“It sounds like Camp Reed has become the heart of the rescue effort,” Callie murmured. She reached down and patted Dusty’s damp head. The dog looked up, an adoring expression in his soft golden-brown eyes.
“It is,” Wes said. “But we’re being overrun. There’s no way one military base, no matter how big it is, can handle millions of people left homeless in the wake of a quake like this.” He shook his head, his voice becoming grim. “No, we’ve only seen the start of this nightmare. As water and food run out, people are going to get desperate.”
“Don’t forget disease,” Sergeant Cove muttered. “I know people in this area are drinking water without boiling it first. And as an EMT, I know that means disease is next. He clasped his large, callused hands together, a worried look wrinkling his broad brow. “Cholera and typhoid will spring up so fast it’ll make people’s heads swim. They won’t listen to us. They’ll die from diarrhea and loss of fluids and electrolytes. And what food they have isn’t refrigerated, which means food poisoning is going to take its toll unless they’re using canned goods. This is a bad situation that is only gonna get worse with time.”
“You guys are real uppers,” Callie teased lamely. She more than any of them knew the score on long-term disasters of this magnitude. It was enough to depress even the most hopeful person.
Wes studied his weary crew. They had been working at maximum effort helping people pull beams, bricks and other debris from their destroyed homes, trying to find quake victims. Physical strength went only so far. His marines were all fatigued; he could see it in their faces. Wes also saw the bulldog look in their eyes. They would work themselves into exhaustion, without whining or complaining, in order to try and save people still trapped in the area.
Glancing over at Callie, Wes saw the same deep exhaustion written in her face. Just looking at her made his heart fill with hope. Her soft-spoken manner, her obviously gentle nature, were healing and uplifting to all of them. He could tell by the look on the marines’ faces as they sat surrounding him that Callie had a healing effect on everyone, whether she knew it or not.
“Okay,” Wes said, placing his hands on the damp thighs of his camouflage cammos, “let’s saddle up. We’ve got work to do.”
Chapter Seven
January 3: 1600
Callie’s teeth were chattering as she slipped and slid over the hotel debris with Dusty. Rain continued to fall, but it was much lighter now. It really didn’t matter. She was wet to her skin and, despite all the physical exercise, was getting colder by the moment. Below, she could see the activity, which was ceaseless now, across Palm Boulevard. Wes was becoming a veritable traffic cop as more and more civilians wandered into their small camp for help, guidance and supplies.
Callie knew Wes must be feeling a lot of pressure to do something to help them, yet he could do very little. Because she had found no more survivors this afternoon, all the heavy equipment had been pulled from the hotel and was being used in an adjacent three-block area west of the Hoyt. Wes had donated his own tent as a medical facility because more and more people were in dire need of such help. Callie wondered where he’d sleep. The thought crossed her mind that her own tent had two cots in it, and she wasn’t sharing with anyone else. Would he, because he was an officer, share her tent? More than likely, because in the military now, men and women in the same squad slept together. That thought sent a sheet of heat and delicious anticipation through her.
Just then Dusty lunged. He barked sharply.
Instantly, Callie followed, carefully balancing herself as, with sharp tugs, the golden retriever clawed and scratched his way up and over a jutting piece of concrete, then leaped down into a shallow dip on the other side. Heart hammering with hope, Callie scrambled after him, slipping and sliding on the wet surface. Her hands had garnered a multitude of cuts and nicks when she’d climbed out of the tunnel behind Laura Trayhern, and they burned and smarted as she landed with a jolt. Losing her balance, Callie fell awkwardly. Dusty was digging furiously and barking joyfully.
Getting up on her hands and knees and breathing hard, Callie peered about her. Stacked-up concrete, glass and twisted steel met her gaze.
“Sit,” she ordered Dusty.
Obediently, the dog found a fairly level spot and sat down, his tail thumping.
Callie lifted her head and studied the area. Above her was part of a hotel floor. It looked promising. The possibility that the flooring was supported by concrete beneath meant that there could be a space where a person might survive.
“Hello…!” Callie called, cupping her hands to her mouth. “Anyone in there?” Her voice was muffled by the thick humidity and gently falling rain. She tilted her head and listened for a moment.
