Aftershock (2 page)

“Help!” a voice cried from inside.

Garrett shoved the flashlight at Lauren. “Stay back,” he said,
rushing toward the vehicle. He had to turn off the ignition before they could
execute a safe rescue. Dropping to his belly, he reached into the closest
window, which was on the driver’s side. Unfortunately, the slumped-over woman
was blocking his access. Cursing, he pushed himself upright and raced around the
rear of the vehicle.

Lauren went with him, holding the light steady but keeping her
distance in case the engine blew up. When she saw a woman trying to squeeze
through the passenger window, her jaw dropped.

“Help me,” the woman panted, her hair wet with gasoline.

She was just a teenager, Lauren realized. She was also
pregnant, near full-term. Her protruding belly wouldn’t fit through the narrow
space.

Showing no concern for his own life, Garrett got down on the
ground and reached past her, through the passenger window. He turned off the
ignition, but that didn’t secure the scene. Lauren watched in horror as liquid
fuel streamed toward another burning vehicle.

If she didn’t act fast, everything would blow sky-high.

She pulled the fire extinguisher out of her backpack. Jogging
forward, she pointed the nozzle at the burning car and pulled the pin, spraying
white foam over the interior. The vehicle’s single inhabitant didn’t complain.
He was charred beyond recognition, hands melted to the steering wheel.

Dousing one fire was a temporary fix. There were several more
in the recesses of the collapsed structure. She couldn’t get to all of them, and
they didn’t have another extinguisher. Eventually the gasoline trail would
ignite.

Trying to stay calm, she returned her attention to Garrett and
the girl. Although the air was thick with smoke, and visibility was low, her
eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness. Garrett tried to wrench open the door,
but it wouldn’t budge. Motioning for the girl to stay back, he picked up a
softball-size piece of concrete and hammered it against the front windshield.
When the safety glass shattered, he knocked most of it loose with his fist.

Lauren winced, aware that the small shards would leave shallow
lacerations all over his knuckles.

In her panicked state, the teenager wouldn’t listen to
Garrett’s instructions. Either she didn’t understand him, or she was frozen with
fear. He went in for her with no hesitation, intent on physically pulling her
out of the car. About halfway through, she came to her senses and worked with
him instead of against him.

He was gentle with her, taking care that she didn’t scrape her
belly or come into direct contact with broken glass.

At last, they made it through the front window. Lauren released
the breath she’d been holding, her knees almost buckling with relief. Yanking a
safety blanket from her pack, she rushed forward and wrapped the girl in it. Her
eyes were unfocused and her breathing shallow. She needed immediate medical
attention.

“Get down,” Garrett shouted, placing a firm hand on Lauren’s
shoulder. She complied instantly, helping the teenager assume a crouched
position on the hard cement. He put his arms around them both, making a shield
with his body.

Seconds later, the car exploded.

The smell of gasoline burned her nostrils and heat crackled
behind her back. Even with Garrett’s protection, they weren’t safe here. This
was definitely a hot zone. There were multiple injury hazards. Then again, the
whole area was a death trap, and she hadn’t seen a way out yet.

“Tía,”
the girl sobbed, looking
back at the blaze. If the woman inside had been alive a moment ago, she wasn’t
now.

“We have to go,” Garrett said, lifting both women to their
feet. Although the girl appeared distraught and disoriented, she stumbled
forward at his urging.

Lauren saw a white beacon in the distance. A small recreational
vehicle appeared whole and undamaged, with no fires nearby. Assuming the RV had
a shower or sink, she could wash the gasoline off her patient.

“There,” she said, pointing it out to Garrett. “The RV will
have water.”

He let go of Lauren’s arm and scooped up the teenager, who was
struggling to walk. A pregnant woman was an awkward load, but he bore her weight
easily. Lauren suspected that he had military training. He carried himself like
a soldier.

The girl clung to his shoulders, dazed.

“What’s your name?” Lauren asked, tugging down her respirator
mask.

“Penny,” she rasped.

“When are you due?”

“Next week.”

Garrett’s eyes met Lauren’s over the top of the girl’s head.
This wasn’t good. Lauren hurried toward the camper, banging on the side door.
“Emergency services,” she yelled. “I need to bring a patient in for
treatment.”

A man in his sixties opened the door, his glasses reflecting
flames. He didn’t appear to be injured, and she felt a surge of hope. There were
other survivors. “Come in,” the man said, stepping aside. Garrett couldn’t fit
through the narrow doorway with Penny, so he set her down and helped her ascend
the short steps.

