“You realize your arm is fractured?” he said

His eyes held hers. “Of course you do.” There was a flash of something like respect in his steady gaze.

It was surprisingly difficult to break the eye contact until Jennifer found a way to change the subject. “What about you?” Fresh drops glistened on the dark grey rock at their feet. “If you keep bleeding like that I’ll be the one who has to deal with it.”

Silly, pointless tears were threatening to clog her throat. They were lost on a mountaintop and nobody had any idea where they were. They were all injured to varying degrees and a sub-zero night was about to enfold them.

“Tell you what. I’ll splint your arm and you can bandage up my leg.” Guy’s forefinger touched Jennifer under her chin and she was startled into raising her face to meet his gaze again. “We’ll look after each other,” he continued softly, “and that way, we’ll all get through this. Okay?”

“Okay.” For an instant, Jennifer really believed that everything would be all right. Together, they would survive.

Dear Reader,

I’m lucky enough to live in one of the most beautiful countries on earth. New Zealand is unparalleled for its forests, mountains and lakes, and they deservedly attract many people into our wilderness areas. Some places are untouched—wild and dangerous. Even people who think they are well prepared to deal with the terrain have to be rescued sometimes. Others have such an ordeal forced on them and they have to deal with it the best way they can.

I love survival stories so this time I took my hero and heroine—Guy and Jennifer—and crashed the light plane they were in on a mountainside in one of New Zealand’s most remote places. They have to deal with the situation and the terrain. Together. They also have to deal with the equally wild attraction that develops between them en route.

It was an unforgettable journey for Jennifer and Guy. I hope it will be for you, too.

Happy reading,

Alison Roberts

Her Emergency Knight
Alison Roberts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Sue—a woman of the mountains. With thanks for your help with the reseach and lots of love.

CONTENTS

Cover

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘MAYDAY…Mayday…’

‘Cessna Bravo Papa Tango…Three zero niner…Engine failure…’

‘Mayday…Mayday…’

The pilot sounded way too calm for the emergency to be real, Jennifer Allen decided. Mind you, she probably sounded equally dispassionate when calling for, say, a scalpel, buzz-saw and rib spreaders to crack someone’s chest in the ED in a desperate last-ditch effort to save a life.

Failure was virtually inevitable in such a scenario. Maybe a radio message requesting assistance for a light plane about to crash into the side of a mountain was a kind of formality as well. Part of a predetermined protocol. Something you did to demonstrate that you’d done absolutely everything possible when any real hope was lost.

‘Mayday…Mayday…’

The scenes were badly disjointed. The budget for this movie must have been incredibly low. A wingtip dipped sharply. A woman screamed. The rocks and scree slopes of the terrain were close enough for her to pick out a single alpine flower in a tussock. A mountain buttercup, the real name of which was a Mount Cook lily. That was a nice touch, Jennifer thought, showing the setting to be a New Zealand mountain. Despite only a split-second view, every white petal could be counted, framing the golden centre and looking rather like a floral poached egg. The image was frozen onto her retina by the shock of being suddenly plunged into…nothing.

How had they achieved that total blankness? And why was the theatre so damn cold? Jennifer reached out to pull her bedclothes more securely over her body but she was still too deeply asleep, trapped in the odd dream featuring a disaster movie. She tried to roll over, instead, but the rest of her body was as uncooperative as her arm had been. One foot had gone to sleep and Jennifer could feel the pins and needles of awakening nerves. But wasn’t her whole body asleep? The confusing notion made Jennifer want to give up and admire the buttercup again but the image had vanished.

The weight on her body was far more than bedclothes could account for and, strangely, it was steadily increasing. Jennifer didn’t have a dog and she had slept alone for years. The weight was now enough to be causing pain—even to make breathing difficult and she made a huge effort to surface from sleep and that lingering dream. To open her eyes and reach out to push the weight away.

Something was terribly wrong.

Jennifer couldn’t move. And what she could see only inches from her face had to be an illusion. Part of a dream that wouldn’t quit. The hand dangling in mid-air with the fingers an inch or two from the floor was that of a woman. The one that had screamed so piercingly perhaps? The skin texture was that of someone a generation older than herself and the rings that the hand displayed on its fourth finger included a beautiful eternity band of diamonds and sapphires.

The ring seemed oddly familiar and Jennifer could feel herself frowning. The whole hand was familiar, in fact. She had seen it—reaching out for another hand. An older man, with tufty grey hair and a cheeky grin was helping the woman climb into a small plane. Jennifer had already climbed in. She had the tiny back seat of the five-seater plane all to herself and she had been fastening her seat belt and watching the other passengers embark.

‘Mayday…Mayday…’

The realisation that the ‘dream’ had been a replay of reality, if not reality itself, hit Jennifer in a single blow. The cold was real. They had been travelling above the bush line over mountainous country. It had been a gloriously sunny spring day, but that was meaningless at an altitude that could collect snow all year round.

The hand was lifeless. Jennifer knew that as instantly as she understood the significance of the ambient temperature. The woman’s chest was the object weighing her down and there was not even a flutter of movement that might suggest the woman was still breathing.

Panic clawed at her throat. She had survived a plane crash and now she was trapped beneath a body that probably weighed twice as much as she did. How long ago had they hit the ground? Jennifer had no memory of the impact and she might have only been unconscious for a very short period of time. What had felt like a deep sleep and a drawn-out dream could have been only seconds.

Small planes carried a lot of fuel in their wings. Any moment now and something could ignite and explode.

Jennifer wasn’t about to survive a crash landing only to be burned alive, trapped in the tail section of a tiny aircraft, thank you very much. She twisted and pushed, trying to find purchase for her feet.

‘Aah-h!’ Her cry was one of frustration, pain and a not inconsiderable amount of fear.

‘Who’s that?’

Jennifer’s breath caught in a gasp as a mixture of relief and hope surged through her. She wasn’t the only survivor.

‘I’m Jennifer Allen,’ she called back. She couldn’t see anything past the body on top of her. ‘Who’s that?’

‘Guy Knight.’

‘Are you the pilot?’

‘No.’ The tone was slightly dry, suggesting either that being a pilot was not something he would have aspired to—or that Jennifer should have known who he was. Now that she had ruled out the person in charge of the plane, of course, she did know.

Guy Knight was the solid, younger man who had been seated beside the pilot in the front and, yes, she had seen this man before—had heard the name. He’d stood up to ask a quite intelligent question at the end of her presentation on managing cardiac tamponade yesterday. But he couldn’t really expect her to have remembered the name of one small town or rural GP out of the hundreds who had been attending the weekend conference on emergency medicine, could he? They had all seemed to want to talk to her. To ask questions. To pick the brain of one of the conference’s keynote speakers.

‘I need some help here.’ Fear sharpened Jennifer’s tone. ‘I’ve got a dead body on top of me and I can’t move.’

‘Are you injured?’’

‘I won’t be able to tell until I’ve got out of here. I feel like I’ve got an elephant sitting on my chest.’

‘Shirley always did have a bit of a struggle with her weight.’

A wild desire to point out who was doing the struggling now occurred to Jennifer, but the bubble of hysterical laughter remained trapped, and suffocated as quickly as it had arisen. The reminder that ‘the body’ was another person was unwelcome. Jennifer needed to focus on her own survival right now. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by empathy for any less fortunate people around her. She couldn’t help anyone else if she wasn’t OK herself, could she?

Dr Guy Knight didn’t seem to be in any hurry to live up to his name and offer assistance to a damsel in distress.

‘Bill, can you hear me? Bill?’

His voice was close and Jennifer remembered just how small the cabin of this tiny plane was. If a fire started, it would take no time at all for them all to suffocate. Or cook.

‘Who the hell is Bill?’

‘Shirley’s husband. He’s a GP in Te Anau. Always loved flying has Bill. He takes any opportunity to get his feet off the ground. I can’t get past this…Damn!’

Jennifer felt the crushing weight on her chest ease a fraction as she tipped sideways. She also felt the rocks on the other side of the thin metal skin of the fuselage scraping as the tail section of the small plane started sliding. For all Jennifer knew, she was about to go careening down a scree-covered slope and probably into some crevasse, thanks to the idiotic attempts of a wannabe hero to reach someone called Bill.

