The Promise (Thunder Point #5)(18)

“Where did you get the blankets?” she asked.

“From the closet floor. They’re fort blankets, not bed blankets. They’re too dirty for the bed, Gabby said.”

“I see. So I guess Daddy allows this?”

“Sometimes he gets in it with us, if he doesn’t have a book or a phone call,” Will explained.

Peyton stepped closer to the dining room to watch the construction of the fort, which was accomplished with all the precision of experienced builders. Heavy books held the blankets on top of the table, chairs were turned around to make more space underneath, one blanket on the floor, a couple of pillows inside.

“And what do you do in there?” she asked.

Will shrugged and just pressed on. “Take stuff in there.”

“Sometimes we have ice cream in there,” Jenny added. “Or movies. And games and books and stuff. But not paints or clay or Play-Doh.”

“I can see how that would be a problem,” Peyton said. “I’ll be in the living room.”

The kids disappeared inside, and she was very grateful for that. She wanted to turn on the TV, see if there was any coverage of this wreck. It wouldn’t be good to turn on the news and have the kids hear anything shocking or scary since their father was there. But she wanted to know any available details. She was not optimistic there would be much news as this was a very small town, and it was an accident off the main roads.

But, ah! In the age of smartphones there was amateur footage already sent to news stations. And it looked god-awful. A blue school bus was on its side halfway off the road, back emergency door gaping open and lots of emergency vehicles all around. There were other vehicles scattered around, but she couldn’t tell if they’d been involved. A Coast Guard helicopter was taking off, presumably airlifting a patient or patients—USCG provided emergency services to the local area. The scene looked chaotic and terrifying, but the broadcaster said that even though there were thirty-seven children on board and many injuries, there was only one fatality, the bus driver.

The group had been en route to a church camp along the river; they’d come from the north part of the state. There were young camp counselors among the group, and one young lady with a bandage on her forehead was interviewed. “We were skidding and spinning and hitting other cars, and then all of a sudden the bus just flipped over. All the kids were tossed everywhere, and we landed on top of each other in a big pile. No one knows what happened.”

The newscaster said that while it was as yet unconfirmed, it was possible the accident was caused by the driver suffering a medical episode.

Indeed, news film showed two cars and a truck that looked damaged, and it was reported that area hospitals were preparing for injured. And, typical of a small town, curious about everything, the police were now managing crowd control.

“Looks like pizza for dinner,” she muttered to herself.

* * *

Scott called Mac’s cell from the car. “I got the call. I’m going to come by the scene to help first responders with triage before continuing on to the hospital.”

“Can’t hurt. They’re calling F.D. from Douglas County and Coast Guard is en route.”

“Any details on injuries or fatalities?”

“A lot of kids have evacuated the bus already, some helped out by motorists. Watch the road and park behind emergency vehicles.”

Scott approached cautiously and pulled off the road behind the tow truck. As he was jogging with medical bag in hand, he passed Eric Gentry, who waited just outside his tow truck. Right beyond Eric and the wrecker was a paramedic rescue unit and behind that, an ambulance. Fortunately, he knew the fire captain. No pleasantries were exchanged. “I want you on that medic unit over there and treat who you can. We’ll transport the ones who can’t be treated here,” the captain said.

“Gotcha,” Scott replied.

It was sheer pandemonium, but Scott could see a gathering of young children standing around the medical unit, some of them holding compresses to their heads or limbs. Mac was setting out flares along the road ahead, closing it off. It was an ominous sight, a blue church bus on its side, glass all over the road.

“What have we got?” Scott asked the medic.

“So far it looks like a lot of minor injuries in need of follow-up like X-rays, head CTs, stitches. A couple of fractures we’ll have Coast Guard transport via airlift, and the ambulance can transport our worst casualties, the worst lacerations or contusions. Most of these kids exited the bus on their own, but there are a couple coming out on backboards.”

“The driver?” Scott asked.

“Deceased. The coroner is on his way.”

“Let’s get patching and transporting,” Scott said.

A second and third fire department showed up, and working together, they began lowering the population of injured at the scene of the accident. The accident was upgraded to a fatal, given the driver, and the state police fatal team was soon collecting data, measuring, taking pictures. There was only one adult supervisor for this large group, a youth pastor, but she was only slightly banged up and held the master list of all the children’s names and contact information. She worked with emergency personnel to keep track of the kids being transported and their destinations. Luckily, there were enough teenage camp counselors present to accompany groups of younger children to various area hospitals. It took close to two hours to send ambulances with four, five or even six kids to local hospitals. Scott followed the third group to the Bandon ER It was going to take hours for parents and guardians to fetch them since they were all from out of town. It looked as if only a few had to be hospitalized overnight for fractures, and they were taken to Eugene’s county hospital.