There was another girl inside, also unharmed. She looked about
twelve.

“Do you have a shower?” Lauren asked.

“In the bathroom.” The man gestured toward a small door. “Is
there anything we can do to help?”

She glanced at Garrett, who appeared poised to go back outside.
What she needed was a safe space to treat Penny, and the interior of the motor
home looked adequate. There was a small table and a twin bed in back. “Can you
bring me the oxygen tank and mask from the ambulance?”

Garrett nodded. “Of course.”

“I’ll go with you,” the man said to Garrett. “My granddaughter
can stay here.”

Lauren gave the grandfather her hard hat and respirator.

“How much water is there?” Garrett asked.

“About ten gallons,” he replied.

Garrett turned to Lauren. “Try not to use too much.”

She understood why. They needed to conserve water. If the
earthquake’s epicenter was in downtown San Diego, there might be thousands of
casualties. Tens of thousands. Disaster response teams would have their hands
full.

They could be here awhile.

CHAPTER TWO

A
S
SOON
AS
THE
MEN
WERE
GONE
,
Lauren helped Penny
remove her gasoline-stained dress.

The little girl, who introduced herself as Cadence, put the
soiled fabric in a trash bag. Penny’s undergarments were dry, so Lauren left
them alone. She ushered her patient into the cramped shower stall and turned on
the spray.

“Any contractions?”

“No.”

Lauren’s top priority was Penny, not the fetus, so she
evaluated her overall condition. She didn’t appear to be bleeding or have any
broken bones. Her breathing and pulse rate were accelerated, but that was to be
expected.

After they washed the gasoline off her hair and skin, Lauren
placed a stethoscope over her rounded abdomen. She was all baby, with slim legs
and arms. Her belly looked stretched to the limit, her breasts full.

The fetal heart rate was also slightly quicker than normal.
Lauren would have to monitor mother and child very closely. They were lucky the
traumatic series of events hadn’t caused her to go into labor; Lauren had a
feeling she’d be busy with other patients. “You’re doing great,” she said, and
meant it. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

There was something familiar about Penny, but Lauren couldn’t
put her finger on it. Maybe it was just that a face like hers invited closer
attention. With her flawless features and above-average height, she could have
been a model. The dress she’d been wearing looked designer, and her
undergarments, while demure, appeared high-quality.

Cadence, who had a suitcase full of clothes, found a roomy
T-shirt and a pair of baggy pajama pants for Penny to wear. Lauren helped her
get dressed and encouraged her to sit down on the bed. After Garrett brought in
the oxygen tank, Lauren put the mask on Penny’s face and instructed her to take
deep breaths.

“We have more wounded,” Garrett said.

A chill traveled up Lauren’s spine. “I’ll be right there.” She
gave Penny a tremulous smile. “You just sit tight and rest, okay?”

Penny curled up on the bed and closed her eyes, exhausted.

Lauren turned to Cadence. She was a pretty girl with dark eyes
and curly black hair. Biracial, she estimated, although the grandfather was
Caucasian. “Can you give her some water and a snack, if she’s hungry?”

Cadence nodded solemnly. “I’ll take good care of her.”

Outside, it looked like a war zone. Garrett and his new helper
were carrying a body on the stretcher they’d found inside the ambulance. The
patient, an older woman, was unconscious and appeared to have a broken
femur.

Lauren steeled herself as they approached.

“There are others,” Garrett said, his face contorted as he bore
most of the patient’s weight. “We need the stretcher back.”

“Okay,” she said, studying their surroundings. There was an
open space in front of the RV where she could do triage. “Set her down there and
bring me something to cover the ground. Blankets, floor mats, whatever you can
find.”

“I have a cot in the RV,” Cadence’s grandfather said.

“That would be great.”

“I’m Don, by the way.”

“I’m Lauren,” she said, kneeling to examine the woman. “Can you
turn on your headlights?”

“Be glad to.”

A moment later, the area in front of the motor home brightened.
She got an IV started while Don put up the cot and Garrett searched for the
requested items. He delivered a pile of floor mats, along with most of the
equipment from the ambulance, setting it down near the front of the motor
home.

