Her Miracle Baby

Meg’s voice of reason penetrated his fear and frustration. ‘You’re right—sorry.’

As she rhythmically squeezed the air bag he tried desperately to find a vein. Tom was in severe shock, his veins collapsed. Will tightened the tourniquet around Tom’s arm. His fingers desperately palpated for a raised vein. Nothing.

He moved the tourniquet three times, trying arms and legs. Still nothing. He sucked in a deep breath, forcing himself to concentrate and to ignore the dread that curled in his belly.

‘Do a venous cutdown.’ Meg’s desperate words echoed his thoughts. ‘We’ve got a scalpel.’

The natural light was almost gone. In the glow of his headlamp he saw her face streaked with blood and pain, yet there was a steely determination there. She wasn’t giving in without a hell of a fight.

Neither was he.

‘You keep bagging and I’ll do the cutdown.’ His fingers, now half-numb with cold, seemed clumsy but he managed to make a clean cut and locate the vein. The wide-bore cannula slid in and he attached the IV, turning it on full bore. He only hoped it wouldn’t be running straight out of Tom’s body.

‘Put your gloves on.’ Meg’s voice had a schoolteacher-like quality. ‘I don’t need you getting frostbite.’ Her voice cracked slightly on the last word.

Her concern touched him. ‘How are you doing?’

She bit her lip. ‘Fine.’

But he knew she was far from it. None of them were fine. Snow covered her hat and coat and her cheeks burned red from the cold.

An icy feeling crept through him. The temperature was dropping fast now the sun was down. Hypothermia was a real issue and they needed some sort of shelter, but attempting to get Tom stable had to come first. ‘You know, the cold might count in our favour.’

Meg shivered. ‘How?’

‘The cold slows down the heart rate and the metabolic process. Perhaps it will slow down Tom’s bleeding.’

‘Good, because his pulse is getting weaker.’ Her voice wobbled with alarm.

Will examined Tom’s abdomen and chest. Air was going in and his respirations were easier with the tracheostomy. But his abdomen was guarded, a sure sign of internal bleeding. He’d bet his bottom dollar Tom’s heart was pumping the lifesaving Hartmann’s solution straight into his peritoneum. It was no use to him there.

Worse still, there was nothing Will could do to stop it. Tom needed to be evacuated to a trauma centre urgently, only that wasn’t going to happen.

‘Are you sure there is only Hartmann’s?’ Will scrounged through the pack, praying for more IV fluids.

‘I’m O-negative.’ Meg gave him a knowing look. ‘We could do a direct blood transfusion.’

Again, the protective surge moved in him, strong and hard. ‘No way. It’s far too dangerous for you.’

‘Tom’s like a father to me.’ Her voice rose. ‘We have to do all we can.’

He respected her courage, her desire to do all at whatever cost. ‘We are doing all we can. But without surgery to stem his internal bleeding, your blood will just end up pooling in his abdomen. More importantly, you could get a blood-borne illness. You know direct blood transfusions stopped years ago.’

‘I’m fit. I can handle it.’ Her jaw jutted in defiance of the conditions, the situation. With her free hand she reached for an IV line.

But he saw a sliver of fear streak across her face.

‘Being fit is irrelevant against hepatitis C.’ He touched her arm, hoping to show her he understood her feeling of impotence at the situation. Her fear. ‘Let’s see if the Hartmann’s brings up his blood pressure.’

But he was certain it was too late for that.

Will took over the bagging, letting Meg dress Tom’s gaping wounds. She needed to do something, needed to claw back some control in a situation that had none.

He surveyed the towering trees. Now the wind had dropped, the snow fell straight down. The pink of sunset reflected through the snowflakes. Under other circumstances, being out in the bush with a beautiful woman, with snow falling quietly around them, would be magical.

But now was far from magical. How would the rescuers find them in such dense bush?

‘Tom.’ Meg spoke quietly. ‘I’ve sent up the flares, they know we’re here. They’ll find us.’ She placed packing gauze against his crushed nose.

She glanced up at the Hartmann’s bag, now almost empty. ‘How’s his BP?’

‘Dropping.’ He hated this. Hated watching a man’s life drain away in front of him. ‘I’m sorry, Meg, we can’t do any more. We tried.’ His voiced trailed off, the words sounding inadequate.

Her wide-eyed distress sliced into him.

She gripped Tom’s hand and dropped her head down next to his ear. ‘When Dad died, you were there. You’ve been such source of strength to me and Mum. Thank you.’ Her voice cracked. ‘I love you.’

Tom’s pulse faded to nothing under Will’s fingertips. ‘He’s gone, Meg.’

For a brief moment her shoulders shuddered. Then she leaned forward and kissed Tom’s forehead. She pulled the space blanket aside, putting it behind her. Taking the corners of the tarp, she folded them over him, wrapping Tom’s body completely, carefully protecting his body from the continuous snowfall. Then she reached over and grabbed a large stick. Pushing it into the snow, she marked Tom’s position.

Each action spoke of love and the desolation on her face pierced Will. He moved toward her almost unthinkingly, pulled her to her feet and into his arms. She fell against him, her chest shuddering with suppressed tears, her arms gripping his. He wanted to comfort her, hold her tight against him and ease her grief. Tell her he was so very sorry they couldn’t do any more.

But there was no time for that.

He moved back slightly so he could see her face. He needed to make eye contact. Needed to see those sky-blue eyes, now cloudy with grief, clear.

He was strong, but he knew the odds. They were stranded, miles from help, in harsh conditions. Damn it, he needed the ‘take charge’ Meg back or they wouldn’t get through this alive.

Tom was dead.

The pitch black of the alpine night cloaked her along with the heavily falling snow. For one brief moment she’d given in to her grief and found solace cuddled against Will’s broad chest, feeling his heart beating against her own.

But then he’d moved away.

‘Meg, we need to take shelter before we freeze.’

He’d spoken to her. The words, distant at first, suddenly sounded louder. Will’s voice penetrated her fudge-like brain and Meg looked up into his face.

By the light of his headlamp she could see congealed blood on his dark eyebrow from a deep gash. Scratches hid in the stubble of his dark beard, the only hint of their presence tiny clots of blood. She wanted to reach out and touch them. Offer comfort.

‘You need steri-strips on your eyebrow.’ Her voice was husky.

He gave a wry smile. ‘You can be the first-aid queen as soon as we get some shelter.’ His gloved hands gripped her forearms firmly, his energy seeming to flood her, giving her back the strength she’d just lost.

Shelter.

He was right—they’d freeze without shelter. The wind chill had sent the temperature way below zero. ‘Will the plane be safe?’