Nothing.
Again, Callie called.
Dusty whined.
“…Help…!”
Callie heard a woman’s weakened voice floating toward her. Grinning, she felt her hopes soar. She was practically yelling in return, but she knew that the rubble soaked up the sound, as did the rain.
“I’m Callie. I’m here to help you. What’s your name?”
She waited. Nothing. Callie sat back on her haunches, hands resting tensely on her wet thighs. The woman could be badly hurt, maybe drifting in and out of consciousness. Heart pounding, Callie held her breath. Finally, she heard the woman’s voice again.
“…Tracy Fielding…help…my baby. She’s only five months old…you have to help us…”
Gulping unsteadily, Callie called back, “I hear you, Tracy. Hang on. I’m calling for help. What’s your medical condition?”
Her hands were slippery and wet with the thick leather gloves on. Callie wasn’t able to release the cell phone from her web belt, so she jerked off one glove. Leaning over, she opened the precious cell phone and placed it beneath her jacket to protect it from the rain.
“…Can hardly breathe…baby…baby needs milk. I don’t have any! Oh, please…help us….”
Dialing Wes’s number with numbed, shaking fingers, Callie hunkered over the cell phone and waited.
“Lieutenant James.”
Wes’s voice washed over Callie. Instantly, her heart responded to his growling tone, which was filled with raw fatigue.
“Wes? This is Callie. We’ve got two survivors up here in grid area four. A woman and a five-month-old baby. I need your help. Can you get over here right now?”
Callie heard his intake of breath before he answered. And when he did, he sounded excited and hopeful. “You bet. Hang on, we’ll be right there. Out.”
She shut off the cell phone and carefully eased it back into the protective leather carrier on her web belt. Buttoning up her jacket again, she slipped on the wet leather gloves and stood up so Wes could locate her easily. The day was coming to a close. In front of Callie was the crane. It stood idle at the hotel site because Wes needed his men and the smaller construction equipment to help locate civilians among the smashed houses in the neighborhood.
Her heart pumped violently as she saw Wes come trotting across the boulevard toward her. As he drew closer, Callie felt joy sweep through her. His face was dangerous looking with that dark growth of beard. He quickly climbed up the rubble. Leaning over, Callie petted Dusty’s head and waited for him to arrive.
“Good work, Dusty,” she praised him.
Dusty thumped his tail, his pink tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.
As Wes made his way toward their location, Callie’s spirits lifted even further. Because they were in a dip, her head could barely be seen. They were, quite literally, in a pocket, with debris piled up like unstable walls around them.
Wes grinned unevenly as he leaped into the dip with her. “What did you find?” Hungrily, he gazed down into her wet, exhausted features. Callie’s eyes shone with such hope…and desire? Gulping hard, Wes steadied himself above her, his hands outstretched. The wet concrete was incredibly slippery and unstable.
Callie matched his grin. “Dusty found them. A mother and five
-month-old baby. Her name is Tracy Fielding. She’s having trouble breathing. There’s no milk for her baby.”
Looking around, Wes quickly surveyed the debris. “How far down do you think she is?”
“Judging from her voice,” Callie said, kneeling and pointing to the area where she’d heard the woman’s voice, “I’d say six or ten feet. But I think she’s semiconscious, and her voice is soft…so that might mean she’s closer—maybe six feet down?”
Crouching beside her, his arm and thigh against hers, Wes saw Callie point to the spot where Dusty had halted and barked. Again he critically inspected the area. The rain was stopping and that was good. Pushing against the rubble in front of him, he sighed.
“What?” Callie demanded, afraid as she saw worry etch his brow.
“We’re going to have to use the crane.” Pointing upward, Wes said, “See that piece of flooring?”
Callie followed the line of his index finger. “Yes.”
“We’re going to have to lift it off. The question is will the slab prove to be too big and heavy for the crane to lift?”
“And if we can’t lift it, we can’t get to them, right?”
