Prescription-One Husband

by Marion Lennox

  ‘Sam’s the only one who might…might make her respond,’ Fern told Quinn as she faltered to a halt. ‘If he were here and calling-instead of me. She might come if it was Sam who wanted her.’

  ‘I’ll get him out there if I have to get four strong men to carry him,’ Quinn promised grimly. ‘Fast. Keep the line open, Fern. Is there any fisherman listening who can take Sam Hubert out to sea…?’

  The line crackled with offers.

  Most islanders left their radios permanently on by their kitchen tables, tuned low to the distress frequency-just in case. They were a long way from the mainland and the islanders looked after their own. Clearly now the whole island had been listening to the story, aghast.

  ‘OK, Dr Rycroft,’ Quinn said softly as the offers faded. ‘We have everything we need to move fast. Hang in there, Fern. We’re on our way.’

  They didn’t come in one boat. The boat bringing Sam headed a small flotilla.

  Ten minutes after the call Barega’s fishing fleet surged out of the harbour in a display of strength that would have made the Armada think twice before invading the island. Their lights twinkled on an already moonlit ocean and if it hadn’t been so deadly serious Fern could have been captivated by their beauty.

  She hardly noticed.

  Neither she nor Alf had seen Lizzy now for fifteen minutes.

  Lizzy must still be somewhere near them, though. The life-jackets and buoy were still floating by the boat The current was too strong to swim against. All they had to do was drift on and hope that somewhere close Lizzy was drifting too.

  Alf had his lights on full. The fishing fleet couldn’t miss them, although the currents had now carried them almost two miles out to sea.

  They just had to wait…

  And wait…

  The fleet stopped three hundred yards from Alf’s boat. The fishermen would know that for twenty boats to churn round searching for a girl who didn’t want to be found would probably succeed in cutting her to ribbons on someone’s propeller.

  The leading boat edged forward, spotlights spanning out over the water, and Fern recognised a team of Barega’s most able fishermen on the deck of the Wave Dancer.

  Their boat was too high, though. The Wave Dancer was six times as big as Alf’s Jeanie. It was too far from the surface for anyone to reach down to Lizzy-if she swam to the side.

  The fishermen knew it. The men were already launching a rubber dinghy from the side. It dropped fast to the water’s surface with two men on board.

  Sam…

  And Quinn…

  What on earth was Quinn doing here? Surely he should be with Maud…

  Maybe he’d needed to carry out his threat-and carry Sam bodily down to the boat…

  If Maud had another cardiac arrest…

  She couldn’t think of her aunt now. Fern’s eyes turned back to the water, searching uselessly. Where on earth was Lizzy? Had she slipped away from them?

  She’d been in the water for over half an hour.

  Only Alf’s boat and the little dinghy were left floating together in the slipstream now. Wave Dancer had backed off about three hundred yards as soon as the dinghy was launched but its vast spotlights still lit the surface of the water like day.

  In the background the fishing fleet waited.

  It seemed as if the whole world waited.

  Lizzy Hurst might be slightly crazy but she was one of the island’s own and every man and woman in this fleet wanted only one thing. They wanted their Lizzy back.

  Fern had never felt so much part of the island. She looked across at the massed lights and felt her throat thicken. To be part of this…

  There were worse things than to be part of this…

  She wasn’t an islander. She wasn’t!

  ‘Lizzy…’

  Sam’s booming voice across the water made her wince.

  Every boat had cut its engine and the silence was intense. Sam had a carrying lawyer’s voice at the best of times and in his hand he now held a megaphone.

  With the megaphone, Sam’s voice was enough to make anyone respond. That, or face the consequences…

  ‘Lizzy!’

  To Fern’s amazement she heard Sam’s normally carefully modulated, professional voice crack with emotion.

  Sam? Emotional? Not the Sam Fern knew.

  There was no doubting the fear in Sam’s voice now.

  ‘Lizzy, you have to come back,’ he shouted. ‘This is crazy, girl. I can’t let you drown…because of me…’

  Then a soft cry sounded out over the water and Fern’s breath went out in a rush.

  ‘Let me go.’

