Page 13 of Heston
Not happening.There was no way to check for survivors. The flames were too hot to breach the door, and the ceiling had collapsed, blocking Heston’s entry. He growled at the helpless predicament he was in. The fire was out of control. All it needed was to reach the propane tank these crappy trailers came with, and this part of the campground would cease to exist. All the more reason to catch up to London. To protect her. To keep her safe.
Before he took one step, the trailer’s side panel popped off its rivets and curled down onto itself, nearly into him. Heston took a full step back to avoid the blow torch flaming out from theswiftly melting aluminum. The blazing heat proved brutal. He lifted the back of his arm to shield his nose and mouth. It was still hard to breathe. He took another step back, then another, looking past the flaming rig for London. Damn it. Where had she disappeared to so quickly?
Powerful heat forced him to retreat again. He could only hope she hadn’t done anything crazy, like crash through one of these burning walls. It’d be just like her, stubborn to the end, even if it meant dying.
The fumes were horrendous. The fire scorched his face until tears ran down his cheeks. In his haste, he stumbled over—
“Son of a bitch! Get the hell off me!” some guy bellowed.
“Boss?” Heston dropped to his knees. “Is that you? My God! It’s you!”
A hearty “Shit!” roared back at him. “You stepped on me!”
“Didn’t see you. Sorry.” Heston turned from where Alex lay cursing. Still looking for London, he yelled into the mic snapped on his jacket collar, “Asher. Found Alex. Bring London to the front of the trailer. We’re about twenty feet from it. Hurry!”
“On my way,” Asher responded hoarsely.
“I’m already here,” London replied just as hoarsely as she dropped alongside Alex, who was still face down on the ground. “Are you okay, sir?” she asked, her gloved hand on his shoulder, her head tipped forward as she leaned over to get him to look at her.
“Not me, damn it.” Alex groaned. He was hunched over into a push-up position, his weight on his knees and elbows, protectively shielding—
“Kelsey!” Heston cried out. “You found her. Boss! Thank you, God!” His fingertip snapped the button that would bring Decker back on-line. “Nine-one-one!” he barked into the mic, while digging into his smaller bag and grabbing his IFAK, his Individual First Aid Kit. “Deck, Asher, we’ve got them. BothAlex and Kelsey!” Then he repeated it because it seemed so extraordinarily rare that this bleak rescue mission had turned successful, “We’ve got them! Both of them, both Alex and Kelsey!”
But then he froze. Afraid. Just because Alex had Kelsey didn’t mean she was alive. How could she be? Heston didn’t know if she was breathing. He couldn’t tell as closely as Alex guarded his wife. His heart fell.
“Boss?” Heston asked more calmly, his finger off the mic, his joy restrained, all excitement gone from his voice. He peered closer at the still body beneath Alex. Kelsey had yet to move. But he could see she wasn’t breathing. Not even a puff of frosty breath whispered out of her partly open mouth.Shit.
“How’s … how’s your wife, Boss?” Heston asked cautiously.
“How do you think she is?” Alex bit out. He’d leaned sideways onto one hip, off her, still keeping his body between hers and the blazing fire, his back to the flames. “She’s hurt damned bad, and I can’t get her warm. She’s too cold.”
“I can take care of that,” Heston replied evenly. He pulled a dozen hand and foot warmers from his bag, activated them, gave one for Alex to hold, then placed the rest inside Kelsey’s too-big-to-be-her t-shirt, under the shirt on her belly, inside her pants pockets and into her socks. But Alex was right. She was as cold as a corpse.
By then London had her own IFAK laid out alongside Kelsey’s head and was expertly flashing a pencil light over her face and into her eyes. Cupping Kelsey’s cheek with her free hand, London asked Alex, “Was she breathing before? She’s not now. I’ve got oxygen.”
Heston noticed her fingers. No ring in sight. Just black nitrile gloves.
‘Not now!’he commanded himself.‘Stay on track. Focus!’
“Yes, but not nearly enough,” Alex answered, “and I had to get her out of there and—”
“Understood. No need to explain. Good job, sir. You saved her life. That was your first priority, saving this pretty lady’s life. Well done,” London shot back. “And now we’ll get her ready to transport. Anything broken that you know?”
Alex was on his butt now, sitting cross-legged, his powerful body shaking with an overload of adrenaline—which had most likely saved his life. “I didn’t have time to check. The fire… The river… Everything exploded. I… I should’ve been there…” His voice trailed off, but his steely gaze remained fixed on his wife.
“Nope.” London let the P pop. “You did everything right, sir. Same as I would’ve done. Now sit back and let us help you both.” With an authoritative snap of her free hand, she uncoiled the oxygen tubing included with her portable O2tank, adjusted the flow, and secured the unit’s full mask over Kelsey’s nose and mouth. “If she doesn’t start breathing on her own, we may need to begin compressions, Alex. But a breath of O2might just be enough to—”
Kelsey’s chest lifted the tiniest bit. Then lifted again.
“Hurry!” Alex ordered. “Save her! God, save her!”
London hurried. Heston, too. Peeling out of his work gloves, he donned a set of surgical gloves, not willing to risk causing any infections. The ABCDs of triage came as easily as they had when he was in combat.Airway.Breathing.Circulation/Coma/Convulsion.Dehydration.
He opened his kit, grabbed the enclosed penlight, flicked it on, and stuck it between his teeth. “Hook her up to saline, Ash. STAT,” he mumbled around the light, finally noticing his buddy. “I’m assessing circulation.” Which meant he was looking for open wounds to tourniquet or pack with QuikClot powder and the thick rolls of hemostatic gauze from his kit. Kelsey was already in a coma, but bleeders left unattended led todehydration which ended with convulsions. Shit, he hoped he didn’t find any. He began carefully at the sides of her head, feeling quickly for bumps and—
“Head wound,” he reported as clinically neutral as possible. Just as critically assessing. Heston tipped forward on his knees and leaned over Kelsey’s prone body to better see what he was dealing with. “Graze. Clean. No clotting. Definite skull impact. No fractures” —at least none he could see— “but I can see bone.”
“They shot her,” Alex growled. “Gawddamned bastards shot her. In the head! I was there. Saw the gawddamned pink mist!”
