Marion Lennox - To the Doctor: A Daughter

‘Seems a damned high price to pay for a fight over a bit of fence,’ the policeman muttered, and Gemma could only agree.

‘So where’s Ian?’ Nate’s voice was still grim. He stood looking around him. ‘If the cows are lined up for milking, he’ll be here. Where…?’

And then he heard it. A faint moan coming from beneath the rubble where he was standing. Nate shifted sideways and stared down.

‘Damn. He’s beneath the plane. Give us a hand.’

The fire brigade arrived then-finally-with five volunteers on board. After confirming that Gemma had indeed turned the electricity off, one man took over playing water over the site-cooling everything down. Then they started hauling away bricks, the timber that had been the walls, sheets of galvanised iron still hot to touch…

Until the path to the iron under the plane was clear.

One of the men had a flashlight. He directed the beam underneath the iron in the direction the sound had come from, shining it in under the mess of roofing iron.

And then he whistled. ‘Got him.’

They could see him. But they couldn’t reach him.

The roofing iron formed a plate over the rubble that had been the dairy, and almost the full weight of the plane was holding it down.

They could see Ian’s arm and part of his head-one side of his face. He was eight or ten feet under the iron, the iron seemed to be almost resting on top of him and he looked firmly trapped.

Hell!

It was hell. He was so far in-and he was almost directly underneath the plane. It was a wonder he was alive at all. ‘Ian, can you hear me?’ Nate called, and there was another groan in response. And then…

‘Doc…’

‘Yeah, it’s me.’ Nate’s voice was grim. ‘What’s going on, Ian? Are you stuck?’

‘Yeah. There’s a ruddy big sheet of iron holding me. And I can’t…I can’t feel my legs. Can’t move them.’

‘You wouldn’t want to. With this mess around the wisest course is to keep still.’

But Nate was looking at Gemma and their eyes reflected their fear. Why couldn’t he feel his legs?

‘There’s blood…damn it, Doc, I’m bleeding like a stuck pig. My head…’

‘Ian, listen to me. This is important. Can you put a hand on the source of the bleeding?’

‘I… Yeah…’ But his voice was fading.

‘Put as much pressure on the source of the bleeding as you can,’ Nate told him. ‘We’ll be with you just as soon as possible.’ Then he turned to the people around him. ‘We have to get that plane off.’

‘And how the hell are we going to do that?’ The fire chief wasn’t very bright at the best of times and he was looking at Nate for guidance.

‘We need a crane. A big one.’

‘It’ll have to come from Blairglen.’

‘Then get on the radio and get it here,’ Nate snapped. ‘Fast.’

‘It’ll be at least an hour.’

‘An hour’s better than nothing. Move!’

But…an hour was impossible. Numb legs and a bleeding head wound… An hour would be far too long.

‘We can’t leave him under there for that long,’ Gemma said, and Nate shook his head.

‘We don’t have a choice. If we try to move things while the plane’s still there, we risk the whole thing coming down on top of him. As it is…let’s work with shoring timbers and see how far in we can get.’

‘But you won’t be able to get under the plane. If you try and raise the iron, the whole thing might tip-or just crumple.’

‘Well, what else do you suggest?’

‘That I go in.’ She tilted her chin and met his look of startled surprise. ‘Nate, there’s twelve inches’ or more space between the iron and the rest of the rubble. If we can see him then I can reach him.’

‘You’re kidding.’ Nate looked blank.

‘I know the gap’s too narrow for you or any of the guys, but I’m the thinnest of the lot of you. I think I’ll fit.’

‘Gemma…’

But she was thinking it through out loud. ‘The brigade will have ropes. They can attach a couple round me, then when I’m in there I can haul in stuff that I need-and you can pull me out if you have to.’

‘And if the lot settles…’

‘It won’t. It looks solid enough.’

‘It doesn’t look anything of the kind. It could come down at any time’ he said explosively. ‘Gemma, I can’t allow it.’

‘And how are you going to stop me?’ Already she was on her knees, peering under the iron-then moving to lie on her back so she was looking at Nate face up, half in and half out of the iron. ‘Do you have any other ideas?’

‘You can’t-’

‘Tell me-if the iron was three inches higher would you be going in?’

Nate didn’t hesitate. A man was dying. ‘Yes, but-’

‘Well, there you go, then.’

‘But you have Cady.’

‘And you have Mia. And I’ll bet Ian has kids-doesn’t he?’

He stared at Gemma with desperation in his eyes, but she was demanding the truth. ‘Three.’