  Lizzy’s sad, defeated voice drifted over the ocean like an echo and Fern’s fingers clenched into her palms. ‘I want to die…’ the voice whispered. ‘You love her…’

  So Lizzy was still alive.

  Sam’s body stiffened perceptibly. He twisted where he sat in the dinghy so that he was facing where the voice had come from.

  ‘Hell, Liz…’ Sam’s voice broke into the megaphone but started again at doubled strength, sure now that he was being heard. ‘Hell, Lizzy, you’d make an awful lawyer’s wife!’

  This was a crazy, crazy conversation.

  ‘Go away…’

  Then, to her horror, Fern saw Sam stand up in the rubber dinghy. He swayed precariously.

  Unlike most of the islanders, Sam had not a sea leg to stand on. Quinn, sitting facing him, saw the danger and hauled him down hard.

  It seemed that Quinn at least was keeping his head.

  ‘Lizzy, please…’ Sam pleaded.

  ‘I won’t make any wife at all…’ The echo drifted around them. ‘I’m drowning…’

  ‘No!’

  Sam’s voice was rising to a howl of outrage as if something deep inside him had suddenly snapped. The big man shoved against Quinn’s restraining hand and then, before Quinn could stop him, the lawyer launched himself out into the water.

  No graceful dive here. Sam made a splash like a very large rock, going down.

  ‘Sam…’

  It was Lizzy’s voice again. She’d seen. There was terror in her voice for the first time. She hadn’t been afraid for herself…but for her love…

  ‘Shark!’

  The word boomed out from behind them and Fern swung round. The lights of the Wave Dancer had been playing over the water in all directions, trying to find Lizzy. Now…Now one beam played on a black fin, moving fast.

  ‘Sam…’ Fern heard herself screaming, her voice adding to the scream of the girl in the water. ‘Lizzy…’

  Alf was back at the tiller, his motor spluttering into frantic life and shattering the silence. They couldn’t see Lizzy but they could see Sam. He was twenty yards from the dinghy, swimming with clumsy, heavyhanded strokes.

  ‘Don’t swim,’ Fern screamed. It was Sam’s thrashing ing that would attract the shark-though it would have been lured first by the fishing boats. The boats often cleaned their kill after their catch and the sharks knew that the boats meant an easy feed.

  ‘No…Sam…!’ The voice was Lizzy’s again, faint against the roar of Alf’s engine. It was a scream of frantic fear and, thirty yards from Sam, Fern saw Lizzy start to swim desperately toward her love.

  ‘Take over, Fern. Get in as close as you can…’ Alf hauled Fern in to the tiller. ‘Move, girl.’

  Now that Alf could see both people in the water there was no danger of hitting them with the propeller-and if there was a choice of propeller or shark, Fern would choose a propeller any time. At least a propeller travelled in a straight line. A swimmer had a chance to duck. It didn’t swerve in any direction, with its mouth open and teeth razor sharp…

  Fern moved without question as Alf clambered to the bow, grabbing something from a niche above the scuppers on the way. This was his domain. As Fern expected a nurse in Casualty to jump to orders, here Fern was subordinate.

  There was a motor on the dinghy. Quinn had it started already and the dinghy was starting to move. He’d r
each Lizzy and Sam before Alf’s boat could and with the dinghy’s increased manoeuvrability…

  A scream smashed out over the water, and it was a scream of agony.

  Sam…

  ‘Not’ Lizzy’s voice was a rising well of despair. ‘Sam…’

  Where the girl found the strength after so long in the water Fern couldn’t tell, but Lizzy swam to Sam like a woman possessed. Lizzy reached him before either fishing boat or dinghy, grabbing the big man and pulling him over to lie in her arms.

  The shark had already struck.

  Sam lay motionless, hanging heavy with shock against Lizzy’s slight body.

  From somewhere below an ugly stain drifted to the surface, red in the spotlight’s beams.

  And the dark fin was moving in again.

  Alf’s shout from the bow made Fern blink. ‘Hard back on the throttle. Now, girl!’

  Fern shoved back hard, and the noise died as the motor stalled…

  Then another took its place.

  It seemed like the world exploded.

  The long thin object Alf had grabbed from above the scuppers was a gun. And Alf had just used it…

  The shotgun looked like some crazy, theatrical blunderbuss. It looked useless…a joke…

  Fern stared from the gun down to the water. The boat was drifting broadside to the swell, letting Fern see those in the water.

