Fox S03 Absence Of Light

by Zoe Sharp

  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.

  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.

  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 trusting 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?

  I cursed the impulse that had made me confess my sins to him. All our troubles, it seemed, stemmed from me either saying too much or not enough. The next time I saw him I swore I would say everything I had to - everything I should have said a long time ago - even if it was the last time I got the chance.

  If I ever saw him again.

  I pulled out my phone intending to call Parker for a progress report on that front, but the noise inside the Eurocopter’s cabin made it impractical. Reluctantly, I slid the phone back into my pocket, noting Wilson’s eyes on me as I did so. I wasn’t sure if the look he gave me was sympathy or cynicism.

  The police obviously had priority landing rights and were able to set down closer to the main entrance in the spot usually reserved for air ambulances. As soon as we were on the ground and the engines began to spin down I patted the pilot on the shoulder by way of thanks and jumped out, snagging the first person I saw in medical garb.

  Fortunately, Dr Bertrand made enough of an impression on everyone she dealt with that the doctor I collared was able to point me in the right direction. I knew I must be close when I spotted Joe Marcus leaning against a wall giving him a view of the lobby area. He was sipping a large coffee and gave me a slight nod of greeting when I walked in.

  “What happened to the old infantry motto of ‘leave no man behind’?” I asked.

  The look he gave me was a sour one. “You expected us to wait around for you when we had casualties to transport?”

  That wasn’t what I’d been referring to and I was pretty sure he knew it, but arguing the point would not have got me far. I glanced about the lobby although I already knew he was alone.

  “Where’s Hope?”

  He took another sip of coffee and swallowed before answering. “With Riley in the Bell. They don’t allow rescue dogs in here.”

  Any question about why they’d left me behind would have sounded like a complaining child, so I restricted myself to pointing out mildly, “I can’t protect her if you whisk her away from me the moment I’m not looking.”

  “Then maybe you should have been looking.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s a bit difficult from a hole in the ground.”

  He raised an eyebrow as if I’d just answered my own question. “You’re either a bodyguard or you’re one of the team, Charlie. Can’t be both
.”

  “So you didn’t consider Kyle Stephens one of the team either?”

  Again he treated me to his best Marine Corps hard stare. It was getting harder to feign indifference to it.

  “No, I believe it was Stephens who made that decision.”

  Before I could query that statement, the lift doors opened across the other side of the lobby and a man in a wheelchair emerged, being pushed by one of the nursing staff.

  I recognised the man right away even in his street clothes. Santiago Rojas was pale and clammy under the artificial strip lights, his jacket hanging awkwardly around the cast on his arm. Half his head was still wrapped in dressings and he looked as though the short ride down from his bed had already exhausted him. Balanced on his lap was a paper bag which I assumed contained his old clothing. They’d had to cut most of it off him so there can’t have been much worth keeping.

  Marcus spotted Rojas too and he levered away from the wall, dropping his empty cup into a cylinder bin while he waited for the pair to reach us. I wondered briefly if anything was better than staying to answer my questions.

  “Senor Rojas,” he said. “You leaving already?”

  Rojas managed the majority of a smile. “All I do is lie down for most of the day and there are many others who need a bed here more than I. If my house still stands I can rest there as easily.”

  “He is not fit to go home,” the nurse said stoutly. “Please, if you are his friends, convince him to stay another few days at least. His head injury - “

  “I am OK,” Rojas said, reaching back to pat her hand with his uninjured one. “Please, do not worry.”

  The nurse’s pager went off. She checked it and relinquished her hold on the wheelchair with reluctance.

  “Do not worry,” Rojas said again. “Go. I have called for a car. It will be here soon. And thank you.”

  She flashed him a smile and hurried back to the lift, her shoes squeaking on the tiled floor.

  “If you’re going to be at home alone you might want to consider hiring someone to look after you,” I said.