Page 18 of The Island

“Come on, please…” Heather said and breathed.

She tried to blow air into the woman’s lungs but it came back into her own mouth as an unholy reflection of lifegiving air: acrid, warm, stale, reeking of blood. Something was blocking the windpipe. She lifted the limp body. “It’s going to be OK,” she said.

She thumped the woman’s back and another chunk of flesh fell from her lips.

“Tom! I need you! Get out here!”

Heather laid her on the ground again and gave her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and this time the air did seem to reach what was left of the woman’s lungs.

Heather began doing chest compressions.

She did this for a count of twenty and then checked the pulse.

Nothing.

Blood was pouring from her ears, eyes, mouth, nostrils.

Flies were beginning to land on her.

“Shit.” All Heather was doing was moving blood around a dead woman’s body. She was not going to be able to save her. Only medical professionals with a trauma team and blood products and—

She took the phone out of her jeans and dialed 911.

No, not 911. What was the Australian—000.

She dialed 000. There was no signal. She held the phone up as high as it would go. No signal.

She ran to the front of the car and climbed across the scalding-hot hood, burning her hands as she scaled it.

Tom was staring at her through the windshield, dazed. The kids were stirring behind him.

“Check on the kids and get out here!” she said.

Tom looked at her, baffled for a moment, and then nodded.

Heather looked at the phone. No service, it said.

The farm Matt had talked about couldn’t be too far away. Would they have a phone? Didn’t Matt say that they didn’t have phones here, or was she misremembering that?

She jumped off the hood and ran back to the woman.

She tried pumping her chest again.

She tried and tried.

Blood poured from the woman’s mouth by the cupful.

Heather stopped what she was doing.

The woman’s entire chest cavity must be filled with blood. A major blood vessel had probably ruptured. There was nothing she could do. There was nothing anyone could do. The impact had killed her and she’d surely been brain-dead for minutes now.

There had never been a possibility of saving her.

Heather tugged the blue dress back down over the body. What a kind, lovely, gentle face the woman had. Someone’s daughter, sister, wife. A young life wiped out by them.

“I’m so sorry. We didn’t see you. Oh God, I’m so sorry,” she said as tears filled her eyes.

Heather heard a noise behind her—Tom getting out of the car. He finally appeared next to her covered with dirt. He must have climbed out the window on his side of the car and scrambled to her along the ditch.

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