Not Quite Enough(19)

Shandee twisted on her heel and walked to the red room.
Monica blew out a frustrated breath. It’s going to be a long-ass day.
Trent followed her around for the next couple of hours while she dime-store triaged as many patients as she could. After about fifteen patients, two teenage boys—Jerrick, who was Tauni’s brother, and Arcus, Shandee’s son—understood enough of the basics of triage to help.
“If they’re breathing too fast, find me. If their skin is pale below their injury, find me. If they’re not making any sense or are unconscious, take them to Shandee.”
Jerrick led a couple of his friends to help move patients around. Arcus moved in a different direction to look over the wounded opposite Monica and Trent.
Monica crawled up into the back of one of the trucks where a patient lay. She placed a hand on his shoulder and found it stiff and unmoving. One look confirmed what she already knew. “Damn,” she whispered to herself.
How long had this patient been out here? Was he alive when he arrived? Where was his family? Who owned the truck? She started to shiver despite the heat.
Trent was returning from inside the clinic when she jumped out of the back of the truck. “Inside, or out?” Trent asked.
Monica stiffened her spine. “He—he’s gone.”
Trent looked behind her, his half grin faded. “Oh.”
She brought a hand to her forehead and noticed it tremble.
“Are you OK?”
“Fine. We, ah… we need to find a place for him.” She swallowed. There were probably others. Maybe Shandee had already placed the dead in a certain spot… somewhere.
Monica clenched her fists, trying like hell to stop the shaking. Exhaustion nipped at the edges of her sanity. Now was not the time to lose it.
“Hey?” He placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “It’s OK. You can’t save everyone.”
His soothing voice and comforting hand would undo her if she let it. Monica pulled away. “I know that. He’s cold. Probably gone before we even got here.”
Trent stepped back as if stung.
Way to go, Ice Queen. “I’m sorry. Listen, I know you’re trying to help me, but I can’t think about all this right now. I have to stay focused. OK? Do you get that?”
She needed his help, but didn’t want his compassion. Not yet anyway.
“Got it.”
“Good.” She nodded and realized a tear had fallen. She wiped it away, frustrated by its existence. “Maybe Shandee knows where they’re keeping the deceased.”
The hours lumbered by in the heat and misery. Using the protocols given to her, Monica started IVs on the sickest patients, and administered antibiotics in hopes that the minimum of infection-fighting medicine would help until Walt, Donald… or any doctor at all could come. The patients in the red room were simply too sick to send to the hospital. Monica knew they wouldn’t survive the trip on the Jamaican back roads.
Tauni had gone home to sleep and Trent was still roaming the clinic… somewhere. Trent opted to stay, and had the locals transfer the patients in trucks to the main hospital. All Monica had to do was wait for help. And pray their supplies held up.


Shortly after noon the next day two small miracles shed light in Monica’s world. Walt arrived in an ambulance, a real equipped medical transport, complete with a portable monitor and supplies. The second miracle was power. Real power, not the flaky kind that was knocked out with the wind. Monica would have been giddy if she’d managed anything other than a catnap beside the red room wall.
Like a zombie, she led Walt from patient to patient, explaining everything she’d done. “The antibiotics are dangerously low. We’ve managed a gram of Ancef on the worst of them, and a secondary dose on these four,” she said pointing to those in the room. “We ran out of tetanus last night. Our gauze, antibiotic cream, splints… everything is nearly gone. There’s not quite enough of anything to fill everyone’s needs.”
Walt shook his head and pulled her aside. “We need to get Mari to the main hospital.” Mari was a thirty-two-year-old woman who’d come in with a penetrating wound to her abdomen. Every hour her vital signs grew graver.
“I didn’t think she’d make the trip in the back of a truck.”
Walt patted her on the back, as if assuring her for her decisions. “She might not make it anyway. I can’t operate here. It’s worse than Donald thought. No one told him half the building crumbled.”
“Shandee assured me the only thing under the debris was a storage room.”
Monica hid a yawn behind her hand.
“When was the last time you slept?”
She was fading, and knew it. “It’s been a while.”
Walt tilted his head to the side in question.
“Back at the main hospital. But I’ve managed a few winks against the wall.”
“Is there any place you can go here? A quiet room?”
“Are you kidding me? The people are roaming the streets. Most have lost their homes. You saw it out there. If it wasn’t for Trent, I wouldn’t have managed even a shower since we arrived.”
“Who’s Trent?”
Monica glanced around the room searching for him. He’d left during the night for a few hours, and returned with coffee. Thank the heavens.
“The pilot. He’s around here somewhere.”
As if Trent heard his name being called, he emerged in the doorway.
Monica waved him over.
“Trent, do you remember Dr. Eddy?”
“Walt,” her colleague corrected her.
The men shook hands.