A tiny part of Jennifer’s brain was proud that even such extreme circumstances couldn’t push her past the point of self-control into a futile exercise such as screaming in sheer terror. Instead, she swore vehemently and proceeded to let Dr Guy Knight know precisely what she thought of him and his actions that were about to send her plunging to her doom.

‘For God’s sake,’ he snapped at last. ‘Will you shut up?’

A split second of astonished silence followed the interruption.

‘You’ve moved a whole six inches at the most,’ Dr Knight continued. ‘The tail is now wedged against a rock that’s not going anywhere for another million years or so.’

He was right, Jennifer realised. The terrifying movement had ceased completely. Her heart was still thumping erratically, however, and her breathing was a series of painful gasps. Shutting up was probably very sensible.

Guy Knight wasn’t shutting up. He also seemed to be attacking the plane wreckage in some fashion. Jerks and thumps reverberated through the surface Jennifer lay on.

‘I’ve only managed to get Digger out so far and he’s not looking too flash right now. You’ve got two people on top of you and if Bill was conscious he might be able to help me get him out.’

No wonder the weight was so restricting. Jennifer concentrated on her breathing. Slow and deep, she repeated over and over to herself. Hyperventilating wasn’t going to help and might already be responsible for the pins and needles now evident in her fingertips as well as her foot.

‘But he can’t help.’ Dr Knight sounded angry now and his tone was underscored by the harsh scrape of metal on rock. ‘Because he’s dead.’

Dragging sounds could be heard now and Jennifer felt her breathing ease a little more. The unfortunate Bill was clearly being moved out of the way. For her benefit. She should be feeling very grateful that someone was making what was probably an enormous effort to rescue her. Instead, an irrational anger generated by the fact that she was unable to help herself blossomed. It was heavily laced with embarrassment at her eloquent attack on the intelligence of the man she was now dependent on for assistance.

A few seconds’ silence fell when the dragging ceased. Jennifer heard a faint cough and then a groan from somewhere outside. Maybe Bill was still alive after all, unless the sound had come from the man with a name like some kind of construction machinery. Had it been Dozer? Guy’s voice cut through the thought, sounding low and reassuring—nothing like the tone in which he had been speaking to her. Then silence fell again, for long enough to alarm Jennifer.

Why hadn’t he come back? Was he coming back? Had venting her fear in such an aggressive manner made him decide to leave her where she was until a rescue team arrived? The comforting thought that an emergency locator beacon would have been activated by the crash, and help was probably already on the way, was enough to reassure Jennifer that she wasn’t totally dependent on the man moving around outside.

She didn’t give a damn what he thought of her or her vocabulary anyway. She could get herself out of here. With the weight of only one person on top of her now, it should be possible to inch her way clear, despite the sardine can of metal embracing her. She certainly wasn’t going to beg for help, that was for sure.

Twisting didn’t help. Neither did pushing. The limp arm Jennifer managed to shift flopped back, giving a muted thud as the hand hit the metal surface her cheek was pressed against. The gruesome reminder of just how serious this situation was punctured the renewed anger that had fuelled Jennifer’s efforts to extricate herself. The energising emotion dissipated, leaving a physical exhaustion that allowed fear a new foothold.

Her arm hurt. A lot. And it was still too hard to catch a deep enough breath. For one horrible moment Jennifer thought she was going to give up and burst into tears of despair.

‘You still OK in there?’

He had come back. Jennifer pressed her lips together and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, using sheer will-power to strangle the weakness tears would have betrayed.

‘Hey…Dr Allen? Talk to me.’

So he did care whether she was still alive. The concern in the voice was almost her undoing and Jennifer couldn’t trust herself to answer without giving in to a sob…or pleading for help.

‘Jennifer? Can you hear me? Are you all right?’

‘I will be.’ Jennifer pushed each word out carefully, still fighting for control. ‘When I get the hell out of here. Are you going to help me or not?’

‘Right away, ma’am.’ The tone was dry enough to stop just short of sarcasm. ‘I’ve just got to get Shirley’s legs out from under what’s left of this door.’

It seemed to take far too long. The wreckage rocked and Jennifer heard grunts of exertion and the occasional oath, followed by loud hammering as though a rock was being used on a piece of uncooperative metal. And then, finally, the weight was being removed, inch by inch. Jennifer found she could turn onto her back and use one arm, then her legs, to help push the burden clear.

She twisted back onto her stomach to wriggle clear of her prison but froze as she felt a large, firm hand on her leg. Her thigh, of all places, on bare skin—well above the level that her skirt should have covered.

‘Watch out! There’s a sharp edge of metal right here. I can’t bend it back any more. I’ve already tried.’

Jennifer moved her leg away from the hand but it wasn’t letting go.

‘Stop!’ There was a rough edge to Guy’s voice that made obedience unquestionable.

‘What now?’ If Shirley’s body had fitted through the gap, there must be more than enough room for Jennifer to follow safely.

‘There’s a first-aid kit that should be in there somewhere. It was kept underneath your seat.’

‘I didn’t see it.’

‘It’s red. Looks like a large flat sports bag.’

Jennifer could see something red, close to where her head had been resting in the pocket behind the original position of her seat. She would have to crawl downhill to reach it now, and interrupting her path to freedom was the last thing she wanted to do.

‘We’re going to need it.’ Guy’s tone was firm. ‘And I’m not sure I can fit in there.’

After a long moment’s hesitation Jennifer gritted her teeth and forced herself to inch back. She hooked her fingers into the piece of synthetic red fabric showing and pulled. A wave of pain sharp enough to make her head spin shot up her arm. The sensation inside her arm was unmistakable. A broken bone had just moved, scraping against another piece of bone in the process.

Jennifer flexed her fingers. At least she wasn’t showing any signs of neurological compromise. It might be her left hand but she still needed it to function perfectly in the job she did. Her right hand felt fine so she used just that one to pull at the bag again.

A query floated in from behind. ‘What’s taking so long?’

‘It’s stuck,’ Jennifer said shortly. ‘I can’t get it out.’

‘Try harder.’

‘I’m doing my best, dammit!’ Nobody had ever had to tell Jennifer to try harder. Anger resurfaced and Jennifer took hold of the bag with both hands again. She was angry enough not to care how much it hurt and maybe if she pulled in a straight line she could exert enough pressure without passing out from pain. The subsequent tug was enough to move the bag several inches from where it was wedged beneath torn leather upholstery and broken springs. ‘OK…I think I’ve got it!’

‘Good girl!’

Good girl? That kind of approval hadn’t been bestowed on her since she was a child. Jennifer Allen was thirty-four years old now and sought respect from others, not a pat on the head. So why did she feel so ridiculously proud of this achievement? And so determined to keep hold of the awkward red bag and complete its delivery? Pulling in a straight line seemed to be working. The pain was still sharp but there was no sickening crunch of bones that would provoke a vagal reaction.

The question of why she felt so proud of herself was still unanswerable by the time she reached the verge of freedom, but at least it provided a distraction from the feel of Guy Knight’s hands as they held her legs, then her hips, as she wriggled past a mangled door and shredded metal to find herself standing on solid ground.

Well, almost standing. Her legs felt like jelly and the light was bright enough to make her eyes water furiously so Jennifer kept them tightly closed. She clutched the red bag to her chest and didn’t protest as she felt herself being eased into a sitting position.

‘Were you knocked out?’ Strong fingers were palpating her head and neck.

‘I must have been, I guess. I remember waking up.’

‘Can you remember what day it is?’

‘Sunday. And it must be around 5:00 p.m.’ Jennifer was quite confident that her level of consciousness was not impaired despite her mild headache. ‘We got on the plane at four o’clock and that pilot reckoned it would take over an hour to get anywhere near Fox Glacier.’

‘It’s just after 5:00 p.m. now. Are you having any trouble breathing?’

‘Not anymore.’

‘Can you open your eyes?’

Jennifer complied, blinking and squinting as she tried to adjust to the glare of sunlight. The GP’s face was very close to her own. Dark eyes fringed with long, black lashes were assessing her from beneath a flop of equally dark hair. A minor laceration on his temple had stopped bleeding but had left a smear of blood now mixed with grime over rather angular features. A strong face, Jennifer thought distractedly. And not a particularly friendly one.

