Clouded Rainbow (5 page)

“We’ve got to get him out!” the younger brother yelled.

Both men went to work on Roger, grabbing and pulling at his outwardly lifeless body. As they exerted their strength, the rear of the SUV ignited into flames, which traveled under the vehicle toward the twenty-six gallon fuel tank.

“His belt! His seatbelt is still on!” roared the older brother.

Both knew that at any moment the SUV could consume them. However, that didn’t stop their drive, as they knew exactly what had to be done. Both brothers worked in tandem as the elder reached around and pressed the seatbelt release. Miraculously, it still functioned as the click of the metal clasp resonated inside the smashed cabin, bringing music to the brothers’ ears. The older brother unlatched the belt, while the younger gave the first yank. Roger’s body slid out like a baby from a birth canal. Both men focused on moving as far away as possible.

They dragged Roger fifteen feet, and then, in a sudden flash—boom! The vehicle exploded into a fireball of fury. At the same moment, an ambulance driving from the north side took wind of the brothers’ action. The ambulance screeched to a stop nearby as two paramedics burst from the back.

“Is he alright!?” the skinny paramedic yelled.

“I don’t know. We pulled him from that SUV,” replied the older brother as they all glanced at the burning remains of Roger’s SUV.

The other paramedic, the seasoned veteran, checked Roger for signs of life. He positioned his finger on his neck, felt something, but was not sure if the thump was a heartbeat or the vibration of the unstable bridge. He repositioned his finger.

“I have a pulse!” he finally blurted.

“We’ve got to get him to Saint Peters North Hospital,” his colleague shouted.

With perfect timing, the driver of the ambulance, a hefty paramedic, ran toward Roger’s body with a gurney. His job was to drive, something he deeply enjoyed for more than twenty years. But more importantly, he was the strength of the trio—the polished pistons in a well-tuned engine.

At the south-end of the bridge, bystanders feverishly helped the injured as more ambulances raced to the scene. Off on the side, Bill the swimmer finally reached the shore. He was breathing vigorously as his lungs tried to compensate for the extra hundred pounds of nearly dead weight. He finally made it, rolling Lois onto the muddy shore. Luckily, for Bill, he was not alone as a fellow Good Samaritan, an off-duty fireman, followed his breast-stroke from the bridge above. As the fireman neared the rocky path down to the shoreline, he saw a blaring ambulance racing toward him.

“Over here! Hey, over here!” the fireman screamed as he flailed his arms.

The ambulance slammed on its brakes near the pathway down to the beach.

“Hey! Down here!” Bill yelled from his spot as the fireman with a brother-sister team of paramedics hustled toward him.

“She’s in bad shape. She flew off the bridge. I don’t know which car she was in. Oh God, it’s a mess up there,” Bill explained to the three wide-eyed individuals.

“Let’s get her up the hill,” the female paramedic instructed.

Bill was exhausted, and her words seemed to travel right to his overexerted muscles. Fortunately, the random bystander helping was a brawny fireman, who had a fresh set of biceps to aid in hauling Lois’ debilitated body.

They carried her to the top of the hill as Bill took notice of her right arm bobbling like a spraying fire hose. It was fractured—at the least. The contorting arm made him cringe. As they reached the top, the driver, an aged paramedic, awaited with medical gear and a gurney. They placed her on top of the bed, which the rain had soaked, and then began to work on her. Lois’ wet neck gave the female paramedic trouble as she searched for a sign of a beating heart. As the crowd waited without speech, and without thought, the female paramedic finally spoke.

“I feel a faint pulse!” she exclaimed.

 The older paramedic positioned a suctioning device on Lois’s mouth and began to squeeze in and out, attempting to pull out the water sloshing around inside her lungs. He worked vigorously, as he knew the right amount of pressure and positioning that would expel the water. Suddenly, water oozed from Lois’ mouth. Her breathing resumed, albeit faint and muffled.

“That’s a good sign, but I don’t know if she’s going to make it,” explained the brother paramedic.

His sister looked at the two men covered in mud from their climb up the hill. “Are you guys okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be alright,” the fireman responded.

Bill was physically and mentally exhausted. He wanted to explain how he had taken a swan dive face first off the bridge, and then swam a hundred yards carrying the woman. He didn’t, and simply replied, “I’ll live.”

The aged paramedic looked at the wreckage on the bridge blocking traffic and realized that traveling through the air or water was their only option. He yelled to his colleagues, “The bridge is impassable! It’s a drive, but we’ve got to get her to Southern General Hospital!”

“More help is on the way. Thank you, guys,” the female paramedic said to the two saviors.

They watched as the paramedics positioned Lois’ unconscious body into the back of the ambulance. Her sexy dress was torn and a mixture of mud and blood covered her once radiating skin. The older paramedic jumped into the driver’s seat and punched the gas pedal. He pointed the vehicle’s nose back the way it had come.

