Bride by Accident

‘Sure. Me and Marty will look after them,’ Katy said. ‘Do you want someone to push down on Mr Jeffries’s pad?’

If there had been a medal to hand, Emma would have pinned it on her right then.

‘Yes,’ she told her.

‘I’ll call Chrissy Martin to look after Mr Jeffries while I look after the others,’ Katy said. ‘She reckons she’s going to be a doctor and she doesn’t get sick when anyone bleeds.’

‘Are all the kids out of the bus?’ Please…

‘There’s two still left,’ Katy told her, and Emma forgot about medals. ‘Kyle Connor and Suzy Larkin. I was just coming to look for them.’ She looked dubiously at the bus. ‘You reckon it’s safe to go back inside?’

‘I’ll look for you,’ Emma told her, staring with her at the bus with a sinking heart. ‘You have work to do.’

So did she.

Someone had to climb into the bus.

Kyle and Suzy. Two children. Two children on the bus.

There was sea under the bus. Thirty feet down. What was stopping the bus from sliding into the sea?

Nothing.

She looked back at the rest of the adults to see if there was anyone who could possibly help her.

Not the doctor. If he left what he was doing…well, he couldn’t.

The other adults? One sick, one too stunned to be any use at all, one injured.

Not a snowball’s chance in a wildfire of any help from this lot.

She couldn’t ask the kids.

Which left her.

She gulped.

‘Don’t slide,’ she told the bus. Stupidly. Inconsequentially. ‘Don’t you dare slide. I haven’t come all this way to get squashed.’

Squashed wasn’t a good thought and she couldn’t afford to think it. If she hesitated any more she wouldn’t do it. There was no choice.

Two kids.

She reached up, grabbed the top of the window-frame and hauled herself up and inside the bus.

She was met by chaos.

A bus, lying on its side at a thirty or forty degree angle on the side edge of a cliff wasn’t the most organised place to be at the best of times. And this one had been crushed by rolling logs.

There was shattered glass, twisted metal and seats, satchels spilling schoolbooks…

How had so many kids got out of here alive? Emma asked herself as she tried to get her bearings.

The frame was still almost intact. That’d be why. There’d be cuts from the broken glass but not much impact damage.

What else might have caused major trauma?

There were a couple of logs that had smashed right inside.

Maybe they’d missed everyone.

Yeah, right.

But maybe they had. She couldn’t hear anything.

‘Is anyone in here?’ she called, trying not to sound as terrified as she felt.

Nothing.

Maybe Katy had been mistaken. Please.

She bit her lip—then slid her way slowly down, gingerly, horribly conscious of the fact that the bus was precariously balanced thirty feet above the sea. But there was nothing she could do about that little nightmare. She couldn’t think about it.

She did think about it.

No matter. She couldn’t let it matter. She worked slowly down the rows of seats, searching, searching…

Thank God she was wearing sensible clothes. Her oversized jeans and windcheater and her sneakers protected her from the worst of the broken glass. If she’d been in summer dress and sandals she’d be have been cut to ribbons.

Where were they?

Katy had said there were two kids. Katy looked the sort of kid who’d miss nothing.

And as she thought it, she found the first.

She almost missed him. A vast log had smashed through a window, crushing the child against the far bus wall. Crushing him so that she could scarcely see him. The log had rolled back as the bus had settled, but Kyle had been left where he’d been crushed.

No.

He must have died instantly, Emma thought, sickened beyond belief. A little boy, seven or eight…

Bright copper hair.

Dead.

She swallowed and swallowed again. Katy had said his name was Kyle.

Kyle.

She was crying now. Tears were sliding uselessly down her cheeks and she couldn’t stop them. She didn’t try.

‘Kyle.’ She whispered his name, then put her hand across to touch the little boy’s face. His face was almost untouched but the rest of him…No. She checked for a pulse, but it was no use. She was searching for something she knew had irretrievably gone.

Useless.

Her touch turned into a tiny gesture of blessing. It was all she could do for him.

Doctors should grow accustomed to death.

Doctors never did.

Two kids. She had to move on. Katy had said there were two kids. She swiped away the useless tears and went on searching.

Where…? Had someone been thrown out?

Where?

‘Suzy?’ she called.

Nothing.

