Arms of Mercy Page 18
“You don’t think he’ll make it up the hill? How did he get down here?”
“I don’t know.” Ken glanced over his shoulder briefly and smiled at Elijah. “I’ve told him twice now that the person he’s searching for isn’t on the list. Either he’s delirious or in denial.”
Delirious? Maybe. Elijah had pushed himself hard just to get down the steep slope, then trudging through the rough terrain had aggravated every muscle in his body, including his stomach muscles, which were sore from dry heaving. But how could he be in denial? Catherine was missing—no denying that.
Mitch nodded at something Ken said, and then he went back to the group and grabbed one of the backpacks leaning against the tree. He rejoined Ken and Elijah.
“Mitch will make sure you get back to base camp safely,” Ken said.
“Catherine’s name might not be on any list. We lost our tickets. The driver didn’t want to let us board without them, but he ended up letting us. So our tickets wouldn’t have been scanned into the system.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Ken turned to Mitch. “When you get back up to base, put Mr. Graber in touch with Officer Bennett.”
“So, there is a chance Catherine is in the river.” Elijah crossed his arms. “I want to stay.”
Ken shook his head. “That isn’t in yours or Catherine’s best interest. If the number of passengers originally reported isn’t accurate, you’ll need to make Officer Bennett aware. Unless he updates the list to add her, no one will know to keep looking once we find the others. You need to tell him everything you’ve told me.”
Elijah sighed. He had already reported the ticket mix-up to the officer when he stopped at the tent to sign up as a volunteer. Officer Bennett had promised to contact the bus authorities, and Elijah was to wait until they responded.
“Waiting is always the toughest part,” Mitch said, adjusting the shoulder straps of the backpack.
“More like torturous,” Elijah grumbled.
Mitch placed two bottles of water in the backpack side pockets, then nodded at Elijah. “Ready?”
He took a deep breath and released it. “I suppose I don’t have a choice.”
Mitch smiled sympathetically, then led the way, taking them in a different direction than the route Elijah had taken. He plodded along, dreading having to scale the upcoming hill with one arm in a sling. It had been difficult enough going downhill with adrenaline pushing him forward.
Mitch glanced over his shoulder. “How are you doing? Need to stop and rest?”
“I’m okay.” It seemed like they’d been on the trail a long time, but at least the gradual incline was easier on his joints. On a different day he would have enjoyed listening to blue jays chirp. The sun warmed his face. Melting snow had turned the path into a mixture of slush and mud. “How do the dogs do when everything is melting?”
“It doesn’t change their ability to follow a scent, if that’s what you’re asking.” Mitch hiked a few more yards and stopped. He removed the two bottles of water and handed one to Elijah. Then he removed a Snickers bar from another pocket and broke it in half.
“Thank you.” Elijah uncapped the bottle, took a drink, then peeled the wrapper off the candy bar. Until now he hadn’t thought about eating or drinking.
“I overheard you say your friend was seated up front.”
“Jah, the area where the bus was hit.”
“What’s her name?”
“Catherine Glick.”
Mitch grimaced. “Have you checked the area hospitals?”
“I was told Shepard Hill is the nearest hospital.” Elijah shook his head. “She wasn’t taken there.”
“In cases of mass casualties, patients are transported to multiple facilities. I know helicopters were airlifting patients out of the ravine.” He took a bite of the snack and stopped chewing when Elijah said he’d been one of them. The man’s gaze assessed him more closely, stopping on his stitched head, then moving down his pinned pant leg. “What kind of injuries did you have?”
“Broken ribs. Punctured lung, I think the doktah called it a pneumothorax or something, but whatever it’s called, it hurt like crazy, so did mei dislocated shoulder. And some lacerations,” he said matter-of-factly before popping the last bite of chocolate into his mouth.
Surprise registered on Mitch’s face. “And you were released from the hospital already?”
Elijah shook his head. “I left on mei own accord.”
“That wasn’t wise.”
