Washed Away. Carol Marinelli

in one gulp.

      “Pretty much.” Cheryl looked around and nodded. “We brought a lot of equipment with us. Mind you, it depends on how many casualties arrive. Amy wanted to see about getting a couple of oxygen saturation monitors from Dr. Holland’s clinic, so if someone can get into it and get them, that would be great, and a few more IV poles wouldn’t go unused. I’ve set up some hooks on the back walls, so anyone needing IV therapy will have to stay over there.” She pointed to the far wall, and Mitch gave an approving nod.

      “You’ve done an amazing job. It looks like a real minihospital. There’s still a bit more equipment to come. Noah, the local veterinarian, is heading over—should be here anytime now. He said he’d bring over some stuff we might need, though don’t ask me what. I’ll have to leave the medical side of things to you.”

      Which was just the way Cheryl wanted it.

      “Well, so long as he doesn’t expect to set up shop here, as well,” Cheryl laughed. “I know it’s an emergency, but I don’t relish the idea of working alongside roaming horses and low-flying birds.”

      “You don’t have to worry. Noah’s just bringing the gear over and heading straight back to his clinic. He has his own work cut out for him. I’ll go and see about getting someone into Doc Holland’s rooms for you.”

      “That would be great.” Cheryl smiled. “Then all I need is a patient.”

      “Your turn will come soon enough, Cheryl,” Mitch said knowingly, his eyes turning back to the window, his brow creasing as he looked outside. “And when it does…” His voice trailed off, and Cheryl found herself frowning, too. She had only met Mitch Kannon a few hours ago, but something in his stance, his voice, told her there was more on his mind.

      “What is it, Mitch?”

      “Nothing.”

      He gave a brief shrug and flashed a smile Cheryl was sure was false. She just stared right back at him.

      “I’m not going to fool you, am I.”

      “I know that look,” Cheryl said, “and I know that voice, too. You’re right Mitch. We’re both in this game for a reason. So what’s on your mind? What’s worrying you?”

      “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “The evacuation’s going really well. The old school is filling up, more busloads are arriving from Corpus Christi as we speak, I’ve got extra staff in, just as requested—so why have I got…?”

      He peered back out the window at the trees bending in the wind, the rain lashing so fiercely now that it didn’t even make it to the ground, just hit the windows at right angles. Taking a deep breath, he moved his hand to his chest, rubbing it slowly, and for one awful moment Cheryl thought he was going to tell her he had chest pain. That Mitch Kannon, chief fire officer and lynch-pin of this whole evacuation plan, was having a heart attack. “I’m not going to keel over and die on you,” Mitch said, seeing her worried expression.

      “I wouldn’t let you die,” Cheryl assured him. “I’m all stocked up and ready to go, bar a couple of IV poles. Still, I have to admit I don’t much fancy working that radio you were showing us earlier.” Her voice grew more serious. “What is it, Mitch?”

      “Have you ever been in a hurricane, Cheryl?”

      She shook her head. “No, and I don’t think I want to be. If it’s like this here where people are being evacuated to, I can’t imagine how bad it must be in Corpus Christi….” Her voice trailed off. “You don’t think Hurricane Damon’s going to hit here, do you? Is that what’s worrying you?”

      She waited for a reassuring smile, a dismissive flick of his hand, but Mitch just stared right back.

      “But surely the weather bureau would know,” Cheryl protested.

      “We’re dealing with Mother Nature here,” Mitch told her. “And even with the brightest brains, the best equipment, the latest scientific techniques, there are no guarantees as to what she’s got up her sleeve.”

      “But it can’t hit here.” Cheryl’s voice was barely a whisper, her brain reeling at the possible consequences. “It just can’t. Everyone’s been moved to Turning Point to get away from the storm. If it comes here, if it hits the school…” Turning her head, she eyed the triage area she had set up. She had anticipated casualties coming in, and till now had felt prepared for any eventuality. But if the storm changed track and descended on Turning Point, then in a matter of hours this area would resemble a war zone—

      “I could be wrong.” Mitch broke in to her thoughts. “The experts all think I am.”

      “You’ve told them?” Cheryl asked. “You’ve told them your concerns?”

      “For all the good it did.”

      She could hear the bitter note in his voice.

      “I’ve lived here all my life. I know the land like the back of my hand, the shifts in the weather, the signs anyone who didn’t know the place would miss—but will those folks at the weather bureau listen to me?” He shook his head. “Look, Cheryl, it’s just a gut feeling at this stage, and I hope to God that I am wrong, but I have to admit I’m starting to get worried.”

      “So am I, then.” Cheryl might have known Mitch Kannon for only a few hours, but she’d been around emergency personnel long enough to recognize that he wasn’t the type to make a fuss unnecessarily. Mitch would have seen enough drama in his time without needing to invent it. “If you’re right—I mean, if the storm does change course and end up hitting Turning Point, what will we do?” She gave a low laugh that to nonemergency personnel would have seemed out of place, but a dash of black humor was par for the course in this line of work. “Is there a plan B you haven’t told us about?”

      “Plan B’s the same in Texas as it is in California, Cheryl. We just get on and deal with it.” Mitch gave a rueful smile. “That’s what we do best, isn’t it? Deal with the chaos life throws up every now and then, pick up the pieces no one was expecting to fall.”

      Cheryl nodded grimly, already thinking ahead. “We’ll need more blankets. I know they’re setting up hot drinks and sandwiches at the school hall, the casualties that arrive here with their families might be cold and shocked. Can somebody organize extra coffee urns, soup…”

      “I’ll get straight on it.”

      Cheryl nodded gratefully. “And tell whoever you send in to Dr. Holland’s room to grab whatever else they can, I’d rather have too much than too little. I’d better get back to stocking up now.”

      “You do that.” Mitch nodded, and as a fire truck pulled into the station, he replaced the cap on his thermos. “I’d better go see what’s up. It’s good to have you on board, Cheryl.”

      “It’s good to be here.”

      She set to work with renewed enthusiasm now. The triage area had been prepared to her liking. IV cannulas and swabs in kidney dishes, flasks of fluid hanging ready, neck collars, bandages, padding—everything was arranged to Cheryl’s liking, but Mitch’s ominous words had hit a note. Cheryl ran a couple of IVs through the lines so they would be ready as soon as a cannula was inserted into the patient. If the number of casualties was going to increase beyond her initial prediction, time would be of the essence. Cheryl knew she’d be grateful later for every second spent preparing for the victims now.

      “I’VE GOT TWO GUYS heading over to Doc Holland’s office.” Mitch was back, running an approving eye over Cheryl’s emergency area. “How are you doing?”

      “Good. Everything’s ready,” Cheryl reported. “There’s really not much more I can do here until patients start to arrive. This area’s for the seriously injured. I’ve got all the emergency resuscitation equipment set up here. The walking wounded will have to wait over there till Amy or I can get to them.” She gestured to the benches that lined the walls. “And anyone else