clips in every direction. The huge hi-vis jacket swamped her, and she looked out of her depth on every level.
But determination shone in her eyes.
‘Right. Let’s get to it.’ It was hard going—one step forward, steadying your grip. Another step. The snow had frozen to sheer ice in some places. In others, tufts of grass poked through. The wind pressed them back, the ice halted their steps, so they made it to their patient as quickly as humanly possible.
He was a crumpled heap in bright blue and black walking gear. Alone. Like many walkers here. Starting out on a pleasant day trip, but at least he seemed suitably dressed for the occasion, unlike some Cal came across. Still, even full walking gear didn’t always prevent disaster from striking. You could be perfectly prepared for a night stranded on the mountain, but not for unexpected and complicated fractures, blizzards, nowhere to hide from the biting wind. Frostbite.
A brother lifeless in your arms and there is nothing, nothing you can do but pray. As they neared, Cal did a primary survey. Breathing. Bleeding from his forehead. Bluish lips. Thank God for cell-phone reception, or who knew when he’d have been found. Phoning for help had saved his life.
That was, if they could get him down quickly enough.
The wind might have died a little, but it was still fresh as all hell up here and their guy was shaking. Cold and shock, or worse. Cal remembered to keep his words slow. Enough people had told him they didn’t understand his Scottish accent already. ‘Hello, there. I’m Cal, your knight in shining hi-vis.’
Abbie rolled her eyes. ‘And I’m Abbie. That guy down there is Shane, and we’re going to help get you off the mountain. Now, can you tell us what happened?’
So, she was all about the process. Okay.
‘I’m... Marty... I think I’ve...’ Dazed and shivering, the patient tried to sit up.
‘Whoa. Hold still, mate. Tell me what happened.’ Secondary survey was underway. There was blood on the ground. Which meant consideration had to be made for internal bleeding too. Blood on the floor and five more. Consider thoracic, intra-abdominal, retroperineal, pelvic, long bones.
‘Slipped. Fell down from the ridge. Hit my head, I think, on a rock. Chest... Leg snapped...’ He reached a hand to his right fibula and grimaced. Long bones.
Plus, a head injury—couldn’t rule out neck damage too. ‘So, first things first, we need to put a neck brace on to protect that neck. Steady as you go. Hold still. Stay still, mate.’ Cal slipped the neck brace into place, watching as Marty clenched his fists to counter the pain. Then bent his undamaged knee. At least he could move all his limbs. Good sign.
Cal had a closer look at the forehead wound. ‘Looks pretty deep, needs a few stitches. Luckily, they’re very good at sewing down at Queenstown General.’ He taped a dressing over the wound, noting other minor cuts and grazes that would need attention, when they had more time, and in the warmth of a hospital ward.
Cal felt Marty’s radial pulse. Nothing. Carotid showed a rapid, thready heartbeat. ‘Guessing the systolic pressure is lower than ninety. No radial pulse. I’ll do a quick check. Needs some fluids.’ Needed surgery, actually. Fluids and stabilisation were the best they could do, especially up here on the steep arc of a mountainside with thick black clouds coming in from the west. Cal’s heart rate sped up a little.
Great. A suspected life-threatening injury and the mother of all storms.
Luckily, fighting the odds was what he was good at.
Shane finally made it up the mountain. Breathless and wheezing, he probably shouldn’t have been up here at all. He should have said his chest wasn’t up to it. But Cal kept that thought to himself.
The two-way radio crackled. It was Brian, the pilot. ‘Weather coming in fast. We need to get off this mountain and quick. Over.’
‘Things turn to custard pretty quick round here.’ One minute it was sunny, the next it was a white-out. But they had to make Marty safe before they left. ‘Okay. Let’s have a look at your leg. I’m going to have to cut your salopettes. Okay? Damned shame, because it’s good kit.’
Keeping the patient talking and conscious gave them a better chance, so Cal went with his usual patter. He nodded at Shane, who was assessing the obviously broken leg. The bone had cut through the skin. Needed a splint at least to stabilise it. Needed surgery.
Needed to get off the mountain, and fast.
Again, Marty pushed to sit up. ‘I can’t breathe... I can’t...’
Cal shot a look at Abbie, who’d turned her attention to Marty’s chest. Could be one of a dozen things. He prayed there wasn’t any surgical emphysema. Dodgy lungs in thin air at the top of a mountain were a nasty prospect. ‘I’m going to put a line in your left arm, mate. Give you some fluids to keep you hydrated and something to make you more comfortable.’
‘Left lung clear, but can’t hear much in the right base. You want to check?’
‘Yep. Let me have a go. To check.’ Not wanting to disbelieve her or undermine her, he listened as carefully as he could to the beat-up chest. Suspected right pneumothorax. Great. The odds were starting to turn against them. It was freezing up here; his hands were starting to ache with the cold.
‘Oxygen in situ. Pain relief administered.’
‘Leg splint inflated and in situ.’ The distant clouds had become very real, thick and dark and heavy. Flakes started to spot their coats, Marty’s hair.
‘Pass me a survival blanket, will you? Right. Thanks. Now, we’ve got to get you onto this scoop.’
The radio crackled. ‘Cal, come in. You have two minutes. Over.’
‘Just getting Marty on the scoop. Over.’
Cal positioned the scoop alongside their patient and somehow they managed to shift him over, keeping his neck as still as possible.
‘Let’s go. You all okay?’ Shane took the lead, carrying the scoop at the feet end. Cal was at the head and Abbie walked at the side, carrying equipment and making sure Marty was stable and as comfortable as possible. It was like a game of slip ’n’ slide getting them all down the hill.
‘You fancy some tobogganing, Marty?’ It was only half a joke. Apart from a few rocks it was a vertical skating rink.
They started to inch gingerly down. The sun had slid behind a cloud and the wind whipped round them, biting through their clothes. They made it a few metres then suddenly the scoop lurched sideways and forwards. Next thing Cal knew, Shane was yelling and tumbling head first over rocks and ice.
Down. Down. Down.
‘SHANE! SHANE!’
The boss had come to a halt a hundred metres or so down the hill, splayed against the rear of the helicopter. He wasn’t moving.
Cal reassessed, looking from Shane to Marty and then back down the slope again, allowing himself the briefest moment for his heart to thump
