eyes held the look of someone in pain.
He reached for her.
She jerked back.
“You’re bleeding,” he said.
“It’s nothing. Help the others first.”
He gave the cut on her forehead another look. Head wounds always bled a lot, and this one was no exception. But it appeared to have stopped bleeding. Still, there could be glass in it. He took a quick glance at her very brown eyes. Pupils were the same size.
“Him first,” she said.
“Okay. But I’m going to look at that arm, too.”
She nodded.
He stepped into the seat that Mrs. Hardy had vacated. It was awkward, but he got a good hold of the debris and shoved it away from her husband. He put a hand on the man’s back, assuring him. “Don’t move just yet,” Brody said. He ran his hand down the man’s spine. “Are you in pain?”
“No. Damn thing didn’t hit me hard, thank goodness.”
“Okay. Then try to sit back.” The man had been very lucky. He was at an age when it became difficult to recover from severe injuries. When the man was upright, Brody took his pulse and used the flashlight to check his pupils. Both okay.
Brody stepped back. It was quite frankly amazing that everyone on board had survived the crash. He’d seen enough aircraft-crash-scene victims over the years to know that there were common injuries caused by the pressure of rapid descent. Vertebrae compression. Or a ring fracture at the base of the skull caused by force traveling through the spinal column. Sometimes even internal injuries caused by the jerk of the lap belt. Lower-limb injuries were common as legs flailed around and struck things, so Angus’s fractured tibia didn’t surprise him.
He’d set the leg as best he could. Unfortunately, however, what might be a relatively minor injury in a fully equipped operating room became potentially life threatening when there were nonsterile conditions and delayed treatment. And the humidity in this part of the world was a virtual breeding ground of bacteria.
He turned, only to realize that Elle had returned to the cockpit. She was talking to Angus, obviously trying to comfort him.
It was difficult to tell how badly the captain was hurt. Angus definitely needed the most immediate treatment, and there wasn’t any room in the cockpit area to do that.
Elle saw him start back down the aisle and met him halfway. “What do you think?” she asked.
“On the plus side, I think Mr. and Mrs. Hardy are fine. They’re probably going to be stiff and sore as the night wears on. The biggest risk for Pamela is to keep her from running off into the rain forest. You, I’d like to see that shoulder.”
“I’m fine,” she said.
He shook his head. When she’d moved out of the way earlier so that he could get to Mr. Hardy, he’d seen enough to realize that it wasn’t her arm that was injured, but rather her shoulder. “Elle, please don’t be stubborn about this. It’s just wasting time. I’m going to need help with Angus and you’re the only logical person to do it. I need you to have two arms and hands that are working.”
It was the right approach. She clearly didn’t want to impede the others receiving medical care.
She put her flashlight down and moved so that she stood in front of him. They were just inches apart and he was reminded of how nicely her head used to fit under his chin. He took a deep breath, put his hand on her shoulder joint and probed gently. “You dislocated your shoulder,” he said.
“My seat belt broke,” she said. “I got tossed out and hit the back of another seat with my shoulder.”
“When you hit it, your humerus popped out of the shoulder socket. I can pop it back into place, but it’s going to hurt. Maybe a lot.”
She nodded. “Just get it over with.”
He stretched out her arm, raised it above her head and, at exactly the right spot, used the heel of his hand to pop the joint back into place.
She let out a hiss of air. He’d seen big, tough guys yelp when they experienced the same thing. “Okay?” he asked.
“Lovely,” she managed.
He almost smiled. “I think it’s possible that the captain has some internal injuries that we’ll have to watch for. He probably hit the dash pretty hard. I’ll bandage his head after I set the copilot’s leg. Unfortunately for Angus, we don’t have any ice and it’s going to be difficult to keep the swelling down. His leg really needs stitches, but I didn’t see any needles or thread in the first-aid kit. Same issue with Captain Ramano. I’d like to stitch up his head wound.”
“I have a sewing kit,” Elle said. “It’s just a small one. I think it was a giveaway at a conference I attended a couple years ago and I toss it in my carry-on when I travel, just in case.”
It was better than nothing. The needles wouldn’t be nearly as sharp as what he was used to, but he could make them work. He could sterilize the needle and the thread with one of the antiseptic wipes in the first-aid kit. Not great but better than leaving a gaping wound. “Please get it,” he said.
She found her bag in the rubble and dug through it, pulling out a tiny plastic box with three needles and six small coils of thread in it. She handed it to him.
“What else do you need me to do?” she asked.
The Elle he remembered had turned a little green when he discussed the surgeries he was observing in medical school. “There’s going to be blood,” he said.
“I’ll be okay,” she said, swallowing hard.
He studied her. So familiar. Yet so different. It was hard to get his head around it, so he did what was simple. He pushed it to the back of his mind. There were wounded. That’s where his energies needed to be.
“Okay. Clear some space in the aisles. It’s the only place where there will be room to work. I really need something to...” He let his voice trail off. He saw something that would work. In Mr. Hardy’s seat pocket, there were several newspapers. Brody grabbed one and handed it to Elle. “Once the space is clear, lay this down on the floor.”
He was going to need something to sop up the blood, especially if he got unlucky and the sharp edges of bone cut a vein or an artery.
“If I only had a scalpel, I’d be in good shape,” he said, under his breath.
Mrs. Hardy pointed to one of the large suitcases that had spilled out of the cabinet. “I’ve got a knife in with my makeup. Never gets caught by airline security.”
Brody figured security had seen it but just decided they didn’t want to have the twenty-minute conversation with Mrs. Hardy about why she had to fly with a knife. He opened the suitcase. Mrs. Hardy’s makeup was in the zipper pocket. He was surprised when he saw the lovely pearl-handled instrument, tucked in beside lipsticks and powders. He’d expected something like