As the morning wore on, Garrett and Don brought two more
patients, both bloody. Lauren tried not to panic when she saw the extent of
their injuries. She had plenty of experience in clearing airways and giving
injections, but she wasn’t a doctor. As a paramedic, her job was to stabilize
patients for transport. These people needed the E.R., not a Band-Aid.

When Garrett and Don carried in a fourth victim with serious
injuries, she couldn’t hide her dismay. They transferred the unconscious man
from the stretcher to the last available space in front of the RV.

Mopping his forehead with a handkerchief, Don went inside to
check on Cadence. He was finding it difficult to keep up with Garrett, too.

Garrett sat down beside Lauren, watching her work.

“Are there more?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Yes.”

“My God.”

“Some I can’t get to. Others...don’t look like they’ll survive
the move.”

She struggled to remain numb. This was no time to break down.
The victims were counting on her. “What about rescue?”

“Cell phones aren’t working,” he said. “Most of the radio
stations are down. I caught the end of a short broadcast in Spanish.”

“And?”

“The only words I understood were San Diego and
ocho punto cinco.
”

Eight point five. Jesus. The city had never been hit by a quake
this size. She closed her eyes, feeling a tiny amount of moisture seep through
her lashes. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get dehydrated and have no tears to
shed. “We might be in here for days.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Have you seen a way out?”

“Not yet. I’ll keep searching.”

His steady gaze met hers and she held it, studying him. His
eyes were a cool, dark green, framed by spiky lashes. In this light, she could
see that his hair was dusty-brown, and a little longer than military allowed.
With his square jaw and strong nose, he was rugged looking. Handsome, but not a
pretty boy.

He wasn’t a fresh recruit, either. She guessed his age was at
least twenty-five, probably closer to thirty.

Like Don, he was showing signs of wear. There were crease lines
in the dirt on his face. His T-shirt was bloodstained, and damp with
perspiration. He hadn’t stopped doing heavy labor since this nightmare had
started.

When she realized that she was staring at his powerful build,
her mouth went dry and heat rose to her cheeks. She hadn’t felt a twinge of
sexual chemistry with anyone since her breakup with Michael. Experiencing it now
was awkward, to say the least. If she’d met Garrett under different
circumstances, she might have tried to flirt with him. He was hot and fearless.
Why couldn’t she find guys like this in non-life-threatening situations?

Lauren concentrated on taking her new patient’s vital signs. As
she removed the stethoscope from her ears, a telltale rumble echoed through the
chamber.

Aftershock.

“Get down,” Garrett ordered, yanking her away from the
victim.

Heart racing, she did what he said, pressing herself flat on
the ground and folding her arms around her head.

Apparently, she was still capable of terror. It coursed through
her like a sickness, robbing her ability to think. Chunks of concrete fell from
above, smashing the ground near them. She coughed as the air thickened with
dust. Moving quickly, Garrett leapt on top of her, protecting her from the
debris.

She was aware of the earth shuddering beneath them and the
structure groaning overhead. A car alarm went off in the distance, filling the
cavern with rhythmic honking. The scene was too disturbing to process. Perhaps
that was why her focus shifted from grim reality and tooth-and-nail survival to
the more pleasurable sensation of Garrett’s hard body covering hers.

His chest was molded to her back, his strong thighs bracing
hers. He had a taut, well-muscled physique. His stomach was flat and tight, his
crotch nestled against her bottom. That, and the feel of his biceps framing her
upper arms, made her shiver.

He even
smelled
manly, like motor
oil and hard work.

Eventually the shaking stopped. The car alarm went quiet. They
stayed still, making sure it was safe. His breath fanned the hair at the nape of
her neck and his heartbeat thudded between her shoulder blades.

This was one of her favorite positions.

She shifted beneath him, embarrassed. What an inappropriate
time to think about sex! Too late, she realized that the way she’d lifted her
bottom against his fly could be interpreted as an invitation.

He rolled away from her and she scrambled upright. His gaze
scanned her flushed face. She wiped the dirt off her cheek, swallowing hard.

A muscle in his jaw flexed and he looked away. “Sorry,” he
muttered. “If you get hurt, we’re all screwed.”

It took her a few seconds to understand what he meant. He was
apologizing for jumping on her. As if she’d be offended by his gallant attempt
to keep her safe. “It’s okay,” she said, moistening her lips. Her voice sounded
husky.

“Everyone all right out there?” Don called from the RV.

