Next of Kin. C.J. Carmichael

Чтение книги онлайн.

      FINALLY, JACKIE WAS ABLE to catch her breath. She flexed her hands, wiggled her toes, and decided she was okay. Her neck ached a little, but that was all. Around her the cacophony of the accident had died down. In the sudden silence she heard people calling for help.

      How many drivers and passengers had been injured?

      She scrambled for the cell phone she kept in her glove compartment for emergencies and dialed 9-1-1. The dispatcher seemed already aware of the incident, but still asked several questions. Ignoring a painful protest from her neck muscles, Jackie reached under the passenger seat for her first-aid kit.

      After being assured that help was on its way, she disconnected her call and dropped the phone. She had to get out of here to see if she could help. She grasped the door handle, but even with a good shove from her shoulder, couldn’t get the door to budge. Her beautiful new convertible was totally wrecked.

      On shaky legs she stood on her seat. Before coming to a final stop, the tractor-trailer rig had crossed the center-line, and traffic now stood at a complete halt in both directions on the highway.

      God give me strength, she prayed as she climbed out the open roof. The awful sounds of crying and moaning and entreaties for help were everywhere now. She hardly knew where to turn.

      The bright sun suddenly seemed an abomination. She’d never seen such devastation firsthand. In front of her was a tangle of metal and shattered glass. Just ahead of the overturned rig, a sedan burned wildly. Had the occupants made it out before the blast? She prayed so.

      “Please, help me! My son is bleeding badly!”

      The woman in the car in front of Jackie’s had managed to open the driver’s side window and was waving at Jackie. She sprang into action, scrambling over the torn metal of the Mazda’s hood, then jumping down to the pavement and racing to the woman’s aid.

      “Where is he bleeding?” Jackie pulled on a pair of disposable latex gloves as she spoke.

      “His arm.”

      Peering in the passenger window, she saw a boy of about fifteen or sixteen strapped into the seat. He was shifting restlessly, and bright red blood spurted from a cut artery in his upper arm.

      Jackie grasped the door handle and tugged. “How about you?” she asked the mother. “Are you all right?”

      “I’m okay. Just please, please, look after Brayden.”

      Jackie wasn’t convinced. The woman had the beginnings of a bruise on her forehead. But she was conscious and talking and able to move. That made the son the priority right now.

      The door jammed. She put a foot against the car and tugged with all her might. To her amazement, the door fell to the road. She leaned in for a closer look at the boy. His respirations were rapid and shallow.

      “Hi there, Brayden. That’s quite a nasty cut you have.” She was glad to see his eyelids flutter when she spoke to him. Pulling off her cardigan, she used it to stem the flow of blood. His mother was at Jackie’s side now, having extracted herself from the car.

      “Is he going to be okay?”

      “I think so.” She hadn’t had a chance to inspect for other injuries yet. She had thick absorbent pads and bandages in her kit and did her best to dress the wound. As she worked, she spoke calmly to the mother.

      “We need to stop the flow of blood until help arrives.” The matronly woman stared at her blankly, probably in mild shock.

      “Here.” Jackie took one of the woman’s hands and placed it over the bandaged wound. “You need to apply firm, direct pressure right here. Can you do that?”

      The woman nodded.

      “Good. Help will be here soon and your son will be fine. Be strong.” She clasped a hand on the woman’s shoulder, then slipped on her stethoscope to continue her examination.

      The boy’s pulse was fast, but thready. She took one of his hands and squeezed it gently. “Can you hear me, Brayden? If you’re too tired to talk, then squeeze my fingers.”

      Nothing. He was probably in shock, too.

      “Do you have anything warm in your van?” she asked the mother.

      “A sleeping bag from my son’s sleep-over last weekend.”

      “Great. Can you get it?” She kept pressure on the wound and managed to recline the boy’s seat to a supine position while the mother found the sleeping bag.

      “Here it is.”

      “Keep him warm,” she told the woman, then, noticing that she had started to shake, added, “Actually, why don’t you crawl under that sleeping bag with him?”

      Moving on, she saw several people with minor injuries: a man with an obviously fractured arm, a woman with superficial abrasions on her face. They could wait.

      The motorcycle cop who’d let her go earlier had cordoned off the accident site and was trying to clear a lane for the emergency vehicles, without much success. She saw him glance her way and nod. She nodded back, then tore off her soiled gloves and replaced them with a clean pair.

      A male driver in his fifties moaned for help from his badly damaged Volvo. He’d managed to open his door and now he was crying, “Oh, my God. It hurts so bad. I know I’m going to die!”

      Eyeing his pallor and noting the way he was clutching his left shoulder with his right hand, Jackie was immediately concerned. “Sir, I’m a nurse. Maybe I can help. Can you tell me what the problem is?”

      “The pressure…” he gasped. “I can hardly breathe.”

      “In your chest?”

      He nodded.

      “And your arm?”

      He nodded again.

      “Any history of heart disease, sir?”

      “Yeah. I have angina. About five years ago I had a heart attack. It was just like this. Oh, God, I’m going to die this time, I know it.”

      “Do you have your nitro spray?”

      “In the glove compartment. I can’t—”

      “That’s okay. I’ll get it.” She ran to the other door and quickly found the spray. “Here. Take this.”

      He eagerly sprayed two shots under his tongue. Almost immediately he showed improvement. As an added precaution, Jackie gave him an aspirin to chew, then she flagged down an uninjured accident victim and asked her to sit with the man until the paramedics arrived. She scribbled quickly on a Post-It note from her kit and handed it to the quiet young woman.

      “Give this to the paramedics when they arrive so they’ll know what I’ve done.” She patted the man’s hand reassuringly, then moved on again.

      This СКАЧАТЬ