In Creed’s head, he had a thirty-minute mark. He thought he had enough gas in the engine to go that long. He looked over to check on Rou, who lay next to Brandy with her head resting on the woman’s chest. Brandy blinked regularly, which was the only sign she’d given of life, and to be clear, Creed found it prettydisturbing. He’d never come across that before and had no idea what to do in this situation.
Auralia lifted, and Creed went in “One and two and three—” There was a sudden convulsion below where he’d posted his hands. “Auralia, come to the head.” Creed pushed the woman’s hip and shoulder, shoving her over on her side, where she vomited brown water.
In both the Rochambeau and the Duchamp families, the drowning protocol had been hammered home and practiced on the regular. The children were allowed a somewhat feral existence, but they had to do it with skill.
This wasn’t the first time Creed had done CPR; it was the first time he did it on someone who had drowned.
Creed put a hand on Sheelah’s back and felt it expand and contract in a regular pattern. “I guess next we need to get her warm and dry.” He reached for his trauma shears and began to cut the hunting jacket and dress.
“Do you have any other clothes with you? Another Mylar blanket?”
“No, do you?” Auralia asked as she grabbed her camp towel and rubbed it over Sheelah’s purple skin.
Creed had packed an extra regular Cerberus compression shirt without the technology, and even though Creed had broad shoulders, it was still a struggle to get the fabric onto an unconscious woman with wet skin. The fabric kept rolling and clinging. He kept at it. It was the only thing he had to offer her.
“We have the black garbage bags from my car escape. We can make a shirt out of the one bag and then pull the second bag over her feet and legs, and duct tape them together.”
“If we cut the Mylar blanket from Brandy in half and share it between the two women, it’ll help. It’s good the rain stopped, or I’d be out here building lean-tos.” Creed looked through his bag, hoping there was a hand warmer or other itemthat he’d shaken loose throughout today’s rescues. “I have a beanie,” he said, coming up triumphant.
“Can you get dressed, please?” Auralia handed him the towel, which, despite being damp, was designed to keep wicking away water.
He started by reattaching his sternal mic and dropping his magnetic comms into his ear. “Creed. Back online.”
“Striker. Copy. Out.”
While he dressed, Creed looked at the slope slick with clay, at the women, and at the sun disappearing over the horizon. Some people would call the rescue afait accompli. Everyone was on shore and stabilized, and as much as possible, they were sheltered from the elements. These types of people would climb that hill, walk over the bridge before it washed out, and hike to a nearby house to call a ride-share.
It would be a case of self-preservation.
But Auralia would never have considered the possibility of walking away until she was in a position of do or die.
Creed had considered leaving the scene to get Auralia up and out because of his military training, where every possibility was on the table. Auralia and Rou were his family and his priorities. He wasn’t about to have them stay here, trapped between a rising river and an impossible slope in a dark moon.
It wasn’t going to happen.
If nothing else, he could get Auralia and Rou up top and then descend to tend to the victims as best he could.
Would Auralia go for that? He pulled his phone from the box. “Creed here, Mandy. Do you have our location up on your map?”
“I have you pinned on the southwestern side of the river, twenty meters ahead of the bridge pilons.”
Creed turned upriver to assess the distance. “That’s correct. I’m with Auralia Rochambeau. This is a sequence ofevents: At the time of the crash, the SUV ahead of Auralia Rochambeau’s went through the rails.”
“We have that documented. The white water rescue team was put en route.”
“Next, you should have Auralia’s car going in.”
“Affirmative,” Mandy’s voice was crisply efficient.
“Auralia’s car landed on the SUV. After shots were fired at the dell, Auralia witnessed three people get into that SUV. Eugene Morrison, wife Sheelah Morrison, daughter Brandy Morrison.”
“Copy.”
“As Auralia was affecting her self-rescue, Eugene Morrison from the SUV beneath her car, grabbed her leg, climbed himself to the surface, and swam to the north shore.”
“Copy.”
“He left his wife and daughter in the vehicle. When Rou and I arrived on the scene, Auralia had saved Brandy, the daughter, from the car. Here are Brandy Morrison’s vitals.” Creed took a moment to read off the notes that Auralia had been documenting, including breath count and pulse. “Brandy has her eyes open, but she’s non-responsive to verbal cues. She has a zero times four orientation. She presents as being in shock and hypothermic. We’ve done what we can, given our limited supplies. After being in the water for so long, her core temperature is likely in a dangerous zone. We’ve considered a fire.” It wasn’t a great idea for so many reasons. But down here, if they built it right next to the water, they might be able to get away with it.