Elijah shrugged. “Catherine’s alone—somewhere. She’d never ridden a bus before, never gone on a trip . . . I promised to take care of her.” Lowering his head, he focused on his muddy boots. “I failed her in so many ways.”
“You can’t beat yourself up over it. The accident wasn’t your fault.”
He hadn’t caused the accident, but he was the reason they were on that bus. Had he not chased after the purse snatcher, they would have been on the first bus. He’d wanted to earn her love or at least her respect by getting her bag back. He recalled how her downcast expression changed into joy when their eyes met across the crowded diner. She had weaved around the other passengers to reach him, then collapsed against his chest, burying her face in the crook of his neck. In that moment everything was right.
“I don’t want to rush you, especially if you’re in pain.” Mitch glanced at the horizon. “We should get going. Once the sun goes down behind those trees, the temperature will drop and we’ll be hiking in the dark.”
“I’m ready.” Elijah recapped the bottled water.
“First, I’d better wrap your arm. I see that you’ve been favoring it.” He knelt and unzipped his backpack.
“No need.” Elijah reached under his shirt and removed the sling. “I have this.”
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” Mitch helped immobilize Elijah’s arm before they continued the hike.
His ribs were sore, and the stitches pulled the skin on his leg with every step he took, but he kept moving, not wanting to be a hindrance.
Mitch was patient. He slowed his pace when they reached rocks that, because of their size and slipperiness, were difficult to maneuver over. The last several yards of the journey took them straight uphill. The sun was lost in the forest, making it difficult to see. Elijah wasn’t sure he could have reached base camp if Mitch hadn’t been there to give him a hand. But somehow they made it to the top.
A throng of reporters surrounded the back of an ambulance as the men who had carried the dead woman’s body lowered the black bag onto a waiting stretcher.
Mitch’s radio squawked. “We’re calling it for the night,” the man on the walkie-talkie said.
“Anything?” another male voice asked.
“No. We’re heading up now.”
Mitch turned the volume down on his radio. “Officer Bennett’s tent is over here.”
Elijah wasn’t keen on talking with the man who earlier had denied him access to join the search. He plodded along, conjuring up an explanation for his actions in his mind.
“Hey, over here! It’s one of the missing passengers,” someone shouted.
Elijah turned, only to realize the reporter calling for everyone’s attention was pointing at him.
A bright light attached to a large camera propped up on someone’s shoulder landed the beam of light on his face. “I’m nett one of the missing passengers.” He shielded his eyes with his good arm.
“Come on, guys, leave him alone,” Mitch said. “Elijah helped with search efforts today, and that’s all we’re going to say at this time.”
Even as Mitch and Elijah headed toward Officer Bennett’s tent, the questions continued. “How many people are still missing? Can you tell us the name of the woman you recovered from the ravine?”
Mitch pushed the flap open on the tent, then addressed the reporters as Elijah went inside. “No comment.”
Officer Bennett glanced up from his paperwork and, making eye contact with Elijah, frowned.
“We located another person. This one on the northwest ridge, midway up.”
“If you two will excuse me, I’m going to see if they need help.” Mitch left, and Elijah was quick to follow him out of the tent.
“I’d like to go too.”
Mitch shook his head. “It’ll be dark soon, and we’ll need to work fast. Besides, that’s the steepest side of the ravine. I’m not sure how involved this recovery will be.” He turned without giving Elijah a chance to speak and headed toward the ridge.
Elijah caught up. “Will you tell me if it’s Catherine? She’s twenty-nine, has long golden hair, and was wearing a blue dress.”
“Find me afterward.” He disappeared down the embankment just as a reporter asked if another person had been found.
The reporter made a quick hand wave, and another man aimed his oversized camera down the hill. Elijah leaned around the reporter to get a look at what the cameraman was filming, but trees blocked his view.
“Who was wearing a blue dress?” the reporter standing next to him asked.
Elijah stared straight forward.
“I know you were a passenger on the bus. Obviously, you were separated from someone who’s very important to you.”