  The gun had done what Alf intended.

  The shark was blasted beyond belief. The water was deep crimson with gore and Quinn’s dinghy had almost reached the pair in the water.

  Alf’s action had bought them only seconds of safety.

  They wouldn’t be safe now, even in the dinghy.

  With so much blood, every shark worthy of the name would be here in minutes. They’d rip apart what was left of their companion and in a feeding frenzy nothing would survive. A rubber dinghy was little protection against such a frenzy…

  Apart from the dinghy, Alf’s boat was the lowest and the nearest. Fern already had the motor started again and in gear, and Alf was leaning over the side with the grappling hook.

  ‘Port, girl…A bit more…’

  She couldn’t see now. From the back of the boat where Fern held the tiller she was steering blind. Only Alf on the bow had any idea.

  ‘Slow…Slow…Cut the motor!’

  Once again she cut the motor.

  ‘Come up here, girl…Fern, get here…’

  Alf had the dinghy secure against the side of his boat with the grappling iron and in the dinghy Quinn had Lizzy under her arms, trying to haul her out of the water.

  It was some feat as Lizzy was holding on to Sam for dear life.

  The whole dinghy was threatening to capsize. The side of the dinghy where Quinn held Lizzy was dipping almost underwater.

  ‘Hold this, Fern.’ Alf shoved the grappling iron into Fern’s hands.

  For a man in his eighties, Alf was moving lightning fast. A man a quarter of his age couldn’t have moved with this speed. As Fern took the grappling hook he disappeared and was back in seconds with rope to secure the rubber craft to the side of the fishing boat.

  From nearby the rest of the fleet watched helplessly. There was no time to launch another boat…and their fishing boats were too high…

  Then Alf was back. Almost before he’d secured the dinghy, Quinn had assessed what was happening. With the dinghy safe from sinking he could act

  ‘OK, Lizzy,’ Quinn ordered harshly and his words were tight with strain from hauling the two sodden figures. His voice was still strong enough, though, to cut into Lizzy’s exhaustion. ‘You have to help me. Pull Sam forward and then hang on to the dinghy rope. Now!’

  The girl in the water cast a hopeless look back up at Quinn but something in Quinn’s authoritative tone must have got through. She was so exhausted now that the only thing possible was to follow orders.

  Fern held her breath. Without Lizzy’s assistance Quinn could do nothing and the dinghy wasn’t big enough to take anyone else’s weight. Neither she nor Alf could help. But if Lizzy held on herself…If she forgot she was intent on suicide…

  She had forgotten. With a jagging effort Lizzy hauled Sam further forward and Quinn grabbed him by the collar. Then Lizzy’s hands caught the handhold on the dinghy’s side.

  ‘Can you pull Lizzy up?’ Quinn demanded of the two in the boat.

  ‘Sure thing, Doc,’ Alf said as though he were agreeing to pass the salt. ‘Hang on to me, Fern, girl.’

  The old man quickly leaned over to the side of the dinghy. Fern grabbed him by the belt as Alf caught Lizzy by the hand and pulled.

  He’d never have done it alone.

  As soon as she was sure that Alf had his balance, Fern let him go and reached down to grab Lizzy’s other hand. The girl came on board in a sodden, slithery rush.

  Fern and Alf hardly had time to see her crumple to the deck. They were back, leaning over to grab Sam from Quinn’s clasp and haul him aboard.

  Sam came with more than sea water. A gush of blood followed him on board. Alf was still helping Quinn over the side as Fern started frantically trying to staunch the flow.

  It wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

  He wasn’t dead.

  There was a massive wound on Sam’s side. The shark’s teeth had sliced into his right loin, tearing away skin, muscle and…

  And what else, Fern hated to think. Heaven knew what damage had been done under the bleeding but for now the bleeding was the only thing that Fern could worry about. With a wound this size he’d be dead in minutes.

  So all Fern had to do was stop the bleeding.

  All…

  The pressure points…Where were the pressure points here? For heaven’s sake, what was she dealing with?

