Page 3 of Prognosis Bad Timing

If he’d been driving the BMW, he’d have been up the creek without a paddle.

Sprinting to the inert form, Charlie’s brain processed all the possibilities. It was a man. A middle-aged man. Had he fallen asleep at the wheel or had there been a medical emergency like a heart attack or a stroke that had caused him to veer into their path?

Charlie donned a pair of gloves and methodically assessed the man as drilled into him during his student years.

D. R. A. B. C. H.

Danger. Response. Airway. Breathing. Circulation. Haemorrhage.

The man was unresponsive. Unconscious. His airway was compromised, his gurgling respirations concerning. He was breathing. Just. He had a pulse. But it was rapid and weak.

His face was covered in blood.

Charlie looked at the car and noticed the massive hole in the windscreen. The man must have been catapulted out through the glass, sustaining numerous lacerations. A quick head-to-toe check revealed multiple contusions, bilateral fractured tibias and what appeared to be a major bleed from the femoral artery if the bright, pulsing blood from the man’s groin was any indication.

Great! He tore the fabric of the man’s jeans, pulled a wad of gauze out of his kit and placed it over the bleeding site, applying firm, even pressure.

He needed help.

Flipping open his phone, he dialled triple zero with one hand and prayed for service in an area that was generally sketchy at best. The 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.

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