Page 70 of The Woodcarver's Model
While staring into the flames, he thought of his last week on the mountain, surviving on spring water and the occasional meal of berries and mushrooms. He remembered the hallucinations, including a huge house party. He remembered being visited by his Aunt Sarah. She told him to trust her and…something else. He couldn’t put his finger on it. It was like a memory that was at the tip of his tongue. An idea he couldn’t quite visualise. He also remembered her walking with him, her putting her arms around him and telling him to go back home. Not quite that, though. He stared into the flames and remembered her face staring at him. She said, “Go back andmakeyourself a home.” That was different, but right now, he had no idea where to begin.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The helicopter was waiting for Frank and his crew when they arrived. The investors, having been apprised of the situation, were more than willing to be abandoned on the Peak knowing that a life was at stake and that they would have a great story to dine out on for the next year.
Marco, Philippe, Frank and Sheila were able to manoeuvre the makeshift stretcher into the cabin of the helicopter as Eric maintained pressure on the wound. Even with all of his strength, Eric was finding it difficult, but he refused to be beaten.
The helicopter took off with Sheila, Eric and the patient. The survey crew ferried the investors back into town for an exciting night at the Marsh Inn. Within fifteen minutes, the helicopter was landing at the Nanaimo Regional General Hospital’s heliport with a full trauma team on stand-by.
Sheila had monitored Rob’s vitals as best she could during the flight.
“His breathing is shallow, his pulse is weak, and he’s lost a lot of blood,” she shouted over the roar of the rotors as they unloaded Rob from the helicopter.
“Are you the attending physician?” yelled one of the hospital team to Sheila.
“No, I’m a vet.”
“Army?”
“Dog and cat, mostly. But I’m certified for large animals.”
Both Sheila and Eric were relieved of their duties and the medical team quickly wheeled Rob into the hospital and into the trauma centre.
“There’s nothing more we can do. Can I buy you a coffee?” Sheila asked Eric.
“No. But you can buy me the biggest drink this town has to offer.”
The Windward Pub was a two-minute walk away.
After a good meal and several stiff drinks, they made their way back to the hospital. There was still nothing to report. Rob was in critical, but stable condition. Sheila gave them her contact information if anything changed. They gave her directions to the nearest hotel where the two checked in for the night.
Eric spent the first two hours in the hotel spa hot tub trying to relax his arm and hand muscles. Afterwards he picked up a waiter from the bar and took him back to his room for further de-stressing.
In the morning, Sheila met up with Eric in the restaurant where the waiter was overly attentive, even to the point of calling him ‘hun.’
“What did you do to him?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Probably not.”
They took their coffees to go and headed back to the hospital.
Rob had undergone surgery the evening before and was in intensive care. No visitors allowed. They waited for an hour before being able to meet with a doctor, a young resident—Martin Quinn.
“Is one of you his next-of-kin?” he asked.
Eric looked him in the eye. “Nope. We’re just the ones who saved his life.”
“We’re friends of Rob. We haven’t had time to notify his family,” Sheila added.
“Would that include a…Mitchell Carcross?” the doctor asked after referring to his chart.
“There’s a long story there,” Sheila answered.
“Mr Hanson insisted on us witnessing an entirely illegible written statement leaving Mr Carcross everything if he didn’t make it.” He showed them a piece of paper with a few intersecting scribbles on it. “He wrote that this morning when he came out of surgery. I don’t think it would hold up in court. He was pretty stoned on meds at the time.”
“Now, why can’t I find someone like that?” Eric sighed.