Police cars, motorists, and ambulances flurried around the war zone on both sides of the burning wreckage. Nothing or no one was protected from the all-encroaching rain, which seemed to intensify with the lights and sirens. There was no way for anyone to use the bridge as it was intended, to cross the raging body of water. Since the only other detour was a fifteen mile drive east to the other bridge, the ambulances were forced to return to one of the city’s two major hospitals—one in the north-end, the other in the south-end. While the turmoil-filled area bustled with activity, two of these ambulances raced at similar speeds, were commanded by similarly experienced drivers, and held a respective member of the Belkin family. The major difference between these two speeding vehicles, however, was not that they held different unconscious occupants; it was the fact they traveled in opposite directions, moving farther and farther apart with each passing second. Just as the scorched photograph inside the remains of Roger’s SUV was torn down the middle, separating the couple, both now faced a much greater separation.

5

The sound of a heartbeat monitor filled the softly lit hospital room at Saint Peters North Hospital. The beats were slow and rhythmic and filled sixty seconds with precisely fifty-eight. Roger lay motionless on the soft bed, dressed only in a blue gown. Sensors were plugged into his body and a heavy bandage was wrapped tightly around his head. He entered the modern hospital exactly thirty-two minutes after the moment of impact and was treated by some of the city’s top emergency room doctors. Saint Peters North was the most modern hospital in the city and was tall and wide enough to provide most patients with a private room—a fact that led many individuals to request the state-of-the-art facility for a hospital stay. Of course, Roger didn’t have a choice; he was brought to Saint Peters North because it was the only option from the impassable bridge.

At nearly four p.m. the next day, like clockwork, two nurses entered to check on Roger’s condition. Melissa was new to the hospital. She was shadowing Judy, a twenty-three year veteran of the nursing profession.

“How’s he doing?” Melissa asked.

Judy checked his bandaged head. “His head will be hurting for a while. He’s lucky he made it. A father and son in a car out there didn’t even have a chance last night.”

Melissa raised her hand to her mouth at the mere thought of the chaotic bridge. Although she loved to help those in need, she hated to think about the pain and suffering others faced.

“Oh dear, how many total?” Melissa asked.

“So far, three dead and nine injured. Everything is just so hectic.”

“I can’t believe what happened. It seems what could go wrong, went wrong,” Melissa said softly as she took a deep breath. “Do we have all nine here?”

“No, we have five here. Southern General has four,” Judy explained.

Both leaned in to Roger and watched his chest rise with each involuntary breath. Melissa wondered whether this handsome man had a family. If he did, where were they?

Southern General Hospital, the historically older hospital in the city, housed a similar room with dim lights and hospital machines. This room, however, had even more critical devices plugged into the room’s occupant, Lois Belkin. Lois arrived forty-six minutes after the moment of impact as Southern General was across the city. She was covered in a blue gown and had a look of exhaustion on her face. Lois had more trouble with the E.R. team last night, as unconsciousness triggered her body to surrender to a comatose state.

Lois was fortunate to be staying at Southern General, not because of having a private room or high-tech equipment, but due to the full-time head nurse on the recovery floor. Nurse Ann Stevens was a nurse’s nurse, with her mothering and nurturing approach to health care and recovery. She firmly believed that it was just as important to talk to patients and offer them compassion whether they were awake or dormant. Although she was only thirty-seven, she had received the hospital alliance’s “Nurse of the Year” award six times in the past fifteen-years.

As Lois lay on the undemanding bed, mind separated from body, her heartbeats echoed off the stark white walls. The low-angled sun outlined the drawn blinds, which meant a stop by the floor nurse. Normally, one of Nurse Ann’s runners would do the honors, but she quickly took Lois under her wing after her late-night arrival. This was not because others on her floor were less important, but because no one knew Lois’ name. She was referred to as “Jane Doe” upon arrival, and Nurse Ann wanted to uncover the identity of the fallen angel left on her doorstep.

Nurse Ann led the new shift doctor into Lois’ lair as the gray-haired man checked his chart.

“…and this one was rescued out of the water. Do we have any identification?” the doctor asked.

“No, doctor. No pockets on the dress she was wearing,” Nurse Ann replied.

“Her chart says she has an arm fracture and had some internal bleeding, but it looks like the E.R. stabilized her last night. I hope she pulls out of the coma. There really is very little we can do now but wait,” added the doctor, who checked the sleeping woman listed as “Jane Doe” in his chart.

“The police were here earlier. I think they’re going to try to track down her identity,” Nurse Ann responded.

She leaned in close and placed her hand on Lois’ cheek, her radiating skin now pale and colorless. Lois’ face felt cold and lifeless to Nurse Ann as she combed the sleeping woman’s eyebrow with her fingertip. Then, she moved closer, positioned her mouth near Lois’ ear, and whispered softly like a warm morning breeze, “Who are you, dear? I’m sure someone out there misses you.”

6

The sun was setting outside Roger’s hospital window. The light lowered in his room, bringing it closer to darkness. His heartbeat monitor seemed to pick up beats. Then, Roger’s arm twitched ever so slightly as the beats escalated. The spasm went to his left leg, and then to his right. Roger opened his eyes. A sudden burst of images filled his mind. His black SUV, rainwater, his large office, and, most predominately, Lois in a black dress all spun around and tingled his brain’s neurons. Then, like a light bulb popping, all of the images vanished from his mind. Roger focused on the situation at hand and sat up. He looked around the hospital room with a baffled expression.