itself. Gareth peered into the back windscreen of the car, trying to see what the guy was doing. What was distracting him? Was he texting? Or talking on the phone?
He couldn’t tell what the driver was doing but at least the taxi appeared to be empty of passengers.
Gareth eased back some more. He may only be driving a twenty-year-old rust box but he had no desire to be collateral damage due to this clown’s inattention. Luckily they were on a long, straight section of road linking two outer suburbs so there were no houses, no cars parked on either side, just trees and bushland.
The taxi wobbled all over the lane again and Gareth’s stomach tightened as a set of oncoming headlights suddenly winked in the distance. His fingers gripped the steering-wheel a little firmer as a sense of foreboding settled over him.
Gareth’s sense of foreboding had served him well over the years—particularly in the Middle East—and it wasn’t going to be disappointed tonight.
He watched in horror as the taxi swerved suddenly again into the path of the oncoming car. Gareth hit his horn but it was futile, the crash playing out in front of him in slow motion.
The driver of the other car slammed on the brakes, swerving to avoid what Gareth could have sworn was certain collision. He waited for the crash and the sound of crunching metal but, thankfully, it never came. The taxi narrowly missed the other car, careening off the road and smashing into a tree.
But now the oncoming car was in his lane and Gareth had to apply his brakes to prevent them crashing. Luckily the other driver had the good sense to swerve back into his own lane and they both came to a halt almost level with each other on their own sides of the road.
Gareth, his heart pistoning like a jackhammer, automatically reached for his glove box and pulled out a bunch of gloves from a box he always kept there. He ripped his seat belt off and pushed open his door.
‘Are you okay, mate?’ he asked as he leapt out, his fingers already reaching for the mobile phone in his pocket as he mentally triaged the scene.
He wrenched open the door of the other car, noticing absently it was a sleek-looking two-seater, to find a pair of huge brown eyes, heavily kohled and fringed with sooty eyelashes, blinking back at him. A scarlet mouth formed a surprised-looking O.
A woman.
‘I’m … I’m fine.’ She nodded, looking dazed.
Gareth wasn’t entirely sure. She appeared uninjured but she looked like she might be in shock. ‘Can you move? How’s your neck?’ he asked.
She nodded again, undoing her seat belt. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine.’ She swung her legs out of the car.
‘Don’t move,’ he ordered. ‘Stay there.’ The last thing he needed was a casualty wandering around the scene. ‘I’m Gareth, what’s your name?’
‘Billie.’
Gareth acknowledged the unusual name on a superficial level only. ‘I’m going to check out the taxi driver. You stay here, okay, Billie?’
She blinked up at him and nodded. ‘Okay.’
Satisfied he’d secured her co-operation, Gareth, already dialling triple zero, headed for the smashed-up taxi.
It took a minute for Billie to come out of the fog of the moment and get her bearings. She’d told Gareth—at least that was what she thought he’d said his name was—she was okay. Everything had happened so fast. But a quick mental check of her body confirmed it.
She was shaking like a leaf but she wasn’t injured.
And she was a doctor. She shouldn’t be sitting in her car like an invalid—she should be helping.
What on earth had caused the taxi to veer right into her path? Was the driver drunk? Or was it something medical? A hypo? A seizure?
She reached across to her glove box and pulled out a pair of gloves from the box she always kept there, her heart beating furiously, mentally preparing herself for potential gore. Being squeamish was not something that boded well for a doctor but it was something she’d never been able to conquer.
She’d learned to control it—just.
She exited her car, yanking the boot lever on the way out, rounding the vehicle and pulling out a briefcase that contained a well-stocked first-aid kit. Then she took a deep breath and in her ridiculous heels and three-quarter-length cocktail dress she made her way over to the crashed car and Gareth.
Gareth looked up from his ministrations as Billie approached. ‘I thought I’d told you to stay put,’ he said, whipping off his fleecy hoody, not even feeling the cool air. His only priority was getting the driver, who wasn’t breathing and had no pulse, out of the car.
‘I’m fine. And I’m a doctor so I figured I could help.’
Gareth was momentarily thrown by the information but he didn’t have time to question her credentials. She was already wearing a pair of hospital-issue gloves that he hadn’t given her, so she was at least prepared.
And the driver’s lips were turning from dusky to blue.
He needed oxygen and a defib. Neither of which they had.
All the driver had was them, until the ambulance got there.
‘I’m an ER nurse,’ Gareth said, rolling his hoody into a tube shape then carefully wrapping it around the man’s neck, fashioning a crude soft collar to give him some C-spine protection when they pulled him out.
‘Ambulance is ten minutes away. He’s in cardiac arrest. Thankfully he’s not trapped. Help me get him out and we’ll start CPR. I’ll grab his top half,’ Gareth said.
Aided by the light from the full moon blasting down on them, they had the driver lying on the dew-damp grass in less than thirty seconds. ‘You maintain the airway,’ Gareth said, falling back on protocols ingrained in him during twenty years in the field. ‘I’ll start compressions.’
Billie nodded, swallowing hard as the metallic smell from the blood running down the driver’s face from a deep laceration on his forehead assaulted her senses. It had already congealed in places and her belly turned at the sight, threatening to eject the three-course meal she’d indulged in earlier.
She turned away briskly, sucking air slowly into her lungs. In through her nose, out through her mouth, concentrating on the cold damp ground already seeping through the gauzy fabric of her dress to her knees rather than the blood. She was about to start her ER rotation—she had to get used to this.
She opened the briefcase and pulled out her pocket mask.
Gareth kicked up an eyebrow as she positioned herself, a knee either side of the guy’s head, and held the mask efficiently in place over the driver’s mouth and nose.
‘Very handy,’ he said, noting her perfect jaw grasp and hand placement. ‘Don’t suppose you have a defib in there by any chance?’
Billie gave a half-laugh. ‘Sadly, no.’ Because they both knew that’s what this man needed.
She leaned down
