Alison Roberts - Her Emergency Knight

Squabbling? She was never that unprofessional, especially when dealing with less qualified subordinates. And just how long was ‘a while’? An hour? Two, maybe? The puff of air around her lower legs as she moved was icy, and Jennifer realised that the chill was why her fingers seemed to be lacking their usual dexterity as she snapped the cap off a cannula.

It was ridiculous to be engaging in some sort of power play with a rural GP who apparently wasn’t impressed by her position or personality. Or maybe he was still in a huff because she hadn’t recognised him from yesterday’s question-and-answer session. None of that mattered a damn right now because none of them were safe yet. Not by a long shot. She bit her lip as she glanced up to see Guy turning back towards the wreckage of the plane.

‘If you can find something to prop Digger up with, I’d be grateful,’ she called. ‘Lying flat isn’t going to help his breathing.’

A hand was raised in acknowledgement but Guy didn’t turn his head so Jennifer didn’t bother to call out any thanks. She turned back to the task at hand.

‘Sharp scratch now, Digger.’ It took several seconds of careful needle-tip manoeuvring to gain access to a vein flattened by low blood pressure. ‘Sorry,’ Jennifer murmured. ‘I know it hurts.’

‘It’s nothing,’ Digger said. ‘And I’m the one…who should be sorry, lass.’

‘This wasn’t your fault,’ Jennifer found herself saying. ‘And according to Guy, if you hadn’t handled things as well as you did then none of us would have made it.’

‘Shirley?’ Digger’s voice was rough. ‘And Bill? Are they…?’

Jennifer shook her head, meeting his gaze only briefly before reaching for the luer plug to cap the end of the cannula.

‘Oh…God!’ Digger squeezed his eyes shut. By the time he opened them again, Jennifer had taped the IV into place and attached the giving set. She held the bag of saline aloft and opened the flow.

‘What did you say…your name was?’

‘Actually, I didn’t say.’ Jennifer’s smile was rueful. ‘Rude of me, wasn’t it? I’m Jennifer Allen.’

‘You’re the…big shot…from Auckland, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ The smile was matched by a dismissive head-shake. ‘Not that that’s going to be much help up here.’

‘I’ll be right.’ A faint smile tugged at Digger’s lips. ‘I’ve got…nine lives.’

‘But how many of them have you used up already?’ Guy had returned, carrying what looked like the back of a seat. He also held a bulky, pale blue item of clothing.

‘Put this on,’ he directed Jennifer. ‘The sunlight’s not going to be around much longer and it’s going to get bloody cold.’

The padded anorak looked inviting but Jennifer hesitated. Guy’s face softened almost imperceptibly. ‘Shirley doesn’t need it anymore,’ he said quietly. One corner of his mouth tilted. ‘And it should keep you warm—it’s big enough to go round you twice. Here, I’ll hold that bag while you put it on, then we can get this seat behind Digger.’

The instant warmth was comforting. ‘Thanks…Guy.’

‘You’re welcome…Jennifer.’

So they were to be on an equal footing. Fair enough. ‘What about you?’ Jennifer’s gaze slid to Guy’s bare arms. ‘Aren’t you freezing?’

‘I’ll go back and get Bill’s jacket in a minute. Let’s sort Digger out first.’

It wasn’t the first time Jennifer had gained the impression that this man was used to putting other people first. She felt a pang of remorse that she hadn’t enquired into his welfare before this. That blood on the leg of his jeans still looked remarkably fresh. If it had all come from Bill, why hadn’t it congealed and darkened by now? As soon as they made the pilot as comfortable as possible, she would make it her business to check Guy out properly. She’d need to do something about her own arm as well. Doctors really were the worst patients.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a foil sheet or something in that kit, do you? It would be good to get something between Digger and the ground.’

‘Sure.’ Guy handed back the bag of IV fluid but Jennifer didn’t want to stand and hold it.

‘Could you pass me some tape?’ She almost sighed at the now familiar look she received. ‘Please?’

Threading the tape through the hole at the top of the bag, Jennifer then looped long sticky sections in a figure of eight around the upper edge of the wingtip.

‘Bit fat for an IV pole but it’ll do the job.’

‘Good thinking.’ Guy held up two small packages. ‘Foil sheets.’

‘Great. Let’s get sorted, then.’

For the next ten minutes they were both kept busy. They wrapped Digger in the sheets to help prevent the loss of body heat. They used rocks to stabilise the cushioned seat back and got it into a position so that Digger was propped up to assist respiration but still tilted to his injured side. They also tucked him a little more closely into the windbreak provided by the bent wing. Hoping that the fluids were raising blood pressure enough to make it safe to administer some pain relief, Jennifer reached under the cover of the leather jacket to find Digger’s wrist.

She found her fingers grasped and saw a reminder of the cheeky grin she had noticed much earlier that day.

‘The lengths some people…have to go to…to get a pretty girl…to hold their hand!’

‘Hmm.’ Jennifer couldn’t help grinning. ‘You could have just asked! How’s the pain?’

‘Pretty…bad.’

The grin faded as she turned to Guy. ‘Much stronger pulse now. Do you want to draw up some morphine?’

‘OK.’ Guy’s gaze was fixed on Digger and for a split second Jennifer saw a level of concern in his eyes that was far more than a doctor would normally show for a patient. Even a patient who was a friend. There was a bond between these two men that made special care of Digger paramount and Jennifer found herself reaching for the stethoscope. While things appeared to be stable right now, this man had at least two potentially life-threatening injuries.

‘How’s the chest?’ Guy’s expression was nothing more than professional now as he drew sterile saline into a syringe to dilute the contents of the morphine ampoule.

‘Clear on the right. Still moving air on the left, but I think the breath sounds have diminished since the last time I listened. A pneumothorax is pretty likely, given those rib injuries. We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed that it doesn’t tension.’

Their eyes met with only the briefest of looks. Enough to acknowledge just how quickly this scene could turn to custard. Enough to confirm that they would both be doing their best to manage any complications—and to succeed.

A thin stream of fluid sprayed from a needle tip as Guy removed the air bubble from the syringe. ‘I thought I’d do this in five-milligram increments,’ he announced. ‘If that’s all right with you, Dr Allen?’

‘Works for me, Dr Knight.’

The formal use of titles was more an agreement to work as equals than the previous form of a putdown, but Digger clearly didn’t approve.

‘Cut the “Doctor” bit,’ he growled. ‘Anyone would think…that I was…sick or something.’

The first dose of morphine dulled his pain but not sufficiently to make re-examination of his abdomen a pleasant experience.

‘Definite guarding in the left upper quadrant,’ Jennifer informed Guy.

‘Talk English,’ Digger growled.

‘You’ve got a sore gut,’ Guy told him.

‘Could have…told you that, son…What’s…broken, then?’

‘You might have dented your spleen. Possibly a bit of your liver. They could be cut and bleeding a bit.’

Jennifer eyed the bag of IV fluid. One litre was almost gone and they only had two more. If Digger did have an abdominal bleed from a laceration to either his spleen or liver, they would be in trouble before very long. She pulled the remnants of Digger’s woollen shirt back to cover him before tucking the leather jacket in place.