‘Does anything hurt?’

Jennifer felt as though she’d been run over by a train. Things ached and stung in all sorts of places but no single pain stood out as being unbearable. Even the arm she knew she had broken was just a dull throb now that she’d stopped putting stress on it. The man in front of her looked in worse shape. A nasty abrasion covered the side of one arm and bloodstains covered large areas of his white shirt and faded denim jeans.

‘I’m OK.’ Jennifer was still staring at Guy Knight’s legs. ‘Whose blood is that?’

‘Probably Bill’s.’ Guy didn’t bother to look down. He gave a brief nod instead. ‘You look OK.’ A hand reached out. ‘I’ll take that bag, then. Digger needs some help.’

Jennifer released the bag she’d forgotten she was clutching. ‘Who’s Digger?’

‘The pilot.’

‘Oh.’

‘This wasn’t his fault.’ The swift reaction to any implied criticism in Jennifer’s tone was sharp. ‘If Digger hadn’t coped with that engine failure as well as he did, we’d all be dead.’ Turning abruptly, Dr Knight walked away.

Jennifer pushed herself to her feet, pleased to find her legs working far more normally. She was standing in the space between a wing that had broken completely free and the bulk of the Cessna. The propeller blades of the single engine were crumpled almost beyond recognition and the front window and part of the plane’s roof had been torn away.

Lettering on the other end of the fuselage was distorted. B…P…L. No. An echo of Jennifer’s dream sounded in her head. That last letter was a T.

‘Bravo Papa Tango…Mayday…Mayday…’

Jennifer’s gaze slid involuntarily to her fellow passengers now lying beside the wreckage. She should check that they were, indeed, beyond any help a doctor could provide, but she didn’t move. Nobody could survive the kind of head injury Bill had clearly sustained and she had been in close enough contact with Shirley for long enough to know that she, also, was dead. Taking the time to confirm what she already knew was pointless. Turning her back on the fatalities, Jennifer picked her way over rocks and tussocks, following her new companion to where the sharply bent, sheared-off wing had created a kind of wall. The man with tufty grey hair lay behind the wing tip. Guy was standing beside him.

‘Digger? Can you hear me, mate?’

The response was incoherent and Jennifer’s view of the other survivor was blocked as Guy crouched in front of her. It was tempting to focus on the injured man herself but Jennifer needed a moment or two to orient herself first. This was no well-equipped emergency department with extra staff and facilities available automatically.

How ironic, to find herself in a situation like this, having travelled the length of the country to give GPs her expert advice on how to handle emergencies in precisely such situations. Now she was about to find out, at first-hand, what it was like to depend on limited resources and personal skills. Already she was listening for the sound of an engine. A buzz that would evolve into the chop of rotors as a rescue helicopter arrived to break the barrier of isolation.

No sound broke the overwhelming silence around them, however, and Jennifer’s gaze was drawn as involuntarily towards the horizon as it had been to the bodies beside the plane. She knew she would see a reality she would rather not confront. She also knew that it had to be confronted before she could move on. Scanning the clear blue of the sky in the hope of seeing a sign of movement offered no reassurance, but what she did see took her breath away.

Alongside and above for as far as she could see were the sharp peaks and valleys of the Southern Alps—a mountain range that provided a spine for the south island of New Zealand. Sunlight turned patches of snow into the blinding glare of mirrors and shadowed surrounding grey rock into inky darkness. Barren heights became the kind of tussock-covered terrain she was stranded on at present and bush-covered slopes fanned out below, a thick, green blanket softening variations in the terrain that were probably as sharp as those created by the towering peaks.

Jennifer had grown up in this country. New Zealand was home and it had always offered the security of being small and relatively isolated from the evils the rest of the world had to endure, but there was nothing remotely small about this landscape. The vast emptiness made her feel astonishingly insignificant.

No wonder people—and planes—got lost out here, never to be recovered. Even with a beacon sending out a distress call, Jennifer had no idea how long it might take for their exact location to be pinpointed. Maybe you had to fly within range to pick it up in the first place, and there were thousands of square miles to cover out there.

She was alone.

No. They were alone.

Jennifer swallowed past the constriction in her throat as she dragged her gaze back to the crouching man in front of her. She found herself the object of a speculative glance.

‘If you’ve finished admiring the view,’ Guy Knight said mildly, ‘I could use some help here.’

CHAPTER TWO

ANSWERING a call to duty was automatic.

Absorbing the reality of what had happened and where they were had taken only seconds, but the effect was an anchorage from which Jennifer could now function without distraction. Locking into the practice of what she was most competent to perform was a relief. A way of taking back control in the midst of catastrophe.

‘Airway?’

‘Clear.’ Guy Knight was opening the red sports bag. Jennifer could see neatly rolled packages and caught a glimpse of cardboard splints lining the base of the bag as some items were pulled clear. She should take the time to use one to splint her forearm, but it didn’t actually hurt too badly anymore and she could wriggle her fingers and even make a fist without causing more than fairly tolerable discomfort. It was a minor injury compared to what the man on the ground had suffered and, as such, it could wait.

‘Has he been conscious at all?’ Jennifer stepped around Guy’s feet to get to the other side of their patient. The two-inch heel of her shoe caught between two rocks but she ignored the discomfort the lurching movement provoked. She had obviously collected quite a few sprains and bruises, but hopefully the only broken bone was in her arm. ‘What’s his name?’

‘He was alert enough to get out of the plane by himself. He was obviously short of breath and said his ribs hurt, but it took a bit of convincing to get him to sit down while I went back to see about the rest of you. It wasn’t until I’d got Bill out and went back to check that I found him less responsive.’

He’d still gone back to help Jennifer out of the wreckage, however. She owed both these men the best she had to offer right now.

‘Name?’

‘Jim Spade. But he hasn’t willingly answered to anything other than “Digger” for as long as I’ve known him.’

Jennifer leaned close and rubbed a knuckle on the older man’s sternum. ‘Digger! Can you hear me? Open your eyes.’

The man groaned and his eyes opened briefly. He jerked his head and his hands moved, but any struggle to speak was clearly too much of an effort.

‘Breathing’s inadequate,’ Jennifer stated. ‘Do you carry an oxygen cylinder in that bag?’

‘No.’

‘Bag mask?’

‘No.’

‘Stethoscope?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ Jennifer’s tone implied that he had, at last, provided an acceptable answer. She took the item from Guy’s hands and flicked off the leather jacket draped over Digger’s chest. It was only then that she realised why Guy seemed so inappropriately clothed for the cold temperature. He had been wearing this jacket over his polo-type shirt when he had boarded the small plane.

Digger had a woollen plaid bush shirt on, the buttons of which only opened a short distance.

‘Got some shears?’ Jennifer queried.

‘Don’t think so.’

‘We need this shirt off. I can’t see what’s going on.’

Guy leaned forward. He gripped the shirt at the base of the neck opening and ripped the heavy fabric apart as easily as if it had been a light cotton.

‘Sorry, Digger. It’s about time you treated yourself to a new one anyway.’

The T-shirt beneath was ripped from the hem upwards and they both stared at the exposed, skinny chest for a moment as they assessed the chest-wall movement. Breathing was rapid and shallow. Then Guy pointed.

‘Look at that.’

‘Mmm.’ Jennifer gave no sign of being impressed at such rapid recognition of a life-threatening situation. ‘Paradoxical chest-wall motion.’

As Digger breathed in and his chest wall moved outward, an area on the left side sank inwards. With an inward breath, it bulged outwards. The movement was subtle because of the shallow respirations but that did nothing to diminish its significance. Several ribs had been broken in two or more places, resulting in a section floating free that would seriously compromise breathing.

Jennifer’s hand had gone straight to the area and she elicited a heavy groan from Digger as she stabilised the flail segment in an inward position.

‘We need some towels, or sandbags, or a pillow. And a wide bandage.’ Jennifer looked up to catch Guy’s raised eyebrow and an almost patient expression on his face. OK, so she wasn’t in her emergency department or even the back of a well-equipped ambulance. She could cope.

