Under Fire (43 page)

“Roger that,” Major McCabe’s voice crackled through.

Hugh inched closer, wedging the light into the crevice in hopes of seeing more of his patient. “Ma’am, crews are working hard to get you out of here, but they need to stabilize the structure before removing more debris. Do you understand me?”

“I hear you.” She nodded, then winced as her cheek slid along the gritty ground. “My name is Amelia Bailey. I’m not alone.”

More souls in danger. “How many?”

“One more. A baby.”

His gut gripped. He forced words past his throat, clogging from more than particulates in the air. “McCabe, add a second soul to that. A baby with the female, Amelia Bailey. Am switching to hot mic so you can listen in.”

He flipped the mic to constant feed, which would use more battery, but time was of the essence now. He didn’t want to waste valuable seconds repeating info. “Ma’am, how old is the baby?”

“Thirteen months. A boy.” She spoke faster and faster, her voice coming out in scratchy croaks. “I can’t see him because it’s so dark, but I can feel his pulse. He’s still alive, but oh God, please get us out of here.”

“Yes, ma’am. Now, I’m going to slip my hand over your back to see if I can reach him.”

He had his doubts. There wasn’t a sound from the child, no whimpering, none of those huffing little breaths children make when they sleep or have cried themselves out. Still, he had to go through the motions. Inching closer until he stretched alongside her, he tunneled his arm over her shoulders. Her back rose and fell shallowly, as if she tried to give him more space when millimeters counted. His fingers snagged on her torn shirt, something silky and too insubstantial a barrier between her and tons of concrete.

Pushing farther, he met resistance, stopped short. Damn it. He grappled past the jutting stone, lower down her back until he brushed the top of her—

She gasped.

He looked up fast, nearly nose to nose now. His hand stilled on her buttock. She stared back, the light from his helmet sweeping over her sooty face. Her eyes stared back, a splash of color in the middle of murky desperation.

Blue. Her eyes glistened pure blue, and what a strange thought to have in the middle of hell. But he couldn’t help but notice they were the same color as cornflowers he’d seen carpeting a field once during a mission in the UK.

Hell, cornflowers were just weeds. He stretched deeper, along the curve of her butt, bringing his face nearer to hers. She bit her lip.

“Sorry,” he clipped out.

Wincing, she shrugged. “It was a reflex. Modesty’s pretty silly right now. Keep going.”

Wriggling, he shifted for a better path beyond the maze of jagged edges, protruding glass, spikes…

“Damn it.” He rolled away, stifling the urge to say a helluva lot worse. “I can’t reach past you.”

Her fingers crawled to grip his sleeve. “I’m just so glad you’re here, that everyone knows we are here. Joshua’s heart is still beating. He’s with us, and we haven’t been down here long enough for him to get dehydrated, less than a day. There’s hope, right?”

Less than a day? Nearly forty-eight hours had passed since the earthquake occurred, and while he’d participated in against-all-odds rescues before, he had a sick sense that the child was already dead. But alerting the woman to her own confusion over the time wouldn’t help and could actually freak her out.

“Sure, Amelia. There’s always hope.”

Or so the platitude went.

“I’m going to hang out here with you while they do their work upstairs.” He unstrapped the pack around his waist and pointed his headlight toward the supplies. “Now I’m gonna pull out some tricks to make you more comfortable while we wait.”

“Happen to have an ice-cold Diet Coke? Although I’ll settle for water, no lemon necessary.”

He laughed softly. Not many would be able to joke right now, much less stay calm. “I’m sorry, but until I know more about your physical status, I can’t risk letting you eat or drink.” He tugged out a bag of saline, the needle, antiseptic swabs, grunting as a rock bit into his side. “But I am going to start an IV, just some fluids to hydrate you.”

“You said you’re here to help me,” she said, wincing at a fresh burst of noise from the jackhammers, “but who are you?”

“I’m with the U.S. Air Force.” Dust and pebbles showered down. “I’m a pararescueman—you may have heard it called parajumper or PJ—but regardless, it includes a crap ton of medic training. I need to ask some questions so I know what else to put in your IV. Where exactly did the debris land on you?”

She puffed dust from her mouth, blinking fast. “There’s a frickin’ building on top of me.”

“Let me be more specific. Are your legs pinned?” He tore the corner of a sealed alcohol pad with his teeth, spitting the foil edge free. “I couldn’t reach that far to assess.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I thought you were checking on Joshua.”

“I’m a good multitasker.”

“My foot is wedged, but I can still wriggle my toes.”

He looked up sharply. If she was hemorrhaging internally, fluids could make her bleed out faster, but without hydration…

The balancing act often came down to going with his gut. “Just your foot?”

“Yes. Why? Do you think I’m delusional?” Her breath hitched with early signs of hysteria. “I’m not having phantom sensations. I can feel grit against my ankle. There’s some blood in my shoe, not a lot. It’s sticky, but not fresh. I’m feeling things.”

“I hear you. I believe you.” Without question, her mind would do whatever was needed to survive. But he’d felt enough of her body to know she was blocked, rather than pressed into the space. “I’m going to put an IV in now.”

“Why was it so important about my foot?”

He scrubbed the top of her hand with alcohol pads, sanitizing as best he could. “When parts of the body are crushed, we need to be… uh…
careful
in freeing you.”

“Crush syndrome.” Her throat moved with a long slow swallow. “I’ve heard of that. People die from it after they get free. I saw it on a rerun of that TV show about a crabby drug-addict doctor.”

