Danielle Steel - Amazing Grace

She was at the field hospital in less than five minutes, and there was a hum of activity there. They were using a generator to light the hall, and had an amazing amount of equipment that had been stored in the Presidio or sent over by hospitals nearby. It looked like a very professional operation, full of white coats, military uniforms, and Red Cross armbands. For a minute, Melanie felt way out of her league, and foolish for wanting to volunteer.

They had a desk at the entrance to check people in, and as she had in the hangar they'd been assigned to, she asked the soldier at the desk if they needed help.

“Hell, yes.” He grinned broadly at her. He had an accent straight out of the Deep South and teeth that looked like piano keys as he smiled. She was relieved to see that he didn't recognize her, and he went to ask someone else about where they needed volunteers. He was back in a minute.

“How do you feel about working with the homeless? They've been busing them in all day.” So far, many of their injuries had been among people who lived on the street.

“Works for me.” She smiled back at him.

“A lot of them got hurt sleeping in doorways. We've been sewing them up for hours. Along with everyone else.” Their homeless patients were more challenging, as they'd been in bad shape before the earthquake hit, and many of them were mentally ill and hard to manage. Melanie wasn't daunted by what he said. He didn't tell her that one of them had lost a leg when a window sliced through it, but he had been taken by ambulance somewhere else. Most of what they were dealing with at the field hospital were minor injuries, but there were a lot of them, thousands in fact.

Two Red Cross volunteers were in charge of checking people in. There were also social workers on hand to see if they could help in other ways. They were offering to help sign them up for city homeless programs, or permanent shelters if they qualified, and even if they did, some had no interest in signing up. They were at the Presidio because they had nowhere else to go, just like everyone else. And everyone at the Presidio got a bed and free food. There was an entire hall set up for showers.

“Can we give you something else to wear?” One of the volunteers in charge smiled at her. “That must have been quite a dress. You may give someone a heart attack when the jacket opens.” She was smiling broadly, and Melanie laughed and looked down at her voluptuous chest, which was exploding through both the jacket and the remains of her gown. She had forgotten all about it.

“That would be great. If you've got any, I could use some shoes too. These are killing me, and they're hard to walk in.”

“I can see why,” the volunteer commented. “We have a ton of flipflops at the back of the hangar. Someone delivered them to us for all the people who walked out of their houses barefoot. We've been taking glass out of people's feet all day.” More than half the people who'd arrived had come without shoes on. Melanie was grateful at the prospect of flip-flops, and someone handed her a pair of camouflage pants and a T-shirt to go with them. The T-shirt said “Harvey's Bail Bonds,” and the pants were too big. She found a piece of rope and tied it around her, to hold up the pants. She put the flip-flops on and threw away her shoes and dress, and the tuxedo jacket. She didn't think she'd see Everett again, and she was sorry to toss his jacket, but it was a mess anyway, covered with plaster dust and dirt, and at the last minute she remembered the AA coin and slipped it into the pocket of her new army pants. It felt like a lucky token for her now, and if she ever saw him again, she could give it back to him in lieu of the jacket.

Five minutes later, she was carrying a clipboard, signing people in, talking to men who had lived on the streets for years and reeked of booze, women who were heroin addicts and had no teeth, children who had gotten hurt and were there with their parents from the Marina and Pacific Heights. Young couples, old people, people who obviously had means, and others who were indigent. People of all races, ages, and sizes. It was a typical cross-section of the city and real life. Some were still wandering around in a state of shock and said their houses had fallen down, others who had broken or sprained ankles and legs were hobbling around. She saw a number of people with broken shoulders and arms. Melanie didn't stop for hours, not even to eat or sit down. She had never been as happy in her life or worked as hard. It was nearly midnight before things started to slow down, and she had been there for eight hours by then, without a break, and she didn't mind at all.

“Hey, blondie!” an old man shouted at her, and she stopped to hand him his cane and smiled at him. “What's a pretty girl like you doing here? You in the army?”

“Nope. I just borrowed the pants. What can I do for you, sir?”

“I need someone to help me to the bathroom. Can you find me a guy?”

“Sure.” She got one of the National Guard reserves and brought him to the man with the cane, and they set off toward the portable latrines set up in the rear. A moment later, she sat down for the first time all night, and gratefully accepted a bottle of water from a Red Cross volunteer handing them out.

“Thanks.” Melanie smiled gratefully. She was dying of thirst, but hadn't had time to do anything about it for hours. She hadn't eaten since noon, and wasn't even hungry. She was too tired. She was savoring the water before going back to work, when a tiny woman with red hair whizzed past her, in jeans, a sweatshirt, and pink Converse hightops. It was warm in the field hospital, and the sweatshirt was bright pink and said, “Jesus is coming. Look busy.” The woman wearing it had brilliant blue eyes that looked at Melanie, and then she broke into a broad smile.

“I loved your performance last night,” the woman in the pink sweatshirt whispered.

“You did? Were you there?” Obviously she had been if she said it. Melanie was touched. It seemed a million years since that performance and the earthquake that had struck before she finished. “Thank you. It was quite a night, wasn't it? Did you get out okay?” The redheaded woman looked unhurt, and she was carrying a tray of bandages, tape, and a pair of medical scissors. “Are you with the Red Cross?”

“No, I'm a nurse.” She looked more like a kid at camp in her pink shirt and high-top sneakers. She was also wearing a cross around her neck, and Melanie smiled at what her sweatshirt said. Her blue eyes looked electric, and she certainly seemed busy. “Are you Red Cross?” she inquired. She could use some help. She'd been sewing up minor cuts for hours and sending people back to other halls to sleep. They were trying to keep the hordes in the hospital hangar moving in and out at a rapid clip, and doing triage as best they could. The worst cases were being shipped out to hospitals with life support. But the field hospital was keeping the minor injuries from winding up in hospital emergency rooms, and leaving them free to deal with the seriously injured. So far the system was working.

“No, I was just here, so I thought I'd help out,” Melanie explained.

“Good girl. How are you about watching people get sewn up? Do you faint at the sight of blood?”

“Not yet,” Melanie said. She'd seen a lot of it since the night before, and so far hadn't been squeamish, although her friend Ashley was, and Jake, and her mother. But Melanie was fine.

“Good. You can come and help me then.” She led Melanie to the back of the hangar, where she had set up a small area for herself with a makeshift exam table and sterile supplies. People were in line, waiting to get sewn up, and within minutes she had Melanie wash her hands with surgical solution, and had her handing her supplies as she did careful stitches on her patients. Most of the injuries were fairly minor, with a few rare exceptions. And the little woman with the red hair never stopped. There was a lull around two A.M., when they both sat down for a bottle of water, and talked for a minute.