“Jah.”
“I’ve been covering this story since the beginning. You’ve probably seen my updates on Channel 10.” He paused a half second, plastered on a toothy smile, then adjusted the cuff of his sleeve under a thick red sweater. “Is she a relative of yours? The reason I ask is because I plan to do a personal-interest piece. It’ll run over a few segments. Nothing too big, but it’d be good PR for your theater group.”
“What?”
“I’ve interviewed several survivors. What’s her name?”
Elijah studied the man’s flashy smile, which was too perfect, too forced to be sincere. Cat wouldn’t have talked with him or any reporter. Then again, if the man was as persistent with his questions as he’d been with Elijah, she might not have been able to avoid him. “Catherine—her name is Catherine Glick. Have you seen her?”
“Maybe. Like I said, I’ve interviewed several from your theater group.”
“I’m nett in a theater group.”
The man eyed Elijah’s tattered clothes. “You’re not part of the Fiddler on the Roof cast?”
“Nay, I’m Amish.”
The reporter touched his chin with the pads of his fingers. “Interesting.”
Dogs barking drew their attention. The hounds came running up the hill and didn’t stop until they were next to their master’s truck. A few minutes later, the men arrived. First the ones carrying the body bag, followed by the other trackers.
Elijah spotted Mitch in the group, his face long with sorrow. Elijah sucked in a breath. Don’t let it be Cat. Nett in a body bag. Please, Lord.
Mitch looked straight at Elijah and shook his head. Then stopping next to him, Mitch whispered, “Male.”
“Danki, Lord.” Elijah exhaled heavily. Relief lasted only a moment before he was torn with guilt. Someone’s life had been tragically lost, and inside he was celebrating because it wasn’t Cat. Forgive me, Father.
Officer Bennett stepped out of the tent and waved in Mitch and Elijah’s general direction.
“I think he wants to talk with you, Elijah. Maybe he’s received some updated news.”
Chapter 22
A rhythmic hissing sound blotted out the ability to decipher the conversation going on around her. Two voices, both women, spoke barely above a whisper. Strangers had spoken to her before, asking her to squeeze their fingers if she was in pain. Her body throbbed, every fiber, yet her muscles refused to move. A strong antiseptic scent filled her senses. A moment later, despite her inability to communicate her level of pain, warmth seeped into her veins. Her mind went numb. The pain was gone. Locked in a drug-induced state, she had no concept of time or place.
Sometime later a soft, unfamiliar voice sounded muffled. “Is she waking up?”
“Yes, I believe so. Will you page Dr. Gleeson and let him know, please?”
Did she know a Dr. Gleeson? It hurt to think, to concentrate. Her mind went blank. More whispers. So distant, unrecognizable. She tried turning her head in the direction of the voice but for some reason couldn’t move.
Footsteps crossed the floor, a door creaked open, a phone was ringing somewhere, then the door closed and the outside noises were gone.
“Good morning,” greeted the woman who had given the orders to the soft-spoken one. “I’m Amy, charge nurse for the surgical step-down unit at . . .” The nurse’s words garbled together, and the name of the hospital was lost to muffled noises that reminded her of trying to hear deep underwater.
Something prevented her from opening her eyes. Just making an attempt to view her surroundings increased the pressure around her eyes. The rhythmic hissing noise coincided with air rushing into her lungs, expanding her chest cavity. Moving her arms was impossible. Something was tied to her wrists, keeping her pinned to the handrails of the bed. Trapped, as if cocooned in cement.
“Try and stay calm.” The voice was closer now. “You’re in the hospital.”
Pressure in the back of her throat kept her from responding. Her airway . . . She couldn’t . . . breathe. Panic infused her veins. She pulled against the wrist restraints, but to no avail. Unable to speak—to see—to swallow. Why wasn’t the person trying to help? Couldn’t she see something was wrong?
Please, someone look at me. Help me! This was a dream, a bad dream.