Rubbing his jaw, Wes stood up. “Right.” He studied where the crane was positioned. Perfect. “We’re good to go here.” Gazing down at her, he absorbed Callie’s serene beauty. He knew she must be very cold, because her cammos were soaked. Her eyes were red-rimmed and he knew it was from physical exhaustion. They were all pushing themselves well beyond their limits now. “What can we do for Tracy and her baby? Anything?”
“While you’re getting your men over here to start removal operations, I’ll try to find out more about her medical condition.”
“Good.” Wes pulled the cell phone from his belt and called Sergeant Cove, who was spearheading search efforts on another block. Snapping the phone shut after the exchange, Wes turned to her. “Okay,” he growled, “let’s get this show on the road. I’d like to finish our day off with a mom and baby pulled alive out of that pit.”
January 3: 1900
As night fell, Callie couldn’t and wouldn’t stay away from the unending efforts to dig Tracy Fielding and her baby out of the debris. The rain had stopped, but now a cool offshore breeze was blowing, chilling everyone even more. She reminded herself, as she climbed into the pocket with two other marines to help throw rubble out to the street below, that Tracy and her baby were even colder than they were. Luckily, the crane had been able to lift off the massive chunk of concrete, enabling them to continue digging.
No one had stopped to eat, either. With Sergeant Cove on the crane controls and Private Bertram manning the front-end loader below, they were working at top speed to clear the rubble. The pocket was now two car lengths long. Wes kept checking the rubble and adding metal supports here and there in hopes that their widening trench wouldn’t cave in and trap them, too. Each time debris was peeled off to expose a new layer, Callie would call to Tracy and tell her what they were doing. Rarely did Tracy answer her, and that scared Callie.
Teeth chattering, she heard Wes give the order to stop. Dropping carefully to her hands and knees, she waited impatiently as they moved a set of lights up on one edge of the work area. She could now see a hole about half the size of her body opened in front of her.
A sudden aftershock occurred. Callie hunkered down. She threw her arms out to steady herself as the ground rippled. The roar always scared her; it sounded like a freight train speeding toward her. In seconds, it was over. The lights above her swayed but didn’t fall. Thankfully, none of the mass had shifted around her, or filled the opening.
Breathing hard, her teeth chattering, Callie peered into the hole. Getting down on her belly, she took off her glove and stretched her arm as far as it would go into the maw. Her fingers grazed twisted steel and concrete. Then her fingers touched something warm and soft. Tracy!
“Tracy? Am I touching you?” Callie called excitedly, her voice cracking. She grunted and tried to reach farther into the hole. Yes! She could feel what she knew was a woman’s arm hanging limply. There was about a foot and a half of debris between her and the inert form.
“Tracy?”
Callie held her breath for a moment, hoping to hear from her. As she waited, she ran her fingers down the woman’s cool arm. Twisting a little, Callie managed to hook two fingers over Tracy’s wrist to check her pulse. Releasing the air from her lungs, Callie frantically tried to find a beat. Maybe she had her fingers in the wrong spot. Groaning and pushing with her feet, she tried to maneuver another inch or two forward. There! She was able to grip Tracy’s limp wrist. This time, Callie knew she’d placed her fingers over the pulse point. She waited what seemed like an interminable amount of time to feel that soft, pulsing beat occur.
Nothing happened.
“No!” Callie resituated her fingers on the woman’s wrist. Again, no pulse. Releasing it, she moved her hand upward. Almost instantly, Callie felt a soft, warm lump on top of the woman. It had to be the baby!
There was a whimpering cry as her hand collided with the little body. Callie gulped. She could feel movement beneath her trembling, searching fingers. Yes, it had to be the baby. She could feel the damp fleece of what was probably a romper the infant was wearing.
Scrambling back out of the hole, Callie cried, “Hurry! There’s about a foot of debris between us and them. I have contact. Tracy isn’t answering and I can’t get a pulse on her. I heard the baby crying. We’ve got to get to them fast!” And then Callie turned and began to grab at the rubble, flinging handfuls over the side faster than ever.
Wes slid down into the pocket. Lance Corporal Stevens joined them. Suddenly, everything began to heighten with urgency. Adrenaline pumped through Wes as he worked at Callie’s side. She was like a madwoman tearing into that pile of shattered glass and steel. The hole grew larger. Within twenty minutes, they had exposed half of Tracy’s body.
