Don’t want to make a bad injury worse.’
‘I’m fucked beyond repair. Moving me around won’t make a damned difference.’
‘Best wait for the EMTs.’
‘Do as you are told, airman. Get me out of this chair.’
‘Afraid I cannot comply with that order.’
‘Come on. Don’t leave me scrunched like waste paper. I’m done, anyway you cut it. Lay me out, let me have a little dignity.’
She thought it over.
‘I’ll get the WALK.’
She fetched the trauma kit. Brought it up from the cabin below slung over her shoulder.
She threw it down.
Headrush. She lay a while and tried to recover her strength.
The back-frame of the WALK pack was a bunch of self-locking aluminium rods which snapped together to form a litter.
Frost assembled the stretcher and laid it on the flight-deck floor behind the pilot seat.
‘No two ways. This is going to hurt.’
‘Just do it,’ said Pinback.
‘Internal injuries, sir. It’s a concern.’
Tabloid horror stories from the New York subway. Commuter slips and falls as a train pulls into the station. Gets pinned between the subway car and the platform. Twisted at the waist like a corkscrew. So there he is, the besuited commuter, trapped but feeling fine, trading wisecracks with first responders. He waits for the fire department to show, tilt the train with a Hurst tool and pull him clear. He wants to call his employer, let them know he has been delayed, promise to work late to make up the time. It’s a glitch in his day, an anecdote to tell co-workers when he reaches the office. But MTA cops lay the hard truth: ‘Dude, you’re beyond help. Your spine is shattered, your insides are messed up. Moment we tilt this train, you’ll bleed out and die. Anyone you want to call? Any message we can pass on?’
‘Reluctant to move you around, Daniel. Might have repercussions.’
‘Want me to beg? I’m all-the-way fucked. Help me die, Lieutenant. Least you can do.’
Frost leant over the injured man and unclipped his harness.
‘Got to ask one last question, sir, before I pull you out the chair. Did you transmit a Mayday? As they plane went down, did you broadcast a distress?’
‘We were squawking on all channels.’
‘Did you get a response? Do they have our grids?’
‘No. Couldn’t raise a soul.’
‘Christ.’
‘Come on. Get me out of here. Make it quick.’
She put a hand between his shoulder blades and pushed him forwards. He barked in pain.
‘Want me to stop?’
‘No.’ Panting through clenched teeth. ‘Keep going. Get it done.’
She stood behind him and hooked her hands beneath his armpits. She slowly toppled sideways dragging him from his seat, across the centre console and onto the floor. They both screamed. His back. Her leg.
She caught her breath.
‘Finish it,’ he hissed.
She dragged him onto the litter. More screams.
She arranged tie-down straps, got ready to buckle him tight. He pushed her hands away.
‘We ought to get you rigid, sir. Put you in a neck brace.’
‘Forget it.’
She unclipped the drogue chute from his seat and put it behind his head as a pillow.
She crawled across the deck and sat with her back to the cabin wall.
Both of them pale, sweating, exhausted.
‘What’s the time?’ asked Pinback.
Frost looked out the cockpit windows. Long shadows. The sun heading for the horizon. The sky tinged red.
‘Late afternoon, heading into evening.’
‘What day? How long have I been here?’
‘The plane crashed this morning.’
‘This morning?’
‘You’ve been here fourteen hours, give or take.’
‘Feels like a lifetime.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, it does.’
‘What happened to your leg?’ croaked Pinback, gesturing to the splint clamped to her calf.
‘Took a knock when I punched out.’
‘Broken?’
‘No idea. Hurts like a son of a bitch.’
‘Cry me a fucking river. Give anything to feel my legs right now.’
‘Yeah. Well. Looks like we’ll both be eating hospital food a while.’
He nodded. Eyes
‘I’m fucked beyond repair. Moving me around won’t make a damned difference.’
‘Best wait for the EMTs.’
‘Do as you are told, airman. Get me out of this chair.’
‘Afraid I cannot comply with that order.’
‘Come on. Don’t leave me scrunched like waste paper. I’m done, anyway you cut it. Lay me out, let me have a little dignity.’
She thought it over.
‘I’ll get the WALK.’
She fetched the trauma kit. Brought it up from the cabin below slung over her shoulder.
She threw it down.
Headrush. She lay a while and tried to recover her strength.
The back-frame of the WALK pack was a bunch of self-locking aluminium rods which snapped together to form a litter.
Frost assembled the stretcher and laid it on the flight-deck floor behind the pilot seat.
‘No two ways. This is going to hurt.’
‘Just do it,’ said Pinback.
‘Internal injuries, sir. It’s a concern.’
Tabloid horror stories from the New York subway. Commuter slips and falls as a train pulls into the station. Gets pinned between the subway car and the platform. Twisted at the waist like a corkscrew. So there he is, the besuited commuter, trapped but feeling fine, trading wisecracks with first responders. He waits for the fire department to show, tilt the train with a Hurst tool and pull him clear. He wants to call his employer, let them know he has been delayed, promise to work late to make up the time. It’s a glitch in his day, an anecdote to tell co-workers when he reaches the office. But MTA cops lay the hard truth: ‘Dude, you’re beyond help. Your spine is shattered, your insides are messed up. Moment we tilt this train, you’ll bleed out and die. Anyone you want to call? Any message we can pass on?’
‘Reluctant to move you around, Daniel. Might have repercussions.’
‘Want me to beg? I’m all-the-way fucked. Help me die, Lieutenant. Least you can do.’
Frost leant over the injured man and unclipped his harness.
‘Got to ask one last question, sir, before I pull you out the chair. Did you transmit a Mayday? As they plane went down, did you broadcast a distress?’
‘We were squawking on all channels.’
‘Did you get a response? Do they have our grids?’
‘No. Couldn’t raise a soul.’
‘Christ.’
‘Come on. Get me out of here. Make it quick.’
She put a hand between his shoulder blades and pushed him forwards. He barked in pain.
‘Want me to stop?’
‘No.’ Panting through clenched teeth. ‘Keep going. Get it done.’
She stood behind him and hooked her hands beneath his armpits. She slowly toppled sideways dragging him from his seat, across the centre console and onto the floor. They both screamed. His back. Her leg.
She caught her breath.
‘Finish it,’ he hissed.
She dragged him onto the litter. More screams.
She arranged tie-down straps, got ready to buckle him tight. He pushed her hands away.
‘We ought to get you rigid, sir. Put you in a neck brace.’
‘Forget it.’
She unclipped the drogue chute from his seat and put it behind his head as a pillow.
She crawled across the deck and sat with her back to the cabin wall.
Both of them pale, sweating, exhausted.
‘What’s the time?’ asked Pinback.
Frost looked out the cockpit windows. Long shadows. The sun heading for the horizon. The sky tinged red.
‘Late afternoon, heading into evening.’
‘What day? How long have I been here?’
‘The plane crashed this morning.’
‘This morning?’
‘You’ve been here fourteen hours, give or take.’
‘Feels like a lifetime.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, it does.’
‘What happened to your leg?’ croaked Pinback, gesturing to the splint clamped to her calf.
‘Took a knock when I punched out.’
‘Broken?’
‘No idea. Hurts like a son of a bitch.’
‘Cry me a fucking river. Give anything to feel my legs right now.’
‘Yeah. Well. Looks like we’ll both be eating hospital food a while.’
He nodded. Eyes
Similar Books