  ‘OK, Sam,’ she managed to say in a voice that was almost even. ‘You’re safe now…’

  Sam gave an agonised grunt; his head rolled to one side and he slid into unconsciousness.

  May he stay that way until they had some morphine!

  Frantically Fran tried to assess the wound, feeling in the dim light the extent of the torn flesh and where the bulk of the bleeding was coming from. No pressure point would stop abdominal bleeding. The only thing that might help was pressure on the wound itself.

  Fern had looped her cotton windcheater round her waist when she had come out for her walk-hours ago, it seemed now.

  There was sacking on the deck-but it stank of rotten fish and the consequences of using that were horrible to contemplate. The windcheater would have to do.

  Swiftly Fern folded it into a heavy pad. Then her hands went straight to Sam’s loin, shoving in hard.

  Harder…

  The gushing blood slowed to an ooze…

  On the deck beside her, Lizzy was whimpering with shock and exhaustion. She’d be suffering from hypothermia, Fern thought grimly, but there was no time for Lizzy now…

  Heavens, she couldn’t cope with this by herself.

  Dear God…

  ‘What’s the damage?’

  Quinn’s voice cut her panic dead. Unnoticed by Fern, Alf had helped haul Quinn aboard from the dinghy. Now Quinn knelt beside her, eyes cool and appraising.

  There was no panic here.

  ‘We need blankets, Alf,’ Quinn said brusquely, as he took in what Fern was doing. His eyes moved momentarily to Lizzy, noting her absolute exhaustion. ‘And, Alf, strip the girl, wrap her and get her below. Get her warm fast. How bad is it here, Dr Rycroft?’

  From his tone they might have been back in the casualty department of a major hospital, with all its resources at their disposal. The horror of the night receded a little as professionalism took over.

  Sam-this man lying here bleeding to death on the deck-might be the man she intended to marry but with Quinn’s harsh approach Fern could switch back into clinical efficiency. Sam became a patient.

  A patient with life-threatening injuries.

  ‘There’s flesh ripped right out from the side of his abdomen. I can’t s
ee-but his bowel may be involved, at the very least. Heaven knows what else. The wound’s maybe eight inches across…’

  ‘Right. Hold on there while I fix his position.’

  Quinn glanced round fast. Beside them was a piece of planking that Alf used to wheel crates of fish from deck to jetty.

  It was perfect.

  Quinn hauled the planking across beside Sam. The lawyer was still heavily unconscious, his skin pale, cold and clammy. He’d die of shock and blood loss, Fern thought desperately.

  ‘We need to get him back to the island,’ she whispered. ‘It’s his only hope. We need saline…plasma…morphine…’

  ‘There’s saline and morphine in my bag. It’s on the other boat. I yelled at them to bring it over while I was still on the dinghy.’ Quinn was working as he talked, tucking the planking as far under Sam as it would go without lifting Sam’s body. He looked at Fern’s gory hands, noting the slowing bleeding. ‘Hold tight. I’m moving the top half…’

  With a swift tug he shifted Sam’s head and chest onto the boards. Without pausing for breath he was down at Sam’s thighs, lifting the rest of Sam’s body across without disturbing what Fern had achieved.

  Then to Sam’s feet…

  There were folded craypots lying nearby. Quinn lifted the planking with an audible grunt of effort and shoved a couple of folded craypots underneath at foot level. Sam’s body was now lying with head down and the lower part of his body elevated.

  It’d help a bit.

  Enough?

  Alf emerged from the cabin. He’d taken an unprotesting Lizzy below, half carrying her, and he must have undressed and wrapped her with lightning speed. For a fleeting moment it crossed Fern’s mind to wonder just how many young women this crusty old bachelor had been asked to undress in his time but the thought wasn’t enough to bring a smile to her lips. Not now…

  Alf’s arms were loaded with blankets.

  ‘Lizzy’s crook,’ he said grimly. ‘I undressed her like you’d undress a rag doll. I’ve put her in my bunk with the electric blanket up full.’

  ‘Electric blanket?’ Quinn was ripping off Sam’s sodden shirt and already tucking Alf’s offering of thick wool around him. It was vital that they get Sam warm as well-but they couldn’t shift him below. The less movement the better with a wound like this. ‘How the heck…?’