Wes ordered Stevens to stand back as Callie got down on her hands and knees and leaned into the hole. Breathing hard, he wiped his mouth. Sweat was running in rivulets from his temples. His heart was banging away in his chest as he waited. Waited and prayed that the two would be alive. He watched as Callie pulled her flashlight from her belt and snapped it on.
“Tracy?” Callie’s voice was urgent as she reached in and gripped the woman’s dusty, bloody arm. She flashed the light upward. “No!” Callie’s heart sank. Tracy Fielding’s face was a grayish color, with no sign of life in it. Gulping, Callie sobbed, “No! Oh, no…dammit….”
As she flashed the light toward her midsection, she saw the baby for the first time. It was lying across the dead mother’s chest in a filthy, yellow fleece, booted romper. Tears blinding her, Callie sniffed. She felt Wes come to her side. As he leaned over her, his body against hers, she absorbed his unspoken support.
“The mother’s dead,” Callie choked out. “I’m going to get the baby. Hold my flashlight….” She turned it off, twisted and pulled it out of the hole, then handed it to him.
Moving into the hole as far as possible, Callie wormed and wriggled her way forward, her arms stretched toward the infant. Hands shaking badly, she closed them gently around the child and pulled it off the mother’s body. Carefully, Callie drew the baby out through the hole. Getting to her knees with Wes’s help, Callie opened her coat and placed the little body inside for warmth and protection.
“The baby?” Wes asked hoarsely, helping her to her feet.
“Okay…I think,” Callie sobbed. She tried to check her tears as she looked up into Wes’s grim features. “The mother’s dead. No doubt about it.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough with unshed tears.
Callie squeezed her eyes shut and fought against her own tears. She felt the infant wriggling against her. That was a good sign. “Have Sergeant Cove confirm the mother’s death. He’s an EMT, I’m not. From what I could feel, there was no pulse. Her skin’s cool to the touch.”
Nodding, Wes kept his hand on Callie’s e
lbow as she spread her feet apart to anchor herself in the debris. She held the baby with such care, her arms wrapped around it outside the jacket. As they learned what had happened, the faces of the other marines were filled with sadness and hope. They’d lost the mother, but they’d save the baby. At least, Wes hoped the baby would survive.
“Okay,” he whispered unsteadily to Callie, “let Private Bertram and Lance Corporal Stevens help you down off this heap of rubble with the baby.”
Callie was grateful for the hands that reached to help her as she negotiated her way to the street below, her precious cargo in her arms. They escorted her across the street, and she went directly to her tent. Private Bertram ran to retrieve several dry blankets from his cot to give to her for the baby. The air was cool and damp. Callie gently laid the infant on her cot and knelt down beside it. Worriedly, she carefully moved the baby’s arms and legs, looking for any sign of injury. Sergeant Cove checked the baby and proclaimed her uninjured. The infant, who had black, curly hair and wide blue eyes, began to whimper as Callie carefully stripped off the dirty yellow romper and soiled diaper. It was a little girl, she discovered. A soft smile pulled at Callie’s mouth as she heard Private Bertram galloping toward the tent. He arrived at the flap opening, breathing hard and thrusting two blankets into her outstretched hand.
“Thanks, Private.”
“Yes, ma’am….” He eased into the tent to look at the baby. “A little girl? Isn’t she cute, ma’am?”
Callie swaddled the baby girl in the dry blanket. “Yes, she’s beautiful.” Easing her back into her arms, she pressed the baby against her chest. She saw Wes arrive. The private moved aside to allow him entrance. Wes’s eyes were narrowed upon her. The look in them sent a bolt of heat through Callie as she held the baby to her. Lips parting, tiredness making her groggy and dizzy, she wondered if the feelings she had right now for this orphaned infant would be similar if it were her own baby she held, and Wes were its father. The thought was so far from out of left field that Callie knew she must be hallucinating because of extreme exhaustion. Wes desired her. He didn’t love her. He’d told her that from the beginning….
The Heart Beneath Page 12