She was reaching the front of the bus now, the lowest point—checking, checking.

And then she heard…

It was a rasping, choking sound, so slight it had been almost lost in the sounds she herself was making as the broken glass crunched under her.

Where had the sound come from?

Further forward.

Here.

She paused, staring down in horror.

Suzy.

The little girl had been hit. Not like Kyle—she hadn’t been completely crushed. But the log had slammed against her face.

Her eyes were OK. She was staring upward, frantic. Caught between two seats, she hadn’t been able to call for help.

Of course she hadn’t. It was all she could do to breathe, Emma realised, sliding down so she was right against her. Every breath was a gurgling, gasping attempt to gain enough air to survive.

She was failing. There was a dreadful hue to her skin, which was mute evidence that her efforts weren’t enough.

The log had smashed her cheek, her mouth, her throat. The damaged flesh would be swelling, making breathing more difficult every second.

‘It’s OK,’ Emma told her, catching her hands and trying to sound assured, not panicked. ‘You’re OK, now, Suzy. I’m a doctor. I’m here to help you breathe. It’s OK.’

The child stared wildly up at her, her eyes reflecting the terror that Emma felt.

And then, as if she’d held on for long enough—for too long—she fought for one last dreadful breath and she slipped into unconsciousness.

No.

Unconsciousness meant death, Emma thought desperately. Without fighting, how could Suzy get air past the damage? How could she get the oxygen she so desperately needed?

Emma slipped her fingers into the little girl’s throat, frantically hoping that she might find loose teeth or bloody tissue that could be cleared. What she felt there made her lift her fingers back in despair. It wasn’t just loose teeth or blood blocking the trachea. This was major damage. Air wasn’t going to get into these lungs via the child’s mouth or nose.

What next?

The guy outside had a doctor’s bag. He’d have a scalpel, maybe a tracheostomy tube…

No. It’d take too long to call—explain—get the bag in here. The child was dying under her hands.

She had seconds.

The breathing was a rasping, thin whistle, each one shorter than the last. The little girl’s body was convulsing as she fought for breath.

The fight was lost.

She had to do something now! She stared wildly round. What? Anything. Anything.

A child’s pencil-case…

She hauled it open, ripping at the zip so hard it broke. What? What?

A pencil sharpener. A ballpoint pen.

She hauled them out, sobbing in desperation. Maybe.

She had her fingernail in the tiny screw of the sharpener, twisting, praying, and the tiny screw moved in her hands. In seconds she had the screw out, and the tiny blade of the sharpener slid free into her palm.

She had a blade. A crazy, tiny blade but a blade. Dear God. Now she needed a tracheostomy tube.

She hauled the ink tube from the ballpoint.

OK, so now she had basic equipment. Sort of.

How sharp was her blade?

There was no time to ask any more questions. It was this or nothing. Suzy was jerking towards death.

Go.

And in seconds it was done—the roughest, most appalling tracheostomy Emma was ever likely to see, ever likely to perform, in her life.

Where was her medical training now? Was she mad?

To cut an incision in Suzy’s throat with a rough blade from a pencil sharpener, to insert a ballpoint casing that still had ink stains and teeth marks on the end where its owner had thoughtfully chewed while doing his schoolwork—how could it possibly work?

But wonderfully, magically, it did. Within seconds of the ballpoint casing entering her rough incision site, Suzy’s breathing rerouted through the plastic.

The awful, non-productive gasping ceased.

The child was still unconscious but her breathing was settling to a rhythm. The dreadful blue was fading.

She’d done it. She relaxed, just for a moment.

The bus shifted, lurched, and she forgot about relaxing.

For a moment she thought they’d plummet together and all she thought was, What a waste. What a waste of a truly amazing piece of surgery.

She’d succeeded, she thought wildly, terror and jubilation crazily mixed. Suzy could live. There was no way this bus could plummet now.

‘Let’s just keep really still,’ she told herself. Not that she had a choice. She was holding the ballpoint casing right where it had to be held. If she moved, Suzy’s breathing would stop. As simple as that.

She couldn’t move.

The little girl’s eyes flickered open, and Emma put her spare hand on the child’s forehead to stop her jerking as she regained consciousness.

‘Suzy, you’re fine. But you mustn’t move. I’ve put a tube in your throat to help you breathe but you mustn’t move an inch. Not an inch.’

