feller’s head off.”
My eyes widened, but I simply nodded and scrambled into the tunnel. There’d be time for talk later—or not at all. I put both hands against the woman’s shoulders and dug the toes of my boots in harder than was necessary. The stretcher shot out of the other end like a champagne cork and was hoisted out of the hole. As soon as I was clear I turned, grabbed Wilson’s outstretched right hand and hauled him free before the pair of us were hurriedly dragged back to ground level.
I saw the reason for the haste when I turned back to look at the building we’d just been underneath. I swear the whole thing was swaying gently, as if one more good shake would see it all come crashing down.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
As soon as Riley had mother and child strapped down he lifted off in the Bell, pirouetting as he rose, and headed straight for the main hospital with Dr Bertrand stabilising her patients en route.
It wasn’t until I’d stripped out of my borrowed harness and helmet that I realised Hope and Lemon had gone too. I searched for Joe Marcus but realised the R&R team had all climbed aboard and left me behind.
Like I said—always nice to know your own worth.
I found Wilson sitting in the load bay of his dig team’s police transport helo having his lacerated arm seen to. In daylight the wound looked far nastier than it had done underground in the dark.
“Hospital,” one of the medics decided. “I hope your shots are up to date.”
“If not they soon will be, eh?”
He saw me and gave a sober nod. The medic gave me a pat on the shoulder as he left. With these guys that passed for high praise.
“If you’re heading that way, can I hitch a ride?”
“Don’t see why not. Marcus left you behind, did he?”
I shrugged, not trustin
g myself to speak. Wilson’s voice turned quietly serious.
“You wanna watch yourself there.”
I stilled. “Meaning?”
He raised a hand in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t be giving me the daggered looks. Just something I overheard, that’s all.”
“Wilson … Just spit it out, will you?”
“Well, when I brought out the wee bairn and the whole bloody place started shaking and that bloody window tried to guillotine me—” he lifted the shoulder of his injured arm, “—I heard Marcus say to that French doctor about how maybe this would be an ideal time to cut their losses.”
“Cut their losses?”
“They were talking about leaving the pair of you down there, Charlie. Why d’you think I came back in, even bleeding like a stuck pig, eh?”
“Don’t you mean ‘knight in shining armour’?” I corrected.
“Forget it.” He grinned again although he was clearly fast exhausting his supply. “No big thing, eh?”
“Yes it is,” I said. “And I won’t forget.”
Wilson’s stocky police pilot opened the door to the cockpit and hoisted himself in. He pulled on his headset and looked over his shoulder, making a thumbs-up or thumbs-down gesture of enquiry.
Wilson gave him a thumbs-up and eased back from the edge of the load bay. I hopped in alongside him and strapped in. The police helo had no more creature comforts than R&R’s, except the seats were more firmly bolted down and had a fixture which, I assumed, was where they could secure a prisoner’s handcuffs for transit.
The flight to the hospital complex didn’t take long. Oh for one of these to beat traffic back home in New York.
But New York was not really my home, I realised suddenly. It was where I happened to be living. If the situation between Sean and me could not be retrieved, how much longer could I stay there?
