Prognosis Bad Timing - Amy Andrews Page 0,2

nearest ambulance station was twenty minutes away.

‘Hey, lady, I could use a hand here,’ he shouted into the stillness of the night while he waited for the operator.

Carrie jumped, snapped out of her daze by the urgency of the man’s voice, strong and commanding despite their distance.

Of course. She was a doctor, for goodness’ sake.

But the thought of getting out of the car, of assisting the stranger, paralysed her with fear. The familiar dread descended on her and her heart hammered madly again. He didn’t know what he was asking.

And anyway...she couldn’t leave Dana.

Carrie watched him working as he spoke into the phone as if she was watching it on a television screen. Like it wasn’t really happening. He obviously had a medical background. He was calm and capable, with a huge box of medical supplies at his side.

A strange feeling of disconnectedness draped like a thick, heavy cloak around her shoulders. Maybe it was the residual effects of shock. Maybe his appeal for help had tipped her over. Her hands shook as she thought about getting out of the car and lending a hand.

She couldn’t do it.

The mere thought was enough to make her hyperventilate. It terrified her more than the near collision.

Charlie cursed as he hung up. They were coming, sending two road units and a chopper and alerting the nearby local rural fire brigade, but would it be soon enough? The man’s obstructive breathing sounded loud in the night filled otherwise only by insect song.

Hell! The driver needed his airway managed as well as his haemorrhage, and he couldn’t do both.

‘Lady! Get your butt out of the car,’ he shouted, turning his head so he could pierce her with a look that was cross between commanding and desperate. ‘I’m trying to save a life here!’

The man’s demand sliced through Carrie’s panic and touched the doctor she had shut away for too many years. Despite her shaking, despite the dryness of her mouth and the pounding of her heart, something inside responded to the stranger’s urgent appeal.

She checked on Dana. Still asleep.

Against her will, she opened the door and rose on legs that felt like two wet noodles.

Charlie glanced up as the woman approached. Oh, hell. She was pale and visibly shaking, looking at the unconscious bleeding patient as if she’d never seen blood before. Like she was going to either faint or vomit. Or both.

Great. She was going to be as useless as a screen door on a submarine. And yet...

She’s all you’ve got, Charlie boy.

‘Gloves top drawer of the kit,’ he barked.

If she didn’t snap out of this stupor they were both in trouble. Yes, she’d been through a lot tonight. No doubt she’d thought she’d been a goner at one stage but there was a life hanging in the balance and every second counted.

Charlie didn’t have time to baby her. He only hoped she would respond automatically to his demands.

Carrie crouched and pulled out a pair of gloves. Her movements stiff and robotic.

‘Down here. I need you to put your hand here.’ She didn’t move and Charlie almost lost it.

‘I...c-can’t.’ Her teeth chattered violently.

Charlie bit his tongue and took a deep calming breath. ‘Look, lady, I know you’ve had a shock tonight but this is really, really important.’

‘I c-can’t.’

‘Yes, you can,’ he said encouragingly. ‘I need firm, even pressure.’

Charlie kept his voice quiet and composed despite the well of frustration rising inside him. Of all the people in the entire world tonight he was stuck with someone useless in an emergency. But then she surprised him by reaching out a shaking hand.

Charlie removed his slowly on a rush of relief as she took his place. ‘Firm. Even. Do you understand?’

She didn’t answer him, just stared with a look of horror at the blood covering her glove as if she’d never seen the substance before. But her technique was good and as long as she kept the pressure applied they could hopefully prevent this man from bleeding to death.

And it freed Charlie up to manage the airway.

Carrie didn’t feel the bite of the bitumen into her knees through the thin fabric of her hand-made, cotton, tie-dyed trousers. She didn’t hear the hum of insects or the stutter of her own panicked breath. She didn’t even hear the stranger rooting around in his medical kit.

The injured man’s blood totally consumed her.

She could feel its warmth though the thin barrier of latex. She could smell its pungent metallic aroma heavy on the warm night air. Knew that it