‘Well, there you are. Just…if anything goes wrong, look after Cady. Promise?’

There was nothing else to say. ‘I promise.’

‘Put on overalls and a hard hat,’ the fire chief ordered, seeing the impossibility of further argument. He was handing over his own equipment and then stood back, baffled. Like the rest of the men. This was a chit of a girl. It seemed so wrong-that she put herself in danger while they stood back and did nothing.

‘Hell, Gemma…’ Nate looked ill.

‘I’ll be fine.’

But as she hauled on her overalls Nate stooped and touched her-a feather touch on the forehead. It was a tiny gesture and only Gemma knew what it truly meant.

It was a blessing. And a prayer.

Nate would be in my shoes if he could be, she thought. He was desperate to be doing what she was doing.

To be honest, she wasn’t all that thrilled about doing it herself.

But needs must. Under the iron there was a man who could well be bleeding to death.

‘They didn’t warn us about this type of thing when we enrolled for medical school,’ she said lightly as she stuck her hard hat on her head. ‘Sometimes accountancy or kindergarten teaching or cleaning lady look like really attractive professions.’

It was time to go. Gemma looped her ropes around her waist and slid her body under the iron.

IT WAS hot and exceedingly wet. These were the first things Gemma noticed. The men had used extinguisher foam to prevent the place going up in smoke and then they’d played water over the iron to cool it. But the iron was buckled and twisted and torn, and the water had seeped through. It stank now of the aviation fuel it was mixed up with. The cavity was vilely uncomfortable and it was incredibly claustrophobic.

‘If you were thinking of having a cigarette while you wait for me, maybe you should think again,’ she gasped as she hauled herself ever so carefully towards the farmer.

‘Holy heck.’ Weak to the point of death or not, Ian sounded as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘It’s a woman!’

‘Now, don’t tell me a woman’s place is in the kitchen,’ she told him, wiggling under a jagged piece of iron that was almost as low as her nose. ‘Otherwise I’ll be forced to go make you a nice batch of scones instead of rescuing you.’

‘You’re…rescuing me?’ His voice sounded a long way away. Like he was concentrating on pain rather than what was happening around him. Really bad pain.

‘Someone has to do the rescuing.’ Keep it light, Gemma told herself. She was trying desperately not to let fear pervade her voice but it was damnably hard. ‘What do they say? Behind every successful man there’s a woman? And in cases like this, the woman’s right out in front. Because the woman’s the only one who’ll fit.’ She tried to keep her voice light and confident-no easy task when there were bits of iron sticking into her legs, a splinter had just rasped her cheek and the smell of the spilled fuel was overpowering. ‘How are you doing?’ She’d worked her way six feet under the iron. Another eight or so to go…

‘Not…not too good.’

‘Do you know who I am? I’m the lady doctor.’

‘I heard about you.’ It was a huge effort for the farmer to talk, she thought. He was drifting toward unconsciousness.

She had to stop talking. Shoving her way though the mass of crumpled iron and wood took all her concentration.

‘Are you OK, Gemma?’ Nate was shining the fireman’s flashlight past her, trying to light her way, but the gap was too narrow and the flashlight’s battery was fading. His voice sounded sick with anxiety.

‘I’m fine.’

She wasn’t the least bit fine. The fumes were making her head dizzy and she felt sick.

But somehow she kept going. Somehow…

And finally she reached Ian-just. By stretching out, her fingers could fleetingly touch his face. It was contact as welcome for Gemma as it must have been for the farmer. ‘Hey, Ian, don’t you dare go to sleep on me. Not when I’ve crawled all the way in to say hello.’

‘I don’t…’

‘You don’t even know my name.’ She pushed against a piece of timber blocking her path. It moved-just a bit-but the iron above it didn’t seem to shift so she pushed it down toward her legs. She gained another couple of splinters in the process but it gave her a clear passage. ‘I’m Gemma.’

‘I’m Ian.’

‘That’s great.’ She now had clear access. She let her hand drift over his face until she found what she was looking for. There was a steady pumping of blood from his forehead. ‘Let’s get this stopped.’

At least she’d known to expect this. She had a wad of dressing roped against her waist. Now she hauled it up and pushed it as hard as she could against his head. She could feel the blood pulsing under her hand. It was a filthy gash, she thought grimly. Deep and jagged and ripped into more blood vessels than she cared to imagine.

It was just as well she was here. He wouldn’t last for an hour without her.

But would he last for an hour with her?