“We just need to be careful.” In a crush situation, tissue died, breaking down, and when the pressure was released, toxins flooded the body, overloading the kidneys. And for just that remote possibility, he hadn’t included potassium in her IV.

Panic flooded her glittering blue eyes. “Are you planning to cut off my foot?” Her arm twitched harder, faster, until she flailed. “Are you going to put something else in that IV? Something to knock me out?”

He covered her fingers with his before she dislodged the port in her hand. “There’s nothing in there but fluid. I’m being honest with you now, but if you panic, I’m going to have to start feeding you a line of bullshit to calm you down. Now, you said you wanted the unvarnished truth—”

“I do. Okay. I’m breathing. Calming down. Give me the IV.”

He patted her wrist a final time. “I already did.”

Blinking fast, she looked at the tape along her hand. A smile pushed through the grime on her face. “You’re good. I was so busy trying not to freak out I didn’t even notice.”

“Not bad for my first time.”

“Your first time?”

“I’m kidding.” And working to distract her again from the rattle overhead, the fear that at any second the whole damn place could collapse onto them.

She laughed weakly, then stronger. “Thank you.”

“It’s just an IV.”

“For the laugh. I was afraid I would never get to do that again.” Her fingers relaxed slowly, tension seeping from them as surely as fluid dripped out of the bag. “The second they uncover us, you’ll make Joshua top priority. Forget about me until he’s taken care of.”

“We’re going to get you both out of here. I swear it.”

“Easy for you to claim that. If I die, it’s not like I can call you a liar.”

A dead woman and child. He resisted the urge to tear through the rocks with his bare hands and to hell with waiting on the crews above. He stowed his gear, twisting to avoid that damn stone stabbing his side.

“Hey,” Amelia whispered. “That was supposed to be a joke from me this time.”

“Right, got it.” Admiration for her grit kicked through his own personal fog threatening to swallow him whole. “You’re a tough one. I think you’re going to be fine.”

“I’m a county prosecutor. I chew up criminals for a living.”

The rapid evolution of the cyberworld has been incredible to watch. (My very first laptop computer in college weighed as much as a sewing machine!) There are so many gifts that have come with technology—especially for military families, who spend far too much time apart from each other. Through this gift, we’re able to stay connected better than ever from even a world away.

But there are always those who would manipulate those positive inventions for selfish purposes, shielding themselves behind the anonymity of a computer screen. These cowards participate in anything from cyberbullying to spreading viruses to ruining lives.

Over the years my husband and I have tried to impress on our children how character is often measured by what we do when no one is looking. That axiom provided the brainstorming springboard for all the characters in this book—from the cowardly villains to the unsung heroes.

As always, in bringing a book to fruition, I owe a huge thanks to the many people who helped along the way.

I’m eternally grateful to Sourcebooks for offering me the opportunity to showcase the unsung pararescue heroes. Thank you to Dominique Raccah (publisher), Deb Werksman (editor), Danielle Jackson (publicist), and the whole Sourcebooks dream team. What a pleasure it is to work with you all.

I’m blessed with the most patient, savvy (and witty!) agent on the planet. Thank you Barbara Collins Rosenberg for sharing your wisdom and friendship with me for over a decade.

And speaking of amazing friendships, I am so grateful for the critiques and input from my author pals Joanne Rock and Stephanie Newton. I can’t imagine traveling this writing journey without you both. I look forward to many, many years of shared brainstorming, Jelly Bellys, and Diet Cokes.

A special thanks to
New
York
Times
bestselling authors—and incomparable mentors—Sherrilyn Kenyon, Suzanne Brockmann, Lori Foster, and Dianna Love. You’ve taught me so much about keeping it real and staying grounded.

I openly confess to being an Internet junkie. I thoroughly enjoy using most of my “coffee breaks” to visit with readers via social media. Thank you to
Publishers
Weekly
contributing editor and blogger Barbara Vey for persuading me to broaden my community by giving Twitter a try. I appreciate the invaluable advice and delightful chat over Moe’s tacos in the Atlanta airport! Thank you also, Paula Robinson, for spreading your message of peace, love, and romance novel recommendations throughout the Internet. And Judy Flohr and Amelia Richard, thank you for your generous reviews online from the very beginning!

As for the technical details in my novels, I’m gifted with generous research help. To those who know me, it’s no surprise that dogs wag their way into my stories. My life has been changed profoundly by my volunteer work at my local Humane Society. Thank you to my friends at the Panhandle Animal Welfare Society in Fort Walton Beach, Florida. A special shout-out to Vickie Taylor, FEMA canine trainer and published novelist. Thank you for sharing your expertise in SAR. (And for power-driving to meet me in Louisiana so a Labrador retriever named Jafar, who’d grown up in a shelter run, would have the chance at a forever home.)

Regarding all things military, I owe endless thanks to Dr. Ronald Marshall, DC, former pararescueman, and to my air force flyboy husband, Rob. Thank you for sharing your stories, your lingo, and most of all, your deep patriotism.

Last, but definitely not least, all my love to my four children—Brice, Haley, Robbie, and Maggie—military brats extraordinaire!

USA
Today
bestseller Catherine Mann has over two million books in print in more than twenty countries. A winner of the prestigious RITA Award, Catherine resides in Florida with her military-hero husband, their four children, and a menagerie of shelter rescue pets. For more information on her upcoming releases, check out her website at
www.catherinemann.com
. Visit with her on Facebook at Catherine Mann (author) or on Twitter at CatherineMann1.