Jill Sorenson: Aftershock

“I’m Lauren.”

“Garrett,” he replied, returning his attention to her. He gave her body a detached study. “Are you hurt?”

Although her head ached, she said no. She was afraid he’d think her useless, despite her medical training. The navy-blue uniform she was wearing couldn’t disguise her slender frame. Men had often underestimated her on the job.

He coughed into the crook of his arm, trying to clear his lungs.

She handed him the oxygen mask, which he accepted without question. While he took a few deep breaths, she grabbed her supplies. “Anyone alive that way?” she asked, indicating the path he’d taken.

His eyes watered, either from smoke irritation or the sights he’d seen. “I don’t know. It’s almost impassable.”

They donned respirators and hard hats from the ambulance, making a tacit agreement to go the opposite direction. She adjusted her backpack. He picked up a heavy-duty flashlight. Together, they headed into the mayhem.

“Stay close,” he said. “Step where I step.”

Lauren let him take the lead. She wouldn’t be much good to anyone if she broke her leg in the rubble. At the nearest car, Garrett bent down to check the interior. He straightened, shaking his head to indicate there were no survivors.

As they moved forward, they found more bodies. Some were trapped inside vehicles; others had been thrown clear.

Stomach churning with anxiety, she trailed behind Garrett, letting his big body guide her through the debris. He was built like a football player, wide-shouldered and fit. She felt safer with him than inside the ambulance, although she didn’t trust the collapsed structure. Large, frequent aftershocks were likely.

More concrete slabs might fall and crush them yet.

They skirted around a tall pile of rubble. On the other side, a silver sedan rested upside down, its engine running. Gasoline gushed from a ruptured tank. It traveled in rivulets along the ground and trickled down into the open windows of the vehicle.

The driver appeared dead or unconscious. Her dark hair clung to her bloody forehead and her eyes were closed. Any moment, the car could go up in flames.

“Help!” a voice cried from inside.

Garrett shoved the flashlight at Lauren. “Stay back,” he said, rushing toward the vehicle. He had to turn off the ignition before they could execute a safe rescue. Dropping to his belly, he reached into the closest window, which was on the driver’s side. Unfortunately, the slumped-over woman was blocking his access. Cursing, he pushed himself upright and raced around the rear of the vehicle.

Lauren went with him, holding the light steady but keeping her distance in case the engine blew up. When she saw a woman trying to squeeze through the passenger window, her jaw dropped.

“Help me,” the woman panted, her hair wet with gasoline.

She was just a teenager, Lauren realized. She was also pregnant, near full-term. Her protruding belly wouldn’t fit through the narrow space.

Showing no concern for his own life, Garrett got down on the ground and reached past her, through the passenger window. He turned off the ignition, but that didn’t secure the scene. Lauren watched in horror as liquid fuel streamed toward another burning vehicle.

If she didn’t act fast, everything would blow sky-high.

She pulled the fire extinguisher out of her backpack. Jogging forward, she pointed the nozzle at the burning car and pulled the pin, spraying white foam over the interior. The vehicle’s single inhabitant didn’t complain. He was charred beyond recognition, hands melted to the steering wheel.

Dousing one fire was a temporary fix. There were several more in the recesses of the collapsed structure. She couldn’t get to all of them, and they didn’t have another extinguisher. Eventually the gasoline trail would ignite.

Trying to stay calm, she returned her attention to Garrett and the girl. Although the air was thick with smoke, and visibility was low, her eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness. Garrett tried to wrench open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Motioning for the girl to stay back, he picked up a softball-size piece of concrete and hammered it against the front windshield. When the safety glass shattered, he knocked most of it loose with his fist.

Lauren winced, aware that the small shards would leave shallow lacerations all over his knuckles.

In her panicked state, the teenager wouldn’t listen to Garrett’s instructions. Either she didn’t understand him, or she was frozen with fear. He went in for her with no hesitation, intent on physically pulling her out of the car. About halfway through, she came to her senses and worked with him instead of against him.

He was gentle with her, taking care that she didn’t scrape her belly or come into direct contact with broken glass.

At last, they made it through the front window. Lauren released the breath she’d been holding, her knees almost buckling with relief. Yanking a safety blanket from her pack, she rushed forward and wrapped the girl in it. Her eyes were unfocused and her breathing shallow. She needed immediate medical attention.

“Get down,” Garrett shouted, placing a firm hand on Lauren’s shoulder. She complied instantly, helping the teenager assume a crouched position on the hard cement. He put his arms around them both, making a shield with his body.

Seconds later, the car exploded.

The smell of gasoline burned her nostrils and heat crackled behind her back. Even with Garrett’s protection, they weren’t safe here. This was definitely a hot zone. There were multiple injury hazards. Then again, the whole area was a death trap, and she hadn’t seen a way out yet.

“Tía,” the girl sobbed, looking back at the blaze. If the woman inside had been alive a moment ago, she wasn’t now.

“We have to go,” Garrett said, lifting both women to their feet. Although the girl appeared distraught and disoriented, she stumbled forward at his urging.

Lauren saw a white beacon in the distance. A small recreational vehicle appeared whole and undamaged, with no fires nearby. Assuming the RV had a shower or sink, she could wash the gasoline off her patient.

“There,” she said, pointing it out to Garrett. “The RV will have water.”

He let go of Lauren’s arm and scooped up the teenager, who was struggling to walk. A pregnant woman was an awkward load, but he bore her weight easily. Lauren suspected that he had military training. He carried himself like a soldier.

The girl clung to his shoulders, dazed.

“What’s your name?” Lauren asked, tugging down her respirator mask.

“Penny,” she rasped.

“When are you due?”

“Next week.”

Garrett’s eyes met Lauren’s over the top of the girl’s head. This wasn’t good. Lauren hurried toward the camper, banging on the side door. “Emergency services,” she yelled. “I need to bring a patient in for treatment.”

A man in his sixties opened the door, his glasses reflecting flames. He didn’t appear to be injured, and she felt a surge of hope. There were other survivors. “Come in,” the man said, stepping aside. Garrett couldn’t fit through the narrow doorway with Penny, so he set her down and helped her ascend the short steps.

There was another girl inside, also unharmed. She looked about twelve.

“Do you have a shower?” Lauren asked.

“In the bathroom.” The man gestured toward a small door. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

She glanced at Garrett, who appeared poised to go back outside. What she needed was a safe space to treat Penny, and the interior of the motor home looked adequate. There was a small table and a twin bed in back. “Can you bring me the oxygen tank and mask from the ambulance?”