The child’s eyes widened.

Emma was right there.

‘I’m not moving either, Suzy,’ she told her. ‘We’re stuck on the bus and we’re waiting for someone to come and get us out. Who do you think will come first? I’d like the fire brigade. Wouldn’t you? All those bells and sirens sound great, and I love firemen’s helmets.’

Suzy’s eyes said she was crazy. Maybe she was crazy.

‘What shall we do while we wait?’ Emma continued, still holding Emma’s forehead firmly. ‘Maybe I should introduce myself. I’m Emma O’Halloran. I’m a doctor from England and I’m here to meet my baby’s extended family. Only they don’t know I exist. Do you think they’ll be pleased to learn about my baby?’

When help came it came as a cavalry.

Daphne, the lady in charge of Karington’s telephone emergency response, had rung everyone she could think of. Emma had said send the army and Daphne hadn’t done that, but only because there wasn’t an army to hand. She’d sent everyone else.

The sirens were faint at first, but they built until it sounded as if the entire emergency services for the country were heading this way.

Devlin had Jodie’s bleeding stopped—almost. He was concentrating now on setting up an intravenous line. He had to get fluids into Jodie’s little body if she wasn’t to die of shock. Given the amount of blood loss, heart failure was a real possibility.

He had his jacket off, and it was spread over the child to keep her warm. He set the drip to maximum—saline and plasma. Thank God he never travelled without them. Even so, his supplies were severely limited. So, as the cavalry arrived, the relief he felt was almost overwhelming.

The local ambulance was the first to appear. As the two paramedics, Helen and Don, parked their vehicle and ran across to meet him, he decided that he’d never been more grateful to see anyone in his life.

There was no time for greetings. ‘I need more plasma here,’ he said curtly. ‘And I need her warmed. Do you have warmed blankets on board?’

Helen, the senior officer, looked down at Jodie and nodded.

‘Yep. Will do. But it looks like you’ve done the hard part.’ She knelt and placed her stethoscope on Jodie’s chest and listened—something Devlin hadn’t had time to do. But what she heard was obviously reassuring. ‘It’s sounding steady,’ she told him. ‘Don, can you take over here? Dev, what else?’

Thank heaven for Helen, Devlin thought. In her early fifties, Helen had been born and bred a dairy farmer. But after her husband died in a tractor accident and her kids left home for the city, she’d retrained as an ambulance officer. Her decision to turn to medicine meant Karington had an ambulance team second to none.

What else? She was asking for the next priority and he hadn’t had time to think of one.

But it was staring them both in the face. Sort of. The quarter of it they could see above the clifftop.

‘The bus,’ he started, and then paused. As if his mention of it had caused a reaction, the bus gave a long, rolling shudder—as though it was about to topple.

Helen made a move towards it but Devlin held her back.

‘I think everyone’s out.’

‘They’re not all out.’

It was the child, Katy. She was crouched on the roadside beside her schoolteacher, pressing Emma’s jacket against the gash on his head as Emma had shown her. Now she looked up, her eyes filling with tears that it seemed she’d been holding back until now. Somehow.

‘The pregnant lady’s on the bus,’ she told them. ‘I told her that Kyle and Suzy were still on the bus and she climbed in after them. She hasn’t come out. I told her that Chrissy would do this, but Chrissy was sick so I have to do it. But I don’t know what the pregnant lady’s doing.’

Devlin did a fast sift of available information. ‘The pregnant lady?’

How many pregnant ladies could there be? His eyes moved to the woman he’d seen first—the woman who’d been lying beside her crushed car. He’d almost fallen over her as he’d run.

Her car was still there. Of course. It was mangled past repair.

The woman wasn’t.

He’d thought she was only semi-conscious.

How could she be on the bus? He’d told her to lie still. She looked as if she could have been badly injured.

But it had been such a fleeting impression. She was a young woman, he thought, and she’d been badly battered in the crash. She had dark curls, bunched back with ribbon, big green eyes that were too big for her shocked, white face, a smear of blood on her forehead.

She’d been pregnant. Very pregnant.

She needed medical attention.

‘She’s on the bus?’ he said again, blankly.

