The Nurse's Special Delivery. Louisa George

had more time, and in the warmth of a hospital ward.

      Cal felt Marty’s radial pulse. Nothing. Carotid showed a rapid, thready heartbeat. ‘Guessing the systolic pressure is lower than ninety. No radial pulse. I’ll do a quick check. Needs some fluids.’ Needed surgery, actually. Fluids and stabilisation were the best they could do, especially up here on the steep arc of a mountainside with thick black clouds coming in from the west. Cal’s heart rate sped up a little.

      Great. A suspected life-threatening injury and the mother of all storms.

      Luckily, fighting the odds was what he was good at.

      Shane finally made it up the mountain. Breathless and wheezing, he probably shouldn’t have been up here at all. He should have said his chest wasn’t up to it. But Cal kept that thought to himself.

      The two-way radio crackled. It was Brian, the pilot. ‘Weather coming in fast. We need to get off this mountain and quick. Over.’

      ‘Things turn to custard pretty quick round here.’ One minute it was sunny, the next it was a white-out. But they had to make Marty safe before they left. ‘Okay. Let’s have a look at your leg. I’m going to have to cut your salopettes. Okay? Damned shame, because it’s good kit.’

      Keeping the patient talking and conscious gave them a better chance, so Cal went with his usual patter. He nodded at Shane, who was assessing the obviously broken leg. The bone had cut through the skin. Needed a splint at least to stabilise it. Needed surgery.

      Needed to get off the mountain, and fast.

      Again, Marty pushed to sit up. ‘I can’t breathe... I can’t...’

      Cal shot a look at Abbie, who’d turned her attention to Marty’s chest. Could be one of a dozen things. He prayed there wasn’t any surgical emphysema. Dodgy lungs in thin air at the top of a mountain were a nasty prospect. ‘I’m going to put a line in your left arm, mate. Give you some fluids to keep you hydrated and something to make you more comfortable.’

      ‘Left lung clear, but can’t hear much in the right base. You want to check?’

      ‘Yep. Let me have a go. To check.’ Not wanting to disbelieve her or undermine her, he listened as carefully as he could to the beat-up chest. Suspected right pneumothorax. Great. The odds were starting to turn against them. It was freezing up here; his hands were starting to ache with the cold.

      ‘Oxygen in situ. Pain relief administered.’

      ‘Leg splint inflated and in situ.’ The distant clouds had become very real, thick and dark and heavy. Flakes started to spot their coats, Marty’s hair.

      ‘Pass me a survival blanket, will you? Right. Thanks. Now, we’ve got to get you onto this scoop.’

      The radio crackled. ‘Cal, come in. You have two minutes. Over.’

      ‘Just getting Marty on the scoop. Over.’

      Cal positioned the scoop alongside their patient and somehow they managed to shift him over, keeping his neck as still as possible.

      ‘Let’s go. You all okay?’ Shane took the lead, carrying the scoop at the feet end. Cal was at the head and Abbie walked at the side, carrying equipment and making sure Marty was stable and as comfortable as possible. It was like a game of slip ’n’ slide getting them all down the hill.

      ‘You fancy some tobogganing, Marty?’ It was only half a joke. Apart from a few rocks it was a vertical skating rink.

      They started to inch gingerly down. The sun had slid behind a cloud and the wind whipped round them, biting through their clothes. They made it a few metres then suddenly the scoop lurched sideways and forwards. Next thing Cal knew, Shane was yelling and tumbling head first over rocks and ice.

      Down. Down. Down.

       CHAPTER TWO

      ‘SHANE! SHANE!’

      The boss had come to a halt a hundred metres or so down the hill, splayed against the rear of the helicopter. He wasn’t moving.

      Cal reassessed, looking from Shane to Marty and then back down the slope again, allowing himself the briefest moment for his heart to thump hard and fast against his chest wall. Damn. Damn. Then he closed off all emotion.

      Panic didn’t help. Helplessness didn’t help. Just action. He’d learnt his lesson the hard way. Had been learning for two long years.

      Two patients now. One scoop and a fledgling helper.

      Their patient took priority. Getting him down the hill now was going to be a challenge.

      Somehow Callum had managed to keep a firm grip on Marty’s scoop. ‘You okay, mate?’

      ‘Holding on,’ he groaned. ‘Just about.’

      The scoop listed at a sharp forty-five-degree angle, from where Cal had maintained his hold and height, to where Abbie had been twisted by the sudden lurch sideways and pushed to the floor. She was just about managing to hold the scoop aloft with her arms outstretched underneath Marty, bearing his weight in a desperate attempt to keep their patient still and secure. There was an ooze of blood on her head. ‘Abbie? You okay?’

      She grimaced, her body contorting in an effort to hold up the scoop and the man, who must have weighed three times what she did. ‘I’m fine. It’s okay.’

      ‘You’re bleeding.’

      ‘It’s nothing. I caught my head on a rock as I fell. It’s just a scratch.’ She shook her head, trying hard to pretend she was okay, but he could see right through it. ‘You should see the other guy.’

      ‘Sadly, I can see him.’ The boss looked knocked out and flat. Marty was groaning in agony in the tipped-up scoop. And Abbie had a cut head.

      It looked worse than just a scratch, but he had to believe her because he just couldn’t do this alone. She seemed orientated and fine. Feisty, actually. He’d have a closer look once they were on safe terrain and out of danger. ‘Right then. I’m going to lower him down so we can right the scoop, then we can wait for Brian to come help.’

      ‘He’d be better staying down there, don’t you think? To see if Shane’s okay?’

      ‘I’ll talk to him.’ Cal shouted towards the chopper but couldn’t make himself heard. He flicked on the two-way. ‘Hey. Did you see Shane? He took a bad fall, he’s at the rear. Roger.’

      ‘I’m on my way. How are you going to manage with the scoop? Slide it down?’

      ‘Not sure yet. Over.’ There were too many rocks sticking out of the ground to make sliding a feasible option.

      ‘She’s a little thing. Roger.’

      ‘We’ll be fine.’ It was Abbie, glowering. She had the affronted air of someone who would not be underestimated. He knew that trait well. Too well. Someone who insisted on overstretching...and then paying the consequences. She’d lowered her side of the scoop now and was brushing the snow and ice from her clothes. As she bent to the left she winced. ‘Just give me a couple of seconds.’

      They barely had one. The weather was closing in. This was all falling apart, but he needed to stay in control. ‘Are you hurt? Is it something more than your head? Did the scoop hit you?’

      ‘Just winded me.’ She shook her head again but he could see the way she flinched as she turned. ‘Let’s do this.’

      ‘I can call back-up. You won’t be able to manage.’

      ‘Says who? I could be a champion weightlifter for all you know. I could have won the Queenstown Primary arm wrestling competition in 1997.’ She flexed her arms, but all he could see was the huge coat covering her from neck to knee. With the head wound and her wayward hair and the enormous coat she looked like a bag lady rather than