Jill Sorenson: Aftershock

Garrett nodded. “Of course.”

“I’ll go with you,” the man said to Garrett. “My granddaughter can stay here.”

Lauren gave the grandfather her hard hat and respirator.

“How much water is there?” Garrett asked.

“About ten gallons,” he replied.

Garrett turned to Lauren. “Try not to use too much.”

She understood why. They needed to conserve water. If the earthquake’s epicenter was in downtown San Diego, there might be thousands of casualties. Tens of thousands. Disaster response teams would have their hands full.

They could be here awhile.

CHAPTER TWO

AS SOON AS THE MEN WERE GONE, Lauren helped Penny remove her gasoline-stained dress.

The little girl, who introduced herself as Cadence, put the soiled fabric in a trash bag. Penny’s undergarments were dry, so Lauren left them alone. She ushered her patient into the cramped shower stall and turned on the spray.

“Any contractions?”

“No.”

Lauren’s top priority was Penny, not the fetus, so she evaluated her overall condition. She didn’t appear to be bleeding or have any broken bones. Her breathing and pulse rate were accelerated, but that was to be expected.

After they washed the gasoline off her hair and skin, Lauren placed a stethoscope over her rounded abdomen. She was all baby, with slim legs and arms. Her belly looked stretched to the limit, her breasts full.

The fetal heart rate was also slightly quicker than normal. Lauren would have to monitor mother and child very closely. They were lucky the traumatic series of events hadn’t caused her to go into labor; Lauren had a feeling she’d be busy with other patients. “You’re doing great,” she said, and meant it. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

There was something familiar about Penny, but Lauren couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe it was just that a face like hers invited closer attention. With her flawless features and above-average height, she could have been a model. The dress she’d been wearing looked designer, and her undergarments, while demure, appeared high-quality.

Cadence, who had a suitcase full of clothes, found a roomy T-shirt and a pair of baggy pajama pants for Penny to wear. Lauren helped her get dressed and encouraged her to sit down on the bed. After Garrett brought in the oxygen tank, Lauren put the mask on Penny’s face and instructed her to take deep breaths.

“We have more wounded,” Garrett said.

A chill traveled up Lauren’s spine. “I’ll be right there.” She gave Penny a tremulous smile. “You just sit tight and rest, okay?”

Penny curled up on the bed and closed her eyes, exhausted.

Lauren turned to Cadence. She was a pretty girl with dark eyes and curly black hair. Biracial, she estimated, although the grandfather was Caucasian. “Can you give her some water and a snack, if she’s hungry?”

Cadence nodded solemnly. “I’ll take good care of her.”

Outside, it looked like a war zone. Garrett and his new helper were carrying a body on the stretcher they’d found inside the ambulance. The patient, an older woman, was unconscious and appeared to have a broken femur.

Lauren steeled herself as they approached.

“There are others,” Garrett said, his face contorted as he bore most of the patient’s weight. “We need the stretcher back.”

“Okay,” she said, studying their surroundings. There was an open space in front of the RV where she could do triage. “Set her down there and bring me something to cover the ground. Blankets, floor mats, whatever you can find.”

“I have a cot in the RV,” Cadence’s grandfather said.

“That would be great.”

“I’m Don, by the way.”

“I’m Lauren,” she said, kneeling to examine the woman. “Can you turn on your headlights?”

“Be glad to.”

A moment later, the area in front of the motor home brightened. She got an IV started while Don put up the cot and Garrett searched for the requested items. He delivered a pile of floor mats, along with most of the equipment from the ambulance, setting it down near the front of the motor home.

As the morning wore on, Garrett and Don brought two more patients, both bloody. Lauren tried not to panic when she saw the extent of their injuries. She had plenty of experience in clearing airways and giving injections, but she wasn’t a doctor. As a paramedic, her job was to stabilize patients for transport. These people needed the E.R., not a Band-Aid.

When Garrett and Don carried in a fourth victim with serious injuries, she couldn’t hide her dismay. They transferred the unconscious man from the stretcher to the last available space in front of the RV.

Mopping his forehead with a handkerchief, Don went inside to check on Cadence. He was finding it difficult to keep up with Garrett, too.

Garrett sat down beside Lauren, watching her work.

“Are there more?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Yes.”

“My God.”

“Some I can’t get to. Others...don’t look like they’ll survive the move.”

She struggled to remain numb. This was no time to break down. The victims were counting on her. “What about rescue?”

“Cell phones aren’t working,” he said. “Most of the radio stations are down. I caught the end of a short broadcast in Spanish.”

“And?”

“The only words I understood were San Diego and ocho punto cinco.”

Eight point five. Jesus. The city had never been hit by a quake this size. She closed her eyes, feeling a tiny amount of moisture seep through her lashes. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get dehydrated and have no tears to shed. “We might be in here for days.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Have you seen a way out?”

“Not yet. I’ll keep searching.”

His steady gaze met hers and she held it, studying him. His eyes were a cool, dark green, framed by spiky lashes. In this light, she could see that his hair was dusty-brown, and a little longer than military allowed. With his square jaw and strong nose, he was rugged looking. Handsome, but not a pretty boy.

He wasn’t a fresh recruit, either. She guessed his age was at least twenty-five, probably closer to thirty.

Like Don, he was showing signs of wear. There were crease lines in the dirt on his face. His T-shirt was bloodstained, and damp with perspiration. He hadn’t stopped doing heavy labor since this nightmare had started.

When she realized that she was staring at his powerful build, her mouth went dry and heat rose to her cheeks. She hadn’t felt a twinge of sexual chemistry with anyone since her breakup with Michael. Experiencing it now was awkward, to say the least. If she’d met Garrett under different circumstances, she might have tried to flirt with him. He was hot and fearless. Why couldn’t she find guys like this in non-life-threatening situations?

Lauren concentrated on taking her new patient’s vital signs. As she removed the stethoscope from her ears, a telltale rumble echoed through the chamber.

Aftershock.

“Get down,” Garrett ordered, yanking her away from the victim.

Heart racing, she did what he said, pressing herself flat on the ground and folding her arms around her head.

Apparently, she was still capable of terror. It coursed through her like a sickness, robbing her ability to think. Chunks of concrete fell from above, smashing the ground near them. She coughed as the air thickened with dust. Moving quickly, Garrett leapt on top of her, protecting her from the debris.

She was aware of the earth shuddering beneath them and the structure groaning overhead. A car alarm went off in the distance, filling the cavern with rhythmic honking. The scene was too disturbing to process. Perhaps that was why her focus shifted from grim reality and tooth-and-nail survival to the more pleasurable sensation of Garrett’s hard body covering hers.