‘Yes,’ Katy told him, still fighting back tears of reaction ‘I was going to get on and look for Kyle and Suzy myself, but she told me I had to look after Mr Jeffries and the younger kids. She said she’d go. But…she hasn’t come out. Do you think it’s going to fall?’

She started to cry.

CHAPTER TWO

‘IS THERE someone inside?’

The call echoed through the smashed bus and no words had ever sounded sweeter.

Emma had listened to the sirens approaching. She’d heard vehicles stop, people talking, urgent voices, kids crying. And now there was a voice, calling through the shattered back window. It was the voice of the man she’d thought was Corey.

It wasn’t Corey. She must have been stupid to think it was.

Whoever it was, at least it was help.

‘They’re here,’ she told Suzy.

Suzy couldn’t answer. Of course she couldn’t. But the little girl’s bravery defied description. She was following orders to the letter, not moving a fraction. Her eyes were locked onto Emma’s, and Emma knew that contact was dreadfully important.

So was the contact Emma’s fingers were making. She was holding the ballpoint as if it was the most precious thing in the world. As indeed it was. It was the fine thread between life and death.

And now it seemed as if life might just win. Might…

‘We’re in here,’ she called, trying to make her voice assured. Mature. In charge. ‘Suzy and I are here, just waiting for rescue. We’re hoping for the fire brigade.’

There was a moment’s hesitation.

‘Is Kyle in there with you?’

Lightness faded. There was no way to dress this up to make it less brutal. She tightened her grip on Suzy’s forehead, and forced herself to respond.

‘Kyle’s been crushed,’ she said flatly. ‘He’s dead. He must have died instantly.’

There was a moment’s silence. An awful silence while those outside the bus took in the awfulness.

Then another question, as if he was afraid to ask.

‘Is Suzy OK?’

‘She’ll be fine,’ Emma said, forcing her voice to sound firm and sure. ‘But we’ve had some problems. I’ve performed a tracheostomy. I’m holding a ballpoint casing in position to help her breathe. We can’t move.’

There was an even longer silence at that.

‘You’ve performed a tracheostomy?’

‘Yes. Her face has been badly hurt. But she’ll be fine, just as soon as you can get her out of here.’

‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Emma.’ What did he want? she thought grimly. Proof of medical qualifications?

‘You’re the pregnant lady who was driving the Kia?’

‘That’s me.’ She smiled down at Suzy and tried again to force lightness into her voice. ‘So there’s me, there’s my bulge and there’s Suzy. We’d appreciate it if you could get us out as soon as possible. Please.’

‘We’ll do our best.’ There were sounds of an argument outside the bus but she couldn’t make out exactly what was being said. A few voices, mixed.

‘Miss?’ It was another voice. Lower. Deeper.

Different.

‘Yes?’

‘I’m Greg Nunn from the fire brigade.’

That was good news.

‘We hoped the fire brigade would come,’ Emma said, speaking to Suzy as much as to the voice outside. ‘If we have a fire engine, then we think that anything’s possible. We’re very pleased to hear from you, Mr Nunn. Suzy and I were hoping we might get rescued by the fire brigade—and here you are.’

Only they weren’t quite close enough. ‘We can’t come in,’ Greg told her. ‘No one can until the bus is secure. This bus isn’t too stable.’

Her smile faded a bit. Not too stable…

‘We know that,’ she said in some asperity. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘Can you lift the little girl out?’

‘I told you, I can’t. First, we’re right down at the front of the bus and I’m not very good at climbing and lifting. Second, I’m holding a tracheostomy tube in place.’

‘Can you come out yourself?’

He had to be joking.

‘No,’ she said flatly.

‘If she’s holding a tracheostomy tube in place, she can’t,’ the first voice said. The doctor?

‘Who are you?’ she asked—and it was suddenly absurdly important that she knew. He had a doctor’s bag. He had to be a doctor.

She could really use a doctor right now.

‘I’m Devlin O’Halloran,’ he told her. ‘Dr O’Halloran.’

She froze.

Things were swinging away from her again. The sensation of dizziness she’d fought ever since her car had been struck came sweeping back, and for a horrible moment she thought she might pass out.

Devlin O’Halloran.

Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke?

Corey. Devlin. Of course.

It wasn’t a joke.

