Second Chance Pass (Virgin River #5)(82)

“Susan,” Jack said into the phone as he watched Brie squeezing Mel’s lower abdomen. “Blood’s coming. Clots.”

“I know, Jack. Right now, get the drugs.”

He dug around in Mel’s bag and found what he was looking for. “Ready,” he said. With the phone cradled against his ear he followed her precise directions, drew the Pitocin into the syringe first. “I don’t know if I’ll find a vein.…”

“You’re going to inject in the muscle, Jack. Just roll her a bit to the side—”

“I know,” he said. “I know where. I’ve had plenty of shots.…”

“Pull back on the syringe to check for blood return,” Susan said. “Don’t waste time. The paramedics will have more of what we need. She’ll need a few doses.”

“Done,” he said.

“Now the Methergine,” she said, walking him through it. “Time is short here. Once the paramedics get there, they can open a line and Pit her. Keep this phone line open in case you need me—do what I told you, Jack.”

“I’m doing it,” he said.

“Check the uterus. Can you tell if it’s firming up a little?”

He brushed his sister’s hands out of the way and resumed the massage. “I don’t know. Maybe a little. Yeah, a little…But blood’s coming. More clots.”

“I know. Just keep massaging. You’re doing great.”

He moved away and, on instinct, Brie took over. Jack dug through Mel’s bag again, looking for more Pitocin or Methergine. “Susan, there isn’t any more.…We used everything she had!”

“They’ll be there any second. Just don’t stop massaging. While we’re waiting for the chopper why don’t you put the baby to the breast.”

Jack dropped the phone.

He plucked the wailing Emma out of the cradle and positioned her against the breast, slipping an arm under Mel’s shoulders to raise her a bit. He held them both. He squeezed and tickled Emma’s little cheek with the nipple, the way he’d seen his wife do it. “Come on, baby. Come on. We need you to—” Emma found the nipple and began to attempt to nurse. She wasn’t a hearty nurser yet and she was still upset from crying, but she did manage to get hold of the nipple, though not with great strength.

“Is it slowing? The bleeding?” he asked Brie.

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Mel,” he said. “Mel, baby, come on. Open your eyes for me, baby. Oh God, don’t do this, Mel.”

Her eyes fluttered open. She looked up at Jack and in a weak whisper she said, “Uh-oh.”

“Baby, you hang in there. The helicopter’s on its way and it’s close. You stay with me, Mel.” Then, “Come on, Emma. Come on.” But the baby was having trouble, probably because of the panic. Terrified, he slipped his arm out from under his wife, put the crying baby back in the cradle and, kneeling beside the bed, he began to massage her br**sts in the way Mel would if she were pumping. He remembered then—remembered when David was born and he handed her the baby to nurse. Come on little guy, she had said. Bring out the placenta and stanch the bleeding. Then he leaned over her, put his mouth on her and drew gently, suckling, and the warm, sweet milk came into his mouth. And tears threatened to blind his eyes.

He felt her hand, weak and light, touching his head, threading fingers through his short hair. He nursed from her, and prayed it would help.

“It’s slowing,” Brie said. “It’s definitely slowing. But damn, Jack, there’s so much…”

He lifted his head from Mel’s breast and saw that her eyes were open just a bit and there was a faint, almost imperceptible smile on her lips. “You stay with me, Mel. Goddammit, you stay with me!” He suckled a bit more. To Brie he said, “Keep massaging her uterus.” Then he bolted from the house, leaping off the porch steps and racing to his truck. He opened the storage locker in the bed and pulled out a flare, ripping it open to burn and tossing it in the dirt driveway as a guide for the helicopter. He was back on his knees beside his wife, drawing on her breast again in less than thirty seconds.

Emma was crying, David was screaming and Mel was passed out again.

He put his lips on her forehead and prayed. God, I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything. Don’t take her from me!

He repeatedly checked Mel’s pulse, suckled and prayed. It was the longest two minutes of his life until he heard the sound of rotor blades. For a moment he was thrown back in time, almost an out-of-body experience—he was surrounded by dust and smoke as the choppers came into the rocky desert to pick up his wounded. His eyes glazed over, he was back there in Iraq, desperate to save his men.

He forced his mind through the maze of flashback. He said, “Don’t stop,” to Brie as he ran from the room to the porch just as the helicopter landed in the clearing in front of his house. He thought back to the last battle he’d fought—a battle he’d fight a thousand more times if it would save his wife. The medics had a saying—if we can get you to the chopper, you’re going to live.

He saw two medics jump out and run toward the house with a stretcher. “This way,” he yelled. “I’ve given her two doses of Pitocin and one of Methergine,” he yelled as he jogged back into the house with them on his heels. “I think the bleeding slowed a little, but it’s still heavy. Real heavy.”