Temptation Ridge (Virgin River #6)(110)

Slowly, cautiously, the window slid open. Molly looked out at him. She had a cut on her chin and a big, purple bruise on her forehead. “Jack,” she said in a breath.

“Can you keep everyone in the bus still?” he asked. “We’re waiting for rescue and paramedics.”

“They’ll be still. No one’s moving. But we’re pretty scared in here.”

He heard some weak crying in the bus. “Yeah, I know. What have you got for injuries? Have any idea?”

“Past these first couple of rows, no idea, Jack. Everyone says something hurts, but they can hold still.”

He glanced at the rear of the bus, hooked up against a big sequoia. It looked as if a little jostling could bust it loose and send it sailing down the hill. “Here’s the thing, Molly—this bus isn’t stable at all. It looks bad out here. We need rescue to brace the bus before taking people out. Understand?”

She pulled her head in and spoke to the kids, calmly and firmly. “We can’t move a muscle,” she told them all. “We have to be perfectly still until the bus is braced and can’t slide. Rescue is coming. Then they’ll get us out. Without moving a muscle, tell me you understand,” she instructed.

Jack heard small, careful voices from inside. “How many, Molly?”

“Eighteen,” she said.

“Okay, could be a while. Close the window. Don’t let the heat out. I’ll stay right here by your window until they get here. It’s going to be okay.”

She smiled weakly. “Okay,” she said. And then the driver’s window slowly closed.

The temptation to try to get as many kids out as possible was almost irresistible. And the thought that he could be holding himself here, hanging on to a rope, right next to the bus, and see it plummet down the hill and crash, was enough to make his insides grip and knot. The hardest thing about any kind of life-threatening situation was always the wait. Taking action, that wasn’t as hard. Sometimes you just moved, not thinking, performing on instinct, getting it done. Doing nothing, waiting for help to arrive, it was just torture.

Jack moved to the right enough to brace himself against a tree trunk so he wouldn’t have to hang on for the duration. He watched the bus, watched through the windows. It was cold as hell; he hoped they could do something before it became a toss-up as to what was worse, those kids plunging down the mountain or freezing to death in there.

It seemed a lifetime before he heard the sound of engines. “Preach—you have to keep everyone but emergency back! The kids in the bus are trying to hold still, and it’s hard!”

“Yo!” he heard back from the top. “I’ve got help up here, Jack!”

Slowly the sky grew darker and it seemed an eternity before what sounded like heavy equipment started arriving—fire trucks, he assumed. Suddenly the dusk was lit by a blast of light coming from above; high-powered beams slanted down the hill, illuminating the bus.

It grew colder; the wind picked up. There was a sound from the top of the hill that sounded like a jackhammer. Finally two firefighters rappelled down the hill. One went to the driver’s window while the other slid close to the side of the bus and used a flashlight to view the undercarriage.

A third man in heavy turnouts and boots came down the hill, being lowered by a thick cable. As Jack watched, the three of them went to work under the bus, attaching the cable to the axle with giant hooks. He couldn’t resist checking his watch—they were at it for almost a half hour when two emerged from beneath the bus. The third said to Jack, “Can you get a child up that hill?”

“You bet,” he said. “I can come back for more.”

“We’ll let you know,” he said. Then he went to the rear of the bus and carefully pulled open the emergency door. The bus wobbled slightly, but held, secured by the cable.

The firefighter at the door shouted into the bus. “I need your attention, I need you to listen carefully and do just what I ask. The bus is still rocky, unstable. We’re going to take you off now, one at a time. Slowly. And we have to take you from the front of the bus first, keeping the weight in the rear. You have to walk down the aisle one at a time, very slowly, very carefully. The next one doesn’t start down the aisle till the one before is off the bus. Does everyone understand? If you don’t understand, ask me now before we start.” There was no response.

Jack shifted himself off the tree and held on to his ropes, moving sideways until he could get near where the firefighter was at the rear door.

“Okay, driver—how about you first,” he yelled. “Show them how it’s done.”

“Driver last,” she shouted back. “I don’t leave my kids. Becky, you go. No one has to show you. When Becky’s out, Anna goes. Easy does it. Almost over, kids.”

As soon as the trembling little girl cleared the door, the firefighter grabbed her, passed her to Jack. “Hold on around my neck, angel,” he whispered. “Almost home.” And as he slowly pulled himself up the hill, the rescue team was moving down past him, rappelling gear and harnesses in place.

The sight at the top of the hill almost threw him into a state of shock. The lights that flooded the area were Paul’s construction beams; the cable that held the bus was attached to a brace that came off a forklift that had been bolted right into the asphalt, also Paul’s. In addition to rescue equipment, there were vehicles everywhere. A paramedic rig and fire truck sat right at the top of the hill. Next to it on one side the Grace Valley ambulance with Docs Stone and Hudson at the ready; on the other side stood Mel, Cameron and Shelby beside the Hummer, the back hatch open. And there were so many people, it looked as though the entire town was present, all being kept behind a perimeter set up by sheriff’s deputies.