Aftershock

While they’d been working hard, doing search and rescue, this pair of jokers had been getting drunk.

“It’s perking up,” the cigarette smoker said, glancing at Lauren. He was about forty, with bad teeth and pewter-colored hair. Tattoos snaked along his forearms, and he had the weathered skin of a drug user.

His friend was younger, in his mid-twenties, a big man with a shaved head. He had a doughy face and small, dark eyes. He studied Lauren also, moistening his fleshy lips. From the way they protruded, she figured he had an overbite.

Both men gave the impression that they were glad to see a woman, not a paramedic. Although she’d met a few guys who’d sought to take her down a peg, ignoring her uniform in favor of ogling her breasts, she hadn’t expected it from trauma survivors.

Then again, everyone reacted to stress in a different way. It didn’t bring out the best in most people.

“I’m Lauren,” she ventured, “and this is Garrett.”

Garrett had positioned himself very close to her, like a bodyguard. Or a boyfriend.

The tattooed man took another drag on his smoke, looking back and forth between them. “Jeb,” he said. “It’s a real pleasure.”

“Mickey,” his companion added. His soft, high-pitched voice made a sharp contrast to Jeb’s raspy southern drawl.

Lauren found it strange that they addressed her, not Garrett. They made no move to stand and shake hands.

“Who’s this?” she asked, gesturing to the prostrate man. He was young, like Mickey, with short blond hair and a thick goatee.

“That’s Owen,” Jeb said. “He’ll be all right.”

Lauren didn’t want to climb into the back of the pickup to evaluate his condition. She’d learned to trust her instincts, and they warned her not to get any closer. “I have other patients to attend to, but you’re welcome to bring him in. We’ve got some medical equipment set up in front of a motor home.”

“We take care of our own,” Jeb said, squinting at Garrett.

It sounded like a threat.

“Doesn’t appear to be any way out of here,” Garrett remarked.

Jeb sucked on his cigarette. “Nope.”

“Might be days, even weeks, before we escape.”

“Is that so?”

“We should ration our supplies.”

Jeb reached into the cardboard case of beer, his dark eyes glinting in the dim light. “You want one, pretty lady?”

“No,” she said tightly.

Cracking it open, he took a long pull. “Well, that’s a real good idea, hero. But you’ll be prying this beer out of my cold, dead hand.”

Mickey crushed an empty can in his fist, punctuating the statement.

“It’s every man for himself, the way I see it.”

Lauren’s stomach tightened with tension. Jeb and Mickey were spoiling for a fight, and Garrett might be angry enough to oblige. These men were playing with their lives by drinking an entire case of beer. They were wasting limited resources.

“Okay,” he said, grasping Lauren’s elbow. “Let’s go.”

She allowed him to lead her away, but she didn’t like it. When they were at a safe distance, she tugged her arm from his grip.

Cursing, he apologized. “I should have stood my ground.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“They deserved a beating.”

“Yes, but why make enemies? We have other things to worry about.”

“Now they think I won’t step up.”

“They’re not worth it,” she argued.

He was visibly upset, his jaw clenched and his shoulders stiff. Lauren hoped he wouldn’t go back to settle the score without her. Those guys were pretty tough looking. If either one of them alone challenged Garrett, she’d put her money on Garrett. But she didn’t think he could take them both on.

“Stay with me,” she said, putting her hand on the crook of his arm. It felt hard and hot beneath her fingertips. “Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied, frowning. He seemed surprised that she needed reassurance. Or maybe he was just reacting to her touch. His gaze dropped to her hand, which appeared pale and slender on his dirt-streaked skin. Then it returned to her face, settling on her trembling lips.

Lauren stared at him for a moment, her heart racing. She wasn’t in the habit of getting so familiar with strangers. Her strong attachment to him made sense, under these circumstances, but it still disturbed her. She liked being independent.

A vehicle horn sounded in the distance. It was Don, not an automatic alarm. One of the patients needed her.

She started jogging back to the RV, Garrett at her side.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Aftershocks rattled the cavern at semiregular intervals. Garrett rigged a set of construction lights to illuminate her workspace. They were able to see a large portion of the cavern. It was a blessing and a curse.

They were trapped under an impenetrable pile of concrete. A freeway underpass marked the south side, which had sustained the least damage. Its high ceiling had prevented the freeway sections from falling flat on top of each other and crushing everything underneath. Instead, the pieces had settled like a house of cards.

A broken, bumpy roadway stretched across the lower level. Massive walls of concrete blocked all sides. The largest wall was on the north end, where Lauren’s ambulance had been crushed. A mountain of rubble loomed in the west. The motor home sat near the middle of the south section, somewhat protected by the underpass.

The surrounding area resembled a parking garage from a dystopian nightmare. Blackened skeletons sat behind the wheels of smoldering cars. Broken bodies, blood spatter and safety glass littered the ground.

Looking up offered no respite. The ceiling was as high as fifty feet in some places. Daylight peeked through a couple of hairline cracks along the east wall. None appeared wider than Lauren’s wrist. Garrett had searched every inch of the perimeter, paying special attention to the chunks of concrete at the west end. Even if they had a bulldozer, and room to maneuver, he said, they couldn’t get through.

Lauren didn’t have time to despair their entrapment. She was too busy trying to keep her patients alive.

Penny was recovering well under Cadence’s care. Don helped Lauren with the others. She felt like a Civil War sawbones with her bloody apron and rudimentary techniques. Surgery was way beyond her scope, and she managed a few minor miracles with first-aid supplies and local anesthetics.

The first woman, Beverly Engle, drifted in and out of consciousness. Lauren gave her as much morphine as she could spare before immobilizing her broken leg. She secured the limb to a two-by-four.

Her second patient was a young, athletic-looking man. He had a serious head injury and didn’t respond to any stimuli. There wasn’t much she could do for him, besides administer IV fluids and monitor his condition.

Her third patient, an older man, had multiple internal injuries. She wasn’t surprised when he went into cardiac arrest, but she fought hard to save him.