‘We’ll just use his arm as a splint, then. You do have some bandages, don’t you?’

Having the arm bound to the chest wall to keep the floating ribs in place made the rest of the assessment of Digger’s breathing more awkward, but his respiratory distress seemed to be easing slowly. A faint pink tinge crept back into his skin and his level of consciousness was improving. Opening his eyes, Digger tried to cough but the attempt was weak and broken by an agonised groan.

‘Let’s position him on his injured side,’ Jennifer directed, lifting the stethoscope from Digger’s chest. ‘He’s moving air but breath sounds are definitely reduced on the left side. We want to keep his uninjured lung functioning as well as possible.’ She sighed. ‘I wish we had some oxygen. Or at least a bag mask.’

‘Welcome to the world of front-line emergency care,’ Guy responded. He gently eased an arm beneath the older man as he spoke, tilting him single-handedly towards his left side. Digger groaned again. ‘Sorry, mate,’ Guy said. ‘We’re just trying to look after you. We’ll get something for that pain as soon as we can.’

‘You’ve got morphine?’ Jennifer was pleasantly surprised.

‘Only a few ampoules, but it should help for a while.’

‘Should be more than enough.’ Jennifer nodded. ‘How long will it take for a rescue helicopter to get to us?’

She didn’t wait for a response. Her patient’s airway and breathing were under as much control as they could achieve for the moment, and she wanted an assessment of his circulation. Picking up Digger’s wrist, Jennifer felt for a radial pulse. Frowning, she shifted her grip and tried again.

‘Barely palpable,’ she announced. ‘Have you got a BP cuff in that kit?’

‘No. We don’t have a defibrillator or a 12-lead ECG either.’ Guy was pulling his fleece-lined leather jacket back over Digger’s chest. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with good old-fashioned estimates. If the radial pulse is palpable, his systolic is at least 80, which is adequate for renal perfusion.’

‘Hardly adequate to administer morphine,’ Jennifer countered sharply. ‘And it wasn’t an unreasonable request. Sphygmomanometers hardly cost the earth these days, and many are quite small enough for any first-aid kit. I would have thought you’d use one often enough to make it an essential item even in a remote practice.’

‘My first-aid kit happens to be in the back of my four-wheel-drive vehicle and it’s perfectly well equipped, thank you. I keep one in Digger’s plane as backup simply because I often fly with him. The morphine’s not exactly legal with it not being under lock and key, but we needed it once and didn’t have it so we bent the rules.’

‘Oh.’ Jennifer didn’t bother to apologise for the incorrect assumption regarding Guy’s medical practice. ‘He’s a friend of yours, then?’

The smile was fleeting enough to be no more than a ghost. ‘You could say that.’

‘Has he got any medical conditions I should know about?’ Jennifer was running her hands over Digger’s body in a sweep for any obvious bleeding. ‘How old is he?’

‘Seventy-two.’

‘And he’s still flying?’

‘Any reason why he shouldn’t be?’

Jennifer met the angry stare without flinching. Only the obvious, she wanted to say. This flight hadn’t exactly been a huge success, had it? The steely glare from those dark eyes silenced her, however. If the pilot had any major physical problems like a cardiac condition, the civil aviation authority wouldn’t have renewed his licence. Assuming that Digger was still licensed, of course, but Jennifer wasn’t about to go there.

‘Any allergies that you know of?’

‘No. He had a hip replacement about ten years ago but he’s as fit as a fiddle otherwise. Not that he’d tell me in a hurry if he wasn’t.’ Guy was smiling down at the man lying between them. ‘He’s as tough as an old boot is Digger. He’s probably broken every bone in his body at least once, thanks to his early days as a rodeo rider. He cut his leg badly with a chainsaw once and sewed himself up with dental floss before driving fifty miles to come and find me.’

Jennifer’s grunt indicated either a lack of interest in anecdotes or concentration on her current task of palpating Digger’s abdomen. When she got to the upper left quadrant, Digger groaned and opened his eyes.

‘Hurts…’

‘OK, I’ll stop pushing.’ Jennifer was pleased to see her patient looking more alert. ‘You’ve had a nasty knock on your left side. You’ve got broken ribs and may have some internal injuries. How does your breathing feel now?’

‘Bit…better…’

‘You need some fluids,’ Jennifer told him. ‘Dr Knight here is going to put a needle in your hand now.’ She glanced up swiftly, having heard what sounded like a faintly incredulous snort. ‘Is that a problem?’ she asked evenly. ‘You have fluids in that kit. I was assuming you also had the IV gear to make use of them.’

‘Oh, I do,’ Guy responded.

‘Then what’s the problem?’

‘No problem.’ Guy clearly wasn’t going to be the first to break eye contact. ‘It was just your other assumption that I found kind of amusing.’ An eyebrow rose. ‘You’re used to being in charge, aren’t you, Dr Allen?’

Jennifer felt muscles in her jaw tighten as she watched Guy pull a tie on a package from the kit, unrolling it to reveal a good supply of cannulae, swabs, luer plugs and occlusive dressings. He had asked for her help, hadn’t he? As the most highly qualified person present, of course she had assumed command of the scene.

‘And you must be used to being a big fish in a little pond.’ Her smile lacked any hint of warmth. ‘Why don’t I put the IV line in?’

‘Works for me.’ Guy’s smile was just as chilly as hers had been. ‘I’ll go and see if I can find what we need to get Digger a bit more comfortable and keep him warm.’

‘Try the radio while you’re there,’ Jennifer instructed. ‘I’d like to know how far away rescue is.’

The arm she was encircling with a tourniquet moved as Digger raised his hand.

‘Stuffed,’ he said succinctly. ‘Radio’s…shot.’

‘I’m sure Dr Knight is responsible enough to carry a cell phone. If he isn’t, then mine is in my bag…wherever that is.’

The snort from Guy was unmistakable this time. ‘And how many transmitter towers did you spot on the way, Dr Allen?’

The sound from Digger could have been a groan. Or a growl.

‘Cut it…out,’ he said clearly. ‘You’re behaving…like children.’ Despite having to take short gasps of air every few words, he continued speaking. ‘My fault we’re here…Going to be a while…Rather not listen to…squabbling.’

Squabbling? She was never that unprofessional, especially when dealing with less qualified subordinates. And just how long was ‘a while’? An hour? Two, maybe? The puff of air around her lower legs as she moved was icy, and Jennifer realised that the chill was why her fingers seemed to be lacking their usual dexterity as she snapped the cap off a cannula.

It was ridiculous to be engaging in some sort of power play with a rural GP who apparently wasn’t impressed by her position or personality. Or maybe he was still in a huff because she hadn’t recognised him from yesterday’s question-and-answer session. None of that mattered a damn right now because none of them were safe yet. Not by a long shot. She bit her lip as she glanced up to see Guy turning back towards the wreckage of the plane.

‘If you can find something to prop Digger up with, I’d be grateful,’ she called. ‘Lying flat isn’t going to help his breathing.’

A hand was raised in acknowledgement but Guy didn’t turn his head so Jennifer didn’t bother to call out any thanks. She turned back to the task at hand.

‘Sharp scratch now, Digger.’ It took several seconds of careful needle-tip manoeuvring to gain access to a vein flattened by low blood pressure. ‘Sorry,’ Jennifer murmured. ‘I know it hurts.’

‘It’s nothing,’ Digger said. ‘And I’m the one…who should be sorry, lass.’

‘This wasn’t your fault,’ Jennifer found herself saying. ‘And according to Guy, if you hadn’t handled things as well as you did then none of us would have made it.’

‘Shirley?’ Digger’s voice was rough. ‘And Bill? Are they…?’

Jennifer shook her head, meeting his gaze only briefly before reaching for the luer plug to cap the end of the cannula.

‘Oh…God!’ Digger squeezed his eyes shut. By the time he opened them again, Jennifer had taped the IV into place and attached the giving set. She held the bag of saline aloft and opened the flow.

‘What did you say…your name was?’

‘Actually, I didn’t say.’ Jennifer’s smile was rueful. ‘Rude of me, wasn’t it? I’m Jennifer Allen.’

‘You’re the…big shot…from Auckland, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ The smile was matched by a dismissive head-shake. ‘Not that that’s going to be much help up here.’

