Her Miracle Baby. Fiona Lowe

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      He got a lungful of aviation fuel. Dread clawed back. Hell, he only hoped the snow fell heavily enough to put out any sparks. Hoping that if the plane was going to explode, it would have done so by now. The engines had given out a couple of minutes before they’d crashed so they probably weren’t hot enough to catch fire on impact.

      Still, he wanted out.

      He leaned back into the plane. ‘Meg.’ He held out his arms.

      She crawled toward him and he heaved her through the gap, his ribs screaming as she fell against him. For a brief moment he held her tight, needing to feel her heart hammering against his chest. Needing to know they both lived, they had both survived.

      Clutching her tightly and trying to hold off the fear that Tom was dead.

      ‘Tom. Go to Tom.’ She pushed him away and turned back, leaning into the plane to reach for something. ‘I’ll send up the emergency flares.’

      He ran forward, snow biting into his eyes, ignoring the fire of pain in his side. The plane had dived nose first, the front section taking the impact. Tom was strapped in his seat but the seat had moved forward, wedging him against the controls. He sat still, his head slumped sideways covered in blood.

      It looked as if his face had hit the control panel on impact and then whipped back. His jaw sagged, probably broken, along with his nose, which looked crushed.

      And they were the injuries Will could see. Hauling the pilot’s door open, he yelled, ‘Tom.’

      No response. He put his first two fingers on Tom’s neck, feeling for the carotid pulse.

      A weak and thready beat pulsed under his finger pads. Tom needed to be out of plane a.s.a.p. but moving him without a neck brace risked paraplegia. He didn’t have a neck brace so his choice was limited. Alive but paralysed? Or dead?

      Will hated triage.

      ‘Is he alive?’

      Will swung around at the sound of Meg’s terrified voice to see her clutching a large black backpack, a tarpaulin and coats.

      An overwhelming need to protect her surged inside him. ‘Get back. I don’t need you being blown up if the plane explodes.’

      ‘And how are you going to get him out on your own? Don’t be ridiculous.’ The terrified tone had been replaced with an ‘in-charge’ voice. She shoved the coat and gloves at him. ‘Put this on, I don’t need you getting hypothermia. You’re a doctor, you know the risk.’

      To his complete amazement she hauled out a soft neck brace from the black pack. ‘Here, put this on Tom and then we can carry him in the tarp.’

      He grabbed the proffered brace. ‘Are you Mary Poppins? What else have you got in that bag?’

      ‘It’s the new emergency pack I picked up at the medical and nursing conference I was coming home from. Laurelton Bush Nursing Centre needed one, but I wasn’t expecting to use it so soon.’

      ‘You’re a nurse and you’ve got an ‘in-the-field’ emergency medical kit?’ Incredulity overtook him.

      ‘Yes.’

      His panic dropped back a notch. ‘Thank God for that.’ He swung back to his patient. ‘Tom, I’m putting on a neck brace and we’re going to get you out of here.’

      Tom groaned as Will put the brace around his neck.

      He should check for fractures in the pilot’s arms and legs but he had no splints to use and the fear of the plane catching fire grew by the moment. Will just wanted him out.

      Then he could examine him. Know what he was really up against.

      ‘Meg, we’ll have to roll him out together.’

      ‘I’m right here. Just tell me what you want me to do.’

      The strength in her voice transferred itself to him. ‘Spread the tarp out and then come and support his neck while I lower the back of the seat.’

      Meg moved in close, her small hands dextrously holding Tom’s head and neck. Her light floral scent enveloped Will, defying the horror of their situation.

      He tugged on the seat lever, praying it would work. The seat back started to move and he gently lowered it so Tom was lying flat.

      The pilot’s breathing became noisy.

      Will fought the desire to treat him there and then. But he couldn’t risk three lives. They had to get away from the plane. ‘You control his head and neck and I’ll look after the rest. On my count, we roll.’ He positioned himself so he could control the large man’s legs.

      ‘One, two, three.’ He pulled hard, his ribs blazing with pain. Together they rolled Tom as carefully as possible, given the situation, onto the tarp.

      Meg limped to the other side of the tarp, rolling the edges in as close to Tom as possible. ‘Will one hundred metres away be safe enough?’

      ‘Should do it. Give me that pack and I’ll wear it. You’ll struggle enough carrying Tom.’

      She tilted her head, her cheeks pink from cold and exertion. ‘I’ve seen you flinch. Your ribs are bruised or broken. We’ll put the pack next to Tom so we can both manage.’

      He wanted to argue but couldn’t. Not with logic like that. ‘One, two, three, lift.’ He grunted and lifted, moving forward slowly. With each step he sank knee deep into powder snow. Exhaustion dragged at him.

      With every step, Meg grimaced with pain. He adjusted his grip on the tarp, trying to take more of the load. He pushed on, hoping Tom would still be alive when they got to the clearing Meg had picked out.

      ‘On my count, down.’ Meg’s arms shook with exhaustion as she lowered Tom onto the snow.

      Will dropped to his knees and checked the pilot’s pulse. Weak.

      ‘Here.’ Meg handed him a stethoscope and an LED headlamp, while she ripped open a space blanket package with her teeth.

      It was surreal. All this medical gear belonged in A and E, not in the middle of an alpine national park.

      Meg covered Tom, the snow falling white against the silver blanket.

      Tom’s respirations had worsened—loud, gurgly and noisy. Bubbles of blood formed in his mouth.

      Will checked his air entry with the stethoscope. ‘Shallow resps, poor air entry.’

      ‘Pneumothorax from the joystick?’

      He examined Tom’s face. ‘Possibly, but he’s got a severely fractured maxilla. The middle of his face has separated from the rest.’ He looked up at her. ‘All this bleeding and swelling isn’t helping his breathing.’

      Understanding crossed her face. ‘Do you need to do a tracheostomy?’

      ‘Yes, we need to establish his airway if we’ve got СКАЧАТЬ