‘I can’t come on board,’ he told her, and his voice sounded strained to breaking point. ‘We can’t put extra weight inside. We’re working to secure the bus now.’

‘That’s good,’ she managed, but her tone must have changed.

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he demanded, then, as an aside, added, ‘Damn, I’m going in.’

‘You go in and the whole thing goes down the cliff,’ she heard someone say. ‘It doesn’t need any more weight. Get real, Doc. We’re working as hard as we can.’

Forget the O’Halloran bit, she decided. Her brain was working on so many levels it was threatening to implode from overuse.

She couldn’t think about the O’Halloran thing. She didn’t want to look around the bus—she mustn’t. She had to keep positive—keep hopeful—so that she could remain smiling down at Suzy as if she really believed things were fine.

‘What’s happening out there?’ she called.

This was surreal. She was kneeling by Suzy it was as if they were in a cave and the rest of the world didn’t exist. She could hear the sea below them, the waves crashing against the cliffs.

It was a normal sunny day. There were shafts of sunlight piercing the shattered windows. Fifteen minutes ago this had been a glorious morning.

If she looked downwards she could see the sea through the smashed windows. This was wild country and the wind was rising. The sea here was a maelstrom of white foam against the cliffs. Waiting…

‘We’re attaching cables to the bus,’ someone called. ‘To get you steady.’

‘That’s a good idea.’

‘But we don’t have enough cable,’ someone else called. ‘We’ve sent for some from the town. We need steel cables to attach to the trees, and the only trees strong enough are along the cliff a bit.’

‘But we’ve hooked a rope on the fire-engine,’ someone else called. ‘That should help.’

‘Not enough to let Doc down into the bus,’ someone else called. ‘The road surface isn’t stable enough. But we’re working fast.’

‘Work faster,’ she said faintly. ‘We like the idea of the fire-engine but Suzy and I are running out of things to talk about.’

It took half an hour. Half an hour while Suzy’s throat swelled even more, and it became more and more difficult to keep the plastic tubing right where it had to be. There was bleeding into the wound and a couple of times her breathing faltered.

Emma lifted her a little, cradling on her knees so her head was slightly elevated. She watched her like a hawk, and as her breathing faltered she moved, adjusted, adjusted…

Somehow she kept her breathing.

She must be in such pain. The child lay limply in Emma’s arms and stared up at Emma her as if the link to this strange lady above her was the only thing between her and death.

Which wasn’t so far from the truth, Emma thought, as the minutes dragged on.

The ballpoint casing couldn’t last for ever.

Hurry.

But finally the cable arrived. She heard shouts, barked orders as the men and women outside finally had something to do.

And then…

‘She’s secure. We’re coming on board.’

‘Don’t wait for an invitation,’ she called, and she knew that her voice was starting to wobble. ‘Come on in. And bring morphine.’

‘We’re coming now.’

Two of them came on board. The doctor—Devlin?—and a middle-aged lady in khaki overalls with an ambulance insignia.

They crawled into the bus the same way Emma had come in. She cradled Suzy and watched them come—but only with her peripheral vision. She was still looking down at Suzy, aware that the eye contact she had with the little girl had assumed immense importance.

‘They’re coming, Suzy,’ Emma whispered. ‘The cavalry. Dr Devlin O’Halloran and friend.’ She glanced up at the approaching figure—a big man in a loose pullover and jeans. Someone had given him leather work gloves. He had a thatch of deep black hair, wavy, sort of flopping over his eyes as if he was in need of a good haircut. He looked so like…

No. He didn’t look like anyone, she told herself fiercely. No one she could think of right now.

‘I guess this must be your local doctor,’ she told Suzy. ‘Do you know him?’

But Suzy’s eyes were blank. Glazing a little. Shock and pain and blood loss were all taking their toll.

‘Have you brought fluids and morphine?’ she demanded. That was what she needed most.

‘We have.’

Dev had paused momentarily by Kyle—just momentarily. Emma hadn’t looked that way again. Not once. But she knew what he’d be seeing and she heard in his voice how much he hated it.

‘We’ve brought everything we need,’ Devlin said, but the inflexion in his voice was odd. He wasn’t commenting on Kyle. He didn’t have to.

‘There’s nothing we can do here,’ he said to the woman with him, and it was almost a sigh. He started to clamber lower.