‘I’ll be right.’ A faint smile tugged at Digger’s lips. ‘I’ve got…nine lives.’

‘But how many of them have you used up already?’ Guy had returned, carrying what looked like the back of a seat. He also held a bulky, pale blue item of clothing.

‘Put this on,’ he directed Jennifer. ‘The sunlight’s not going to be around much longer and it’s going to get bloody cold.’

The padded anorak looked inviting but Jennifer hesitated. Guy’s face softened almost imperceptibly. ‘Shirley doesn’t need it anymore,’ he said quietly. One corner of his mouth tilted. ‘And it should keep you warm—it’s big enough to go round you twice. Here, I’ll hold that bag while you put it on, then we can get this seat behind Digger.’

The instant warmth was comforting. ‘Thanks…Guy.’

‘You’re welcome…Jennifer.’

So they were to be on an equal footing. Fair enough. ‘What about you?’ Jennifer’s gaze slid to Guy’s bare arms. ‘Aren’t you freezing?’

‘I’ll go back and get Bill’s jacket in a minute. Let’s sort Digger out first.’

It wasn’t the first time Jennifer had gained the impression that this man was used to putting other people first. She felt a pang of remorse that she hadn’t enquired into his welfare before this. That blood on the leg of his jeans still looked remarkably fresh. If it had all come from Bill, why hadn’t it congealed and darkened by now? As soon as they made the pilot as comfortable as possible, she would make it her business to check Guy out properly. She’d need to do something about her own arm as well. Doctors really were the worst patients.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a foil sheet or something in that kit, do you? It would be good to get something between Digger and the ground.’

‘Sure.’ Guy handed back the bag of IV fluid but Jennifer didn’t want to stand and hold it.

‘Could you pass me some tape?’ She almost sighed at the now familiar look she received. ‘Please?’

Threading the tape through the hole at the top of the bag, Jennifer then looped long sticky sections in a figure of eight around the upper edge of the wingtip.

‘Bit fat for an IV pole but it’ll do the job.’

‘Good thinking.’ Guy held up two small packages. ‘Foil sheets.’

‘Great. Let’s get sorted, then.’

For the next ten minutes they were both kept busy. They wrapped Digger in the sheets to help prevent the loss of body heat. They used rocks to stabilise the cushioned seat back and got it into a position so that Digger was propped up to assist respiration but still tilted to his injured side. They also tucked him a little more closely into the windbreak provided by the bent wing. Hoping that the fluids were raising blood pressure enough to make it safe to administer some pain relief, Jennifer reached under the cover of the leather jacket to find Digger’s wrist.

She found her fingers grasped and saw a reminder of the cheeky grin she had noticed much earlier that day.

‘The lengths some people…have to go to…to get a pretty girl…to hold their hand!’

‘Hmm.’ Jennifer couldn’t help grinning. ‘You could have just asked! How’s the pain?’

‘Pretty…bad.’

The grin faded as she turned to Guy. ‘Much stronger pulse now. Do you want to draw up some morphine?’

‘OK.’ Guy’s gaze was fixed on Digger and for a split second Jennifer saw a level of concern in his eyes that was far more than a doctor would normally show for a patient. Even a patient who was a friend. There was a bond between these two men that made special care of Digger paramount and Jennifer found herself reaching for the stethoscope. While things appeared to be stable right now, this man had at least two potentially life-threatening injuries.

‘How’s the chest?’ Guy’s expression was nothing more than professional now as he drew sterile saline into a syringe to dilute the contents of the morphine ampoule.

‘Clear on the right. Still moving air on the left, but I think the breath sounds have diminished since the last time I listened. A pneumothorax is pretty likely, given those rib injuries. We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed that it doesn’t tension.’

Their eyes met with only the briefest of looks. Enough to acknowledge just how quickly this scene could turn to custard. Enough to confirm that they would both be doing their best to manage any complications—and to succeed.

A thin stream of fluid sprayed from a needle tip as Guy removed the air bubble from the syringe. ‘I thought I’d do this in five-milligram increments,’ he announced. ‘If that’s all right with you, Dr Allen?’

‘Works for me, Dr Knight.’

The formal use of titles was more an agreement to work as equals than the previous form of a putdown, but Digger clearly didn’t approve.

‘Cut the “Doctor” bit,’ he growled. ‘Anyone would think…that I was…sick or something.’

The first dose of morphine dulled his pain but not sufficiently to make re-examination of his abdomen a pleasant experience.

‘Definite guarding in the left upper quadrant,’ Jennifer informed Guy.

‘Talk English,’ Digger growled.

‘You’ve got a sore gut,’ Guy told him.

‘Could have…told you that, son…What’s…broken, then?’

‘You might have dented your spleen. Possibly a bit of your liver. They could be cut and bleeding a bit.’

Jennifer eyed the bag of IV fluid. One litre was almost gone and they only had two more. If Digger did have an abdominal bleed from a laceration to either his spleen or liver, they would be in trouble before very long. She pulled the remnants of Digger’s woollen shirt back to cover him before tucking the leather jacket in place.

‘Thanks…Jenna.’

Jennifer’s gaze lifted sharply. ‘Why did you call me that?’

‘Don’t like…Jennifer. Too posh.’

The approving smirk on Guy’s face was hardly subtle. Jennifer just stared as he leaned towards the older man.

‘How’s your pain now, Digger?’

‘Bit better.’

‘On a scale of one to ten?’

‘Twelve.’

‘What was it before that dose of jungle juice?’

‘Twenty-five.’

‘Right.’ Guy shook his head. ‘Never one to conform, are you?’

‘Nope.’

‘And maybe Jennifer likes her posh name.’

She wasn’t going to stay silent while they reinforced their branding of her as some sort of outsider.

‘It’s not posh,’ she informed them loftily. ‘Neither am I.’

Guy’s snort of amusement was outrageous.

‘What—’ Jennifer demanded, ‘is that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, come on! You’re the epitome of “posh,”’ Guy shot back. ‘Nice hair, nice clothes, great education. Top job in one of the country’s leading hospitals. Good grief, you even chose to wear high heels and a suit to go out sightseeing.’

‘This isn’t a suit! Just a skirt and top…and jacket.’

‘Looks like a matching set to me. They’d be getting the lace doilies out in the Glenfalloch pub if you showed up looking like that.’

‘I have no intention of setting foot in the Glenfalloch pub—wherever that may be.’

‘It’s my local,’ Guy said casually. ‘The best pub in Central and about the only building of any note between where I live and Wanaka.’

‘It’s my local…too.’ Digger sounded drowsy. ‘I’d give my left arm for a…pint or two…right now.’ He opened his eyes enough to give Jennifer an appraising glance. ‘You’re right, though, son…she’s a looker…Reminds me…of Diana.’

‘I was referring to the image of a city slicker,’ Guy said. ‘Not dishing out compliments.’

‘Cheers,’ Jennifer murmured.

‘Not that you don’t deserve a compliment, of course.’ Guy finished injecting the second dose of morphine. ‘I just wouldn’t want you to think I was hitting on you.’

‘Perish the thought,’ Jennifer agreed drily.

She shook her head. What a bizarre conversation to be having, given the circumstances. Or perhaps it wasn’t. The three of them had been hurled into dealing with an appalling situation together. The more of a bond they could form, the more they could help each other survive. Already Jennifer felt very differently towards Digger than she would have if he’d been lying on a bed in her emergency department. And for a few seconds there she had actually forgotten they were crouched on a mountaintop with a tangle of crushed metal and two dead bodies nearby.

‘I don’t mind being called Jenna,’ she told Digger somewhat hesitantly. ‘It’s just that the only person who ever did was my dad and…’ Her voice was annoyingly wobbly. ‘And it just startled me a bit, I guess. My dad died not so long ago.’ She cleared her throat. ‘It’s time we hung a new bag of fluid, Guy. No.’ She scrambled to her feet. ‘I’ll get it. You need to go and find that jacket. You’re turning blue.’

‘OK. I’ll see what else I can salvage at the same time.’

‘Try the…side hatch.’ Digger had his eyes closed again but was looking a lot more comfortable. ‘There’s a few…camping supplies.’

