Four Weddings. Fiona Lowe
Читать онлайн книгу.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TOM CROUCHED UNDER a plastic sheet held up by two men to protect him and his patient from the blinding rain. It wasn’t really working. He was as wet as if he’d just got out of a pool. Water dripped off his hair as he shone his torch into the eyes of a young man who had lost control of his motorbike.
The road, if it could be called that, was now almost mud. The bike had gone into a wild skid, and both rider and bike had crashed into a ditch. He’d been pulled out of the water-filled trough by passers-by and now lay by the side of the road.
Tom prayed he had no spinal damage that had been made worse by the rescue attempts of his friends. Squinting in the rain, he watched for pupil contractions in response to the light. Sluggish.
Not good. The law in Vietnam was that riders on country roads had to wear helmets. Unfortunately, this young man had been on a back road up by the mine and hadn’t worn his.
Tom had come ahead in the four-wheel-drive as the ambulance hadn’t been able to negotiate the back road. Even the truck had struggled. He’d arranged to meet the ambulance at the village further down the mountain.
He needed to combine thoroughness with speed.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked the patient, as part of checking his mental status.
‘Loc.’ The man grimaced as he tried to move.
‘Where does it hurt, Loc?’ Tom sat back on his haunches.
The young man closed his eyes. ‘Head.’
Tom put his hand on Loc’s shoulder. ‘Try and stay awake, Loc. Where else does it hurt?’
‘Everywhere.’
Tom sighed and started a comprehensive examination as water from the tarpaulin cascaded down his back. He needed to get Loc into the vehicle but couldn’t move him until he’d examined him fully.
Thunder echoed around him as the wind increased in velocity, blowing the rain nearly horizontally. He glanced up at the bare hills. At least there were no trees for the wind to bring down on them. If this storm was the edge of a typhoon, he’d hate to be any closer.
Loc held his left arm close to his body, almost cradling it with his other hand.
Tom’s fingers expertly palpated Loc’s clavicle, finding the telltale lump of a fracture. He continued down the arm, checking for a fractured humerus, radius and ulnar. Those three bones were intact.
‘You’ve broken your bone here.’ Tom gently placed his fingers on Loc’s collarbone. He slipped a triangular sling into place, pulling it up high so the weight of Loc’s arm would pull the fractured bone into alignment.
‘Can you feel this?’ He put his hands on Loc’s feet.
Loc nodded.
‘Good. Wiggle your toes.’
The young man tried and yelped in pain.
Tom picked up the shears from his emergency kit and cut Loc’s jeans straight up on both sides, and started examining his legs. His right leg was at a distorted angle.
My father pushed me down a flight of stairs fracturing every bone in my leg.
Bec’s voice crowded in on his thoughts. He forced it away as his guilt flared. He’d hurt her badly but he’d had no other choice. It was either hurt her now or hurt her even more later. He couldn’t give her false hope.
He could only offer her friendship. She wanted more than that. But his energies belonged to Vietnam, and finding his mother.
All through the ceremony he’d felt her large, expressive eyes on him. He’d wanted to hide, knowing she could see more than he’d ever revealed to anyone. This callout had been a relief for both of them, breaking up an excruciating situation.
‘You’ve broken one of the bones in your right leg. I’m going to tie your leg to a board and then we’ll carry you to the vehicle.’ He wished he had a Donway splint but all he had was a backboard and some crêpe bandages.
Loc started to shiver, his shoulders shuddering as shock set in.
Tom sighed as he strapped Loc’s leg to the board. The poor guy would be in agony travelling over the rough roads. He couldn’t give him anything for pain because he didn’t want to mask any symptoms of a head injury or a slow bleed into his brain. He didn’t even have any dry clothing for the poor guy. Or himself.
‘OK, we need to carry Loc to the four-wheel-drive.’ Tom stood up and instructed the men, demonstrating how two of them could make a chair with their hands. ‘I will support his leg.’
Rumbling thunder sounded again. A niggling sense of unease rolled through him. ‘on my count.’
Loc groaned as they carried him to the vehicle. Mud stuck to Tom’s shoes, clawing at the soles, sucking at his feet and making walking difficult. They loaded him into back of the truck and Tom inserted an intravenous drip.
‘We can go now,’ he called out to the driver as he taped the drip into place, hanging the bag from the coat hanger clip. ‘Take it easy, though.’
The windscreen wipers could barely keep the rain at bay. Visibility was poor. The truck skidded and slid as they edged toward the village.
It was the longest twenty minutes of Tom’s life but finally they came off the mountain and into the village. They transferred Loc into the waiting ambulance. Tom walked toward the front of the vehicle and was about to swing up into the front seat when he heard a frantic voice calling, ‘Bác s
He turned to see a woman running toward him.
‘You must see my daughter. She is very sick.’
Tom leaned through the open door, back toward the ambulance officer. ‘I need to see this patient. Can you wait?’
Worry lines creased the man’s forehead. ‘The roads are bad, we should go now.’
The woman tugged his arm. ‘She needs a doctor.’
Torn, Tom flicked open his phone. He had a signal. ‘You take Loc to hospital. If I need you back, I’ll ring.’
‘Yes, Doctor.’ The driver started the ignition and slowly turned toward the main road.
Tom followed the woman toward the back of the village where the houses nestled against the base of the mountain. He struggled to walk against the gale-force winds, keeping his head down against the rain. Water covered his feet.
The deep rumbling he’d heard halfway up the mountain when he’d been treating Loc sounded louder.
Sounded longer.
Suddenly it didn’t sound anything like thunder. It sounded more like the roar of crashing boulders and cracking tree trunks.
The water that covered the track changed, getting higher and thicker.
Mud.
Moving mud.
His head shot up. The rain-saturated soil was giving way. A wall of mud was rushing down the mountain toward them, bringing everything in its path along with it.
His heart pounded against his chest. Move to higher ground. He grabbed the woman by the arm. ‘Mudslide.’
She pulled against him. ‘My daughter.’
Her hand slipped out of his wet grasp as the wave of mud rolled against him, hitting him at waist height and pushing him off balance.
He heard her scream as a tree trunk hit her, pushing her under. No!
Keep upright.
Trees, boulders, mud and sand swept down in a thunderous