An alarm blared. The repetitive piercing scream cut through her skull with what felt like shards of glass, crippling her thoughts. To deaden the intensity, she needed to cover her ears, but her hands were strapped down.
Seconds later the blaring stopped. But even after the alarm was silenced, a dull ringing in her ears remained. In the background the rhythmic hissing continued, expanding her lungs every few seconds.
“Just relax, sweetie, and try not to fight the breathing tube.” A warm hand grasped hers. “Dr. Gleeson is on his way.”
Moments later heavier footsteps clacked into the room, then stopped at the side of the bed. The bed railing rattled, and she sensed the male newcomer leaning over her. “I’m Dr. Gleeson, the surgeon who’s been monitoring you these last few days.”
“She’s restless, Doc.”
“Vitals?”
“BP: 120/78. Heart rate: 94. Respirations: 14 with intermittent independent breaths. Electrolytes, hemoglobin/hematocrit, and blood gases within normal limits, and respiratory therapy has initiated the weaning process per your criteria with spontaneous breathing trial success.”
“Good. Let’s remove the ventilator and see how she does on her own.” As if he had redirected his position so he was closer to her, his voice grew louder. “How does that sound to you?”
Did he really expect her to answer with a tube stuck in her throat? Yes, take it out.
“If we need to,” the doctor said, “we can always reinsert it. Your face is bandaged, and I know you’re unable to see me, but Nurse Amy and I will explain things as I go.”
Once again the nurse took her hand, wiggling her fingers against Catherine’s palm. “Squeeze my finger if you need to. Removing the tube will feel a little strange.”
Something tugged at the back of her throat.
“Cough if you can,” the doctor instructed.
She couldn’t. Even so, the breathing apparatus moved through her throat smoothly and was out. She rasped a few sharp breaths, the dry air irritating her already-raw throat.
“I’m going to listen to your lungs,” Dr. Gleeson said as something cold landed on her chest. “Take a deep breath for me.”
Inhaling even a little hurt, but every time he moved his stethoscope, she did her best to comply.
“No rales. No rhonchi. Lungs sounds are equal.” He removed the instrument from her skin. “Your respiratory musc
les are going to feel sore, and that’s normal. Think of your lungs as unused muscles. After a long period of immobility, the first few stretches are painful, but like your muscles, your lungs will recover.”
“Okay.” She cleared her throat. Her weak voice came out strained and hoarse sounding, barely above a whisper, and not because she was trying to talk low, but it hurt to talk. She went to feel for a bulge but couldn’t lift her arms more than an inch or two. The bed rail rattled as she pulled against the strap pinning her down.
A large, rougher hand took hers. “Easy,” Dr. Gleeson said comfortingly. “We had to restrain you for your own protection. You were trying to pull out the respirator. But now that the breathing tube has been removed, I don’t see any reason to limit your movements.” Dr. Gleeson gave her hand a gentle reassuring squeeze, then let go. “Okay, Amy. Go ahead and remove the restraints.”
Her muscles relaxed as apprehension faded. The band holding her head in one place came off first, followed by the straps around her wrists. Finally free to move her hands, she touched the bandages on her face, covering her eyes.
“It’s important that you don’t disturb the bandages,” the doctor said, taking her hand and guiding it down to her side. “We need the gauze dressing to stay clean and in place.”
Questions jumbled in her mind, but before she could form any words, the doctor spoke first.
“You’ve been in a serious accident. I’ll explain your injuries and the treatment plan, but first, young lady, can you tell us your name?”
“Can you tell us your name?”
The doctor’s question shouldn’t have required so much thought. But her mind was blank. Except for what she’d been told about being in an accident, and that her face was damaged enough that it required extensive bandages, she couldn’t recall anything, including her name or anything about her past.
“I don’t . . .” Her throat dry and scratchy, she touched her neck. Even with the breathing tube out, her voice box was stubborn.
“Amy, would you get her a cup of water? Her throat is probably sore.”
Raw. Off to her right side, water was poured. A moment later a straw touched her lips.