Moving seemed to have the effect of lowering the temperature sharply. Body warmth was quickly lost as the surrounding chill seeped under the folds of Jennifer’s skirt and sneaked down the back of her neck. Her toes felt numb and her fingers fumbled as they tried to remove the tab protecting the port of the saline pouch and insert the spike of the giving set. She stopped for a moment to blow on her hands and rub them together.

Looking past the edge of the wingtip as she taped the new bag into place, Jennifer could see Guy picking his way around the tail of the plane wreckage some distance away. The bent wing that had snapped off the Cessna and was now sheltering Digger had left a gap that the small plane seemed to have folded itself into. Was that why those sitting in the middle had fared so much worse than the others?

The hollow tail section that Jennifer had been wedged into was angled down to where the rudder was lodged between two huge rocks. Guy was using a much smaller rock to hammer at a flap that must be some kind of luggage compartment. Jennifer was pleased to see he was now wearing a dark blue padded jacket, similar in style to her paler version.

The light was changing by the time Guy returned. The sun was lower and faint wisps of cloud and snow pockets on distant peaks were tinged faintly pink.

‘I found a tarp,’ Guy said with satisfaction. ‘And a billy. I even found some food. The dried soup won’t be much use without hot water, but there’s a packet of chocolate biscuits.’

‘Never know when you…might need a Tim Tam,’ Digger murmured.

‘I’m going to collect some rocks,’ Guy told Jennifer. ‘We’ll use the wingtip as a support and anchor the tarp. If we can keep the three of us sheltered as close together as possible, we should get through the night OK.’

‘The night?’ Jennifer didn’t care that the word came out as a frightened squeak. ‘They’ll come before then, won’t they?’

Guy moved a hand towards the orange glow beginning to silhouette the mountains. ‘We’ve got about thirty minutes of useful daylight left. If they had any idea where we are, they would have flown at least close enough for us to see them by now.’

‘There is an emergency locator beacon on board, isn’t there?’ The way both men avoided her gaze was unnerving. ‘Isn’t there?’

Digger mumbled something about it all being his fault and then closed his eyes as though his pain level was again intolerable. Guy jerked his head.

‘Come and help me with these rocks.’

Jennifer followed him until they were out of Digger’s earshot. ‘Are you going to tell me what that was all about?’ she demanded.

‘They’ve been waiting for some new beacons to come in. About a month ago there was an incident that showed a certain batch of beacons to be faulty. A batch that included the one on this plane. They ordered the new ones straight away, of course, but so did everyone else. There was a waiting list.’

‘So…’ Jennifer’s tongue found a tiny laceration on the inside of her cheek as she absorbed the information. ‘What you’re saying is that the beacon on our plane may not have been activated at all. They might not even be looking for us.’

‘Oh, they’ll be looking.’

‘But?’

Guy sighed heavily as he reached down to pick up a rock. ‘But probably not around here.’

‘Why not?’

‘Sightseeing flights normally take in the lakes and the fiords. A round trip down to Milford Sound and back.’

‘So?’

‘So we went the other way. To find the glaciers.’

Jennifer picked up a rock and tucked it into the crook of her left elbow, making her arm ache with renewed strength. She ignored the pain. ‘Digger must have filed a flight plan.’

‘He did.’

‘Good.’

‘No. His plan was for the Milford run.’

‘So why the hell did he change direction?’

Guy had three rocks in his arms now. ‘Because someone important wanted to see the bloody glaciers, that’s why.’

‘This isn’t my fault!’ Jennifer glared at Guy but he was busy searching for rather scarce stones of a manageable weight. ‘He asked me what I wanted to see. How was I supposed to know? Nobody disagreed. Including you.’ Jennifer swooped on another rock but her arm protested viciously at the extra weight and both rocks fell to the ground. ‘Oh, dammit!’

Guy caught at her upper arm, his own rocks abandoned, as Jennifer reached down again. ‘Let me see that arm.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘Like hell it is.’ Guy’s fingers were on the now swollen flesh, having pushed up the sleeves of her anorak, jacket and soft jumper. His touch was gentle but firm and there was no way Jennifer could suppress her flinch as the ends of her broken bone moved against each other.

Guy caught her gaze. ‘You realise this is fractured?’ His eyes held hers. ‘Of course you do.’ There was a flash of something like respect in his steady gaze. ‘Were you going to do something about it or just carry on collecting rocks?’

‘We need the rocks.’ It was surprisingly difficult to break the eye contact, but the rocks in question provided a new focus until Jennifer found a way to change the subject. ‘What about you? That’s not Bill’s blood, is it?’

Fresh drops glistened on the dark grey rock at their feet. ‘We don’t have enough fluid for two people in shock,’ Jennifer reminded him. ‘And if you keep bleeding like that, I’ll be the one who has to deal with it.’

Her tone sharpened as she spoke. Silly, pointless tears were threatening to clog her throat. They were lost on a mountaintop and nobody had any idea where they were. They were all injured to varying degrees and a sub-zero night was about to enfold them.

‘Tell you what. We’ll get the tarp in place and then I’ll splint your arm and you can bandage up my leg.’ Guy’s forefinger touched Jennifer under her chin and she was startled into raising her face to meet his gaze again. ‘We’ll look after each other,’ he continued softly, ‘and that way, we’ll all get through this. OK?’

‘OK.’ For an instant, Jennifer really believed that everything would be all right. Together, they would survive. Guy’s strength was obvious, both emotionally from the reassurance he was able to impart and physically, which he demonstrated by picking up his own collection of brick-sized rocks and then the two Jennifer had found.

His gentleness became apparent a little later as he bound Jennifer’s forearm to a small cardboard splint, and his stamina was evident when he unflinchingly tolerated her ministrations to a badly grazed arm, a deeply lacerated calf and possibly a fractured ankle that had swollen far more than her arm had.

By the time they had finished their first aid on each other and had crawled inside the shelter they had created around Digger, a darkness more complete than Jennifer had ever experienced enfolded them. They checked their patient by the light of the torch Guy had had in his kit and then settled, one of either side of Digger, to help keep him warm.

‘Nice,’ Digger murmured. ‘If I just asked…would you hold my hand…again, Jenna?’

A few seconds later Jennifer heard loud crackling noises coming from Guy’s side.

‘Hey, Jenna?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Could I interest you in a Tim Tam?’

The bubble of laughter took Jennifer completely by surprise. Here she was, crowded into a makeshift low tent with two men who had been strangers to her only hours previously. They were facing what was probably going to be the longest night of their lives, but the danger they faced had somehow bonded them into a unit that felt more like a family than Jennifer had felt part of for many, many years.

A chocolate biscuit should be well down on any wish list right now. A helicopter would have been at the top of that list. A hot drink should have also rated pretty well but as Jennifer’s chuckle escaped she knew that the Tim Tam was enough for the time being.

And it was all they could do, the three of them, right now. To take each moment as it came and deal with it the best way they could.

Together.

‘Yes, please,’ she said softly into the darkness. ‘I’d love a Tim Tam.’

CHAPTER THREE

THEY just had to get through the night.

‘That red sunset meant it’ll be a nice day tomorrow, didn’t it?’

‘Should be.’ Guy wasn’t making any promises.

‘Shepherd’s delight,’ Digger said. ‘It’ll be clear.’

Clear skies with the wreck of a light plane glinting in sunshine on an exposed, rocky plateau. If they’d checked south of the great lakes already, they might well send someone looking to the north tomorrow. Maybe the locator beacon wasn’t one of the faulty ones. Rescue would come.

They just had to get through the night. Right now, that seemed an achievable goal. It was cold, certainly, but it didn’t feel dangerously so with the three of them huddled under the tarpaulin.

‘The tussocks were a good idea.’ Guy had used a pocket knife to slice off clumps of the strong mountain grass. It now provided a carpet for the floor of their shelter and insulation from the bone-chilling cold of the rocks beneath. ‘Are you warm enough, Digger?’

‘Feel like a chicken…ready for roasting.’ Digger’s breathing had a wheeze that was becoming steadily more audible, and he was still in enough respiratory distress to necessitate taking a breath after only a few words. ‘Never been wrapped…in foil before.’