Garrett answered with an affirmative, and Lauren pulled herself
together. She should be worrying about her patients, not her libido. Thankfully,
none of the debris had tumbled their way. A few IV bags had been knocked loose.
She was already running low on supplies, but she worked with what she had, and
cared for the victims as well as she could.

Around noon, one of her patients began to experience severe
respiratory distress. Lauren was aware that he had broken ribs. When she
listened to his chest sounds again, it became clear that one of the splinters
had punctured his lung.

“Oh no,” she breathed, noting his rapid pulse and low blood
pressure. He’d been semiconscious; now he was completely out, his skin turning
blue. His carotid artery and jugular vein were distended, screaming for
oxygen.

“What is it?” Garrett asked.

“His lung collapsed,” she said, trying to stay calm. This was a
life-threatening emergency. Placing the oxygen mask over his face, she increased
the output levels. Then she searched her supplies for a large needle and a
syringe. Cutting away the front of his shirt, she found the intercostal space
above his third rib.

She tore an alcohol swab open and wiped the spot. Working
quickly, she stabbed the needle straight down into his chest.

It was a clean strike, sinking into his pleural cavity. She
drew back the plunger and watched the syringe fill up with blood.

Damn.

A collapsed lung failed to function properly because of excess
air or fluid in the cavity. If the problem was too much air, the lung couldn’t
contract on its own, but she could do needle decompressions to release tension.
Although excess blood could also be removed, she wouldn’t be able to stanch the
flow.

Dealing with severe internal bleeding was beyond her
capabilities. Beyond the abilities of any paramedic under these circumstances. A
patient with this kind of chest trauma was doomed unless he made it to a
surgeon’s table.

But Lauren couldn’t just stand there and watch the man die, so
she extracted as much blood from the lung cavity as possible. It was like trying
to put her finger on the dam. Her patient expired within minutes.

Shaken, she set the syringe aside and picked up her
stethoscope, listening for a heartbeat. Nothing. She pronounced him dead at
12:22 p.m.

He wasn’t the first person she’d lost, and he wouldn’t be the
last. Emergency services personnel couldn’t afford to dwell on disappointments
like this; they had to move on quickly. Lauren was good at that. Paramedics and
EMTs didn’t do follow-up. Their focus was safe transport, not long-term
care.

Despite her vast experience with death, this one wasn’t easy.
They were trapped under several layers of freeway, so safe transport was out.
She didn’t have the resources or the expertise for ongoing critical care.

Although Garrett had jumped to protect her during the
aftershock, he made no attempt to comfort her now. He stayed back and gave her
space. She appreciated his reserve; if he’d shown a hint of compassion, she
might have fallen apart.

Letting out a slow breath, she covered the dead man with a
towel. Her remaining patients were unconscious, but stable.

“Can you come with me to check on the others?” Garrett asked
quietly.

“Sure,” she said, rising to her feet.

She donned her hard hat and accompanied Garrett on a final
sweep of the cavern. He couldn’t evaluate the wounded as well as she could.
Several people were suffering, but as he’d said, they probably wouldn’t survive
being moved.

Lauren had never witnessed so much devastation. She prayed for
her friends and colleagues, many of whom had families in San Diego. All Lauren’s
relatives, including her mother, lived far away.

After six years as a paramedic, she knew how to hold herself at
an emotional distance, but she wasn’t made of stone. Her heart ached for the
victims. Thankfully, most of them were already dead, not writhing in agony.

She trudged alongside Garrett like an automaton, her eyes
dry.

Lauren assumed that the destruction outside was far worse. The
freeway sections had collapsed in layers, blocking all sides. During the short
interim between the first quake and the initial aftershock, many motorists had
been able to escape. Some on foot, perhaps. The massive pileups of cars were
beyond the concrete walls, not within them.

“You need something to eat and drink,” Garrett said.

If anyone required sustenance, it was him. He’d been searching
through the rubble and lifting heavy objects for hours. She took two bottles of
vitamin water out of her pack, giving him one and drinking the other.

“Is there food in the RV?” she asked.

“Yes, but it won’t last more than a few days.”

She didn’t want to consider the implication of those words.
Surely they wouldn’t be trapped here long enough to worry about starvation.
Humans could survive for weeks without food. If they weren’t rescued within
twenty-four hours, however, those with the most critical injuries would pass
away.

Water was the larger concern for the survivors. It was hot and
dusty inside the cavern. They needed a lot of fluids to stay hydrated. Ten
gallons wouldn’t go far.