‘You thirsty?’ Guy’s voice floated through the intense darkness.

‘Yes. Very.’ The sweetness of the chocolate biscuit had been wonderful, but trying to swallow had made Jennifer realise just how thirsty she was.

‘Actually, I was asking Digger. The snow I collected in this billy has finally melted.’

Jennifer bit back the automatic response that a patient awaiting surgery should be nil by mouth. It would be hours before they got Digger anywhere near an operating theatre. If they even managed to get him that far.

‘Let Jenna have it…’ Digger dragged in another breath. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Here it is, then.’ Guy sounded resigned. ‘I’ll pass it round Digger’s feet. I don’t want to spill cold water on him.’

The foil sheet encasing Digger’s legs crackled as Jennifer felt for direction. She could feel the warmth of Guy’s hand well before she touched it, and she would rather have taken hold of his fingers than the cold metal container they held. There would be more comfort to be found in the touch of another person right now than in assuaging her thirst. She passed the billy back after just a few swallows.

‘Can you pass me the torch?’

‘Why?’

‘I want to check the IV line and that bag of fluid.’

‘I can do that.’ The torch flashed briefly, running from the line in Digger’s arm up to a bag that looked ominously flat. It wasn’t quite empty, or blood would be visible, travelling back up the line, but it was going to run out pretty soon.

‘Have you got the stethoscope on your side?’

‘No.’

‘OK.’ Jennifer’s hands left the protection of the inside of her anorak again and she felt around near Digger’s head.

‘Don’t uncover him for any longer than you have to.’

‘I’m not stupid, Guy.’

‘I’m not doubting your intelligence,’ he responded calmly. ‘But I doubt that you’ve ever spent a night on a mountaintop before. It’s going to get a lot colder than this, and we want to conserve all the heat we can.’

‘Actually, I have spent a night on a mountaintop.’

‘Where? In front of some après-ski open fire? A nicely exclusive resort in the Swiss Alps perhaps?’

‘And you’re an expert?’ He wasn’t so far from the truth, but why did he have to make it sound like she’d committed some kind of crime? Jennifer’s hand curled around the stethoscope but she was now hesitant to expose Digger’s chest to listen to his breath sounds.

‘I know what I’m doing.’

‘He does at that,’ Digger said. ‘We’ve had a few…dodgy nights…here and there.’

‘Thanks to your desire to start a new gold rush.’ Guy sounded as though he was smiling. ‘We must have checked every obscure stream within tramping distance of every equally obscure airfield there is in these parts.’

‘Are you a goldminer, Digger?’

‘Just a…hobby.’

‘Digger’s a man of many talents,’ Guy said quietly. ‘Sheep shearer, rodeo king, deer hunter, top-dressing pilot, tavern manager and more recently a tour guide. He knows this country better than anyone.’

‘Wish I…knew where…the bloody hell…we are…right…now…’

The difficulty he had in speaking had increased markedly. As Digger forced out the last vehement word he made a gagging sound and was suddenly silent.

‘Digger?’ Jennifer twisted onto her knees, her head scraping the canvas above her. She had the earpieces of her stethoscope fitted and was pulling away the covering on Digger’s chest as Guy’s shadow loomed behind the bright beam of the torch.

‘We’ve lost any breath sounds on the left.’

‘Digger?’ Guy was unable to elicit any response. He swore under his breath.

‘Help me unbandage this arm,’ Jennifer directed. ‘And then find a needle. I think that pneumothorax has finally tensioned.’

‘I don’t have a chest decompression needle in this kit.’

‘A 12-gauge cannula will do. And a syringe.’

Unwrapping Digger’s arm from where it was splinting his broken ribs was awkward enough in the cramped conditions. Shifting their patient so he was lying flat took precious seconds and finding the equipment she needed was frustratingly slow.

‘I said a 12-gauge.’

‘Fourteen’s the best I’ve got.’

‘I can’t see a damn thing.’

‘That’s because you’ve got your head in the way.’

The canvas roof moved and Jennifer could hear a rock or two rolling away from anchoring their shelter as Guy moved further towards Digger’s head and pointed the torch straight down.

Jennifer felt the ridges of Digger’s ribs, counting to find the second intercostal space. Then she moved sideways until the needle tip was under the midpoint of the clavicle.

‘OK, here we go.’ She let the needle scrape over the top of the lower rib to avoid the bundle of nerves and veins beneath the higher rib. The pop as the tip pierced tissue over the air space could be heard as well as felt. Escaping air that had been trapped in the chest cavity, crushing the lung, came out in a hiss. ‘Got it,’ Jennifer said in relief. ‘Let me have that syringe and I’ll make sure I aspirate any more air or blood that’s trapped.’

‘What are you going to do with the needle?’

‘I’ll take it out and leave the catheter in situ. We’ll cover it with an occlusive dressing but it may need aspirating again. He needs a tube thoracostomy as soon as possible.’ Jennifer reached for the stethoscope but she could see that the lung was starting to function. The window of broken ribs was showing the disconcerting paradoxical movement again.

‘We’d better get his arm splinting that again.’

‘Hang on just a second.’ Jennifer was positioning the disc of the stethoscope below Digger’s clavicle. ‘I’ll listen to his chest and check his abdomen quickly first. How’s his LOC looking?’’

‘He’s coming round.’

Digger was conscious again by the time they had him propped back up, leaning towards his injured side. He was also in pain.

‘I’ll draw up another dose of morphine,’ Guy decided. ‘Your turn to hold the torch, Jenna.’

‘Sure.’ Jennifer flicked the beam upwards. ‘We need to hang another bag of saline as well.’

Except it wasn’t just another bag. It was the last bag, and it was going to be totally inadequate to replace the blood volume being lost internally if the increasing tension of Digger’s abdomen was anything to go by. With the added stress of lacking oxygen due to respiratory distress, the shocked state Digger was already in would rapidly worsen. It was highly likely to become irreversible. And there wasn’t a damned thing either of them could do about it.

The morphine made Digger a lot more comfortable, but his level of consciousness gradually decreased over the next hour or so. He could speak a little more freely now, but his thoughts were wandering and after a time of bitter self-recrimination for the accident and fatalities Digger seemed to forget where he was.

‘I’ll have a whisky, thanks, Di…Bloody cold tonight, eh?’

‘Sure is.’ Jennifer pulled the folds of the pale blue anorak more tightly around her and drew her knees up to her stomach. ‘What time do you think it is, Guy?’

‘I’ve no idea. I’ll check my watch the next time we use the torch.’

‘Ah…Diana,’ Digger murmured. ‘The goddess.’

‘Who’s he talking about?’ Jennifer whispered.

‘The woman he was in love with for years.’

‘Oh?’ Something in Guy’s tone left a question unanswered.

‘She was also my mother.’

‘Oh.’ Jennifer frowned in the darkness. ‘So, is Digger your father, then?’

‘Closest thing I ever had to one, anyway.’

‘Stepfather?’

‘No.’ The conversation was clearly over and silence fell until Digger’s voice startled them both.

‘Oi! What the hell…do you think you’re doing? Come here, you little bugger…and bring that back!’

‘It’s only us, Digger. Guy…and Jenna. We’re here with you.’ Guy’s voice was reassuring but Digger seemed oblivious.

‘I have to get up at sparrow’s fart…I don’t need some thieving kid…taking off with my smokes…’

‘Smoking’s bad for you, mate. You knew it was time to stop.’

‘Don’t need a snotty-nosed kid…telling me what to do…Just wait till I talk to…your mother…’

‘Did you steal Digger’s cigarettes?’ Jennifer found herself smiling. ‘Were you on a crusade or trying a life of crime?’

‘I was only twelve. A life of crime seemed a good idea at the time.’

Guy was probably in his mid-thirties now, so he had known Digger for a very long time. A father figure. Jennifer remembered the glimpse of anguish she had seen on Guy’s face when he’d first confronted the extent of Digger’s injuries. Now he was lying close to someone he loved, and that person was dying. As if to emphasise her bleak thoughts, Digger mumbled something completely incoherent and lapsed into silence. Jennifer swallowed hard.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly into the darkness a minute or two later.

‘What for?’

‘That I can’t do more to help Digger.’

There was a long hesitation before the response came. ‘Not half as sorry as I am.’

Jennifer shrank a little further into the folds of her anorak as the depth of feeling in his words echoed in her head. Had that been a personal slight? Did he expect a consultant in emergency medicine to be able to perform some kind of miracle? She shook her head, dispelling the faintly paranoid notion. Given the bond that existed between these men, it was far more likely that the comment was a bitter reflection on his own inability to provide assistance.

The sounds of Digger’s breathing filled the tiny tent. How long would his injured lungs manage to struggle on, trying to provide enough oxygen to keep cells alive? Jennifer looked upwards. She couldn’t see the bag of saline in the darkness but she could picture the steady drip of fluid entering Digger’s veins. It was such inadequate treatment for the condition he was in.

If the internal bleeding continued, he would enter irreversible shock within the next few hours. Lack of oxygen-carrying red cells would cause the major organs like kidneys and heart and brain to fail. If they had been in an emergency department, it would be so easy to do what was needed. X-rays and ultrasound. Aggressive fluid replacement. A proper chest decompression. A quick trip to Theatre to have the source of the abdominal blood loss fixed.

The isolation of their situation was suddenly overwhelming because it was going to cause someone’s death, and there was absolutely nothing Jennifer could do about it. Her sigh was heartfelt.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing.’ Nothing new, anyway. Jennifer sighed again. ‘Everything,’ she corrected herself. ‘This is so frustrating. I know what should be done and there’s no way of doing it. It’s…just awful.’

‘You must be pretty used to awful things. How many cases a day would you put through your ED? Dozens? Hundreds?’

‘Somewhere in between. But that’s different. Sure, we lose patients and it’s awful sometimes, but at least we’ve done everything we could and we get to save people who wouldn’t make it without us. People like Digger.’

The silence suggested that Guy didn’t want to discuss Digger’s obviously bleak prognosis. When he spoke, he almost sounded as though he was having a conversation at a cocktail party.

‘So, what’s the most awful case you’ve ever had to deal with?’

‘It’s never nice to lose a patient. You must know that.’

‘It’s different for me. I know most of my patients on a personal basis. Even something as mundane as a cardiac arrest is awful, but it doesn’t happen too often fortunately. You’d get far more interesting things to deal with. So what’s the worst you can think of?’

‘This isn’t exactly a happy topic of conversation.’

‘Maybe I don’t feel happy,’ Guy responded. ‘Or maybe I need to think about other people who are even less fortunate than me. I’m curious anyway. You have a very different perspective on medicine than I do these days, so it must take something pretty major to stand out as being memorably awful. Humour me. What constitutes really awful for you?’

This, Jennifer wanted to say. Lying beside someone who could be saved and isn’t going to be. Having the person who probably loves him more than any other lying on the other side. Being connected by their physical proximity and the enormity of their predicament. Knowing that when there was absolutely nothing more they could do for Digger, the distraction of caring for someone else would be lost and she would have to face the fear of her own chances of survival.

Instead, she drew in a deep breath and spoke quietly. ‘There was this woman a couple of years ago. Lucy, her name was. She was thirty-five and she and her husband had been desperate to have a baby for years. It took about six attempts but IVF finally worked and she became pregnant with twins. Seven and a half months pregnant. They went out shopping for a double buggy and while they were walking along a path, Lucy spotted this puppy in a pet-shop window. She stopped abruptly and turned to have a look, but this kid had been coming up behind on a skateboard and he barrelled into her.’

Jennifer paused to take another breath. Digger mumbled something and jerked his head but then lay still again.

‘And?’ Guy prompted. ‘What happened? Did she miscarry?’

‘No. She stumbled and fell sideways into the path of a car. Severe head injury but she was still alive when she arrived in ED. She arrested shortly after arrival so I decided to do an emergency Caesarean to try and save the babies. Her husband, Matt, was right outside the door of the resus room.’

Even now, the memory was enough to create a painful lump in her throat. What had she been thinking of, agreeing to tell such an awful story? Jennifer blinked hard and doggedly carried on.

‘It was a circus. We had dozens of people rushing in and out. We had to tube Lucy and keep CPR going. We had obstetric and paediatric and neurology staff arriving, and every time the door swung open Matt got a glimpse of what was going on. He saw his wife being cut open and his babies being resuscitated. And then…then I had to go and tell him that we had failed. He’d lost everyone—his whole family. His whole reason for living.’

Long seconds ticked by before Guy broke the new silence. ‘That’s worse than awful,’ he said finally. ‘It’s a truly heartbreaking story.’

‘You did ask,’ Jennifer reminded him.

‘OK, so tell me about the best case you’ve ever had,’ he commanded.

‘There’s been lots of those as well.’ Jennifer was thankful to turn her thoughts to something positive. Maybe the reminder of just how dreadful events could be for others hadn’t been such a bad thing after all. ‘One of my favourites was a three-year-old girl who came in under CPR. She had fallen into a river but we weren’t sure whether she’d arrested because of drowning or hypothermia. It was the middle of winter and she was unbelievably cold.’

‘A “not dead until you’re warm and dead” case?’ Guy suggested.

‘Absolutely. It took thirty minutes to get her core temperature above 30 degrees Celsius and she was still in asystole. Her parents were quite convinced she was dead. We defibrillated her finally. It took three goes but we got her back.’

‘Brain damaged?’

‘No.’ Jennifer was smiling into the darkness. ‘She came into the department a week later with her parents, carrying a big bunch of flowers for me.’

‘Have you got kids of your own?’

‘No.’

‘Planning on some?’

‘That’s a rather personal question. Why—are you?’ ‘Definitely not.’

‘You sound very sure about that.’

‘I am. I like my life just the way it is. There’s no space for kids in it.’

‘So what makes you assume I want a family?’ Jennifer was frowning. Did she want a family? It wasn’t something that had been more than a fleeting thought over the years. A thought that was easy to shove on the back burner due to the precedence her career had always taken. ‘Not all women are born with the desperate need to reproduce. Maybe I’m just as sure about it as you are.’

‘You just gave me the impression that you’re fond of kids, that’s all.’

‘How on earth did you reach a conclusion like that?’

‘Both your worst and best cases involved babies and children.’

‘I guess those cases can be more memorable. Maybe it’s more of a tragedy to lose babies and children than older people who have had a chance to live life.’

‘Like Digger, you mean?’

‘No, I didn’t mean that.’ Jennifer’s tone softened. ‘Digger’s obviously special. He reminds me of my dad.’

‘Because he called you Jenna?’

‘Not just that. There’s something else there. An independence maybe. Or courage, or a sense of humour. An ability to face whatever has to be faced without making a big fuss about it.’

Guy grunted. ‘You’re not a bad judge of character.’ Jennifer could hear him moving. ‘Hey, Digger? Did you hear the nice things Dr Allen was saying about you?’

There was no response from Digger. Jennifer moved as well, to wriggle her hand inside the coverings and find Digger’s wrist.

‘His radial pulse isn’t palpable,’ she said quietly. ‘Blood pressure’s dropping.’

‘He’s not responsive,’ Guy added. ‘And I don’t like how shallow and rapid his breathing’s getting.’

Digger was tilted towards Guy’s side of the tent and as Jennifer was tucking his arm back under the leather jacket and foil sheet she found him tilting even further. Startled, Jennifer opened her mouth to say something but then realised what was happening. Guy was taking the older man into his arms.

‘It’s OK, mate,’ he was saying softly. ‘I’m here, Digger. I’m not going anywhere.’

This time tears formed that rolled down Jennifer’s face. Would someone hold her like that when she was dying? And speak softly in such a loving tone? There was a gap beside her now, where Digger’s back had been.

‘Come a bit closer,’ Guy instructed. ‘We need to keep as much body heat in one place as we can. Pull the tarp in around us if you can.’

So Jennifer found herself pressed against Digger’s back again. She could feel his uneven breathing beneath her cheek. She could feel the erratic heartbeat a long time later when his breathing settled into a rhythm that suggested the end wasn’t far away. They huddled together as the minutes, then hours passed. The cold was numbing and attempts at conversation gradually faded into simply waiting.

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