Cold Grave (2 page)

He handed across a couple of drink vouchers. ‘We apologise for the inconvenience.’ His smile revealed fluorescent white teeth.

‘Is that it?’ Martin was incredulous.

‘I am only permitted to give you two vouchers.’

Martin breathed and his nostrils flared. ‘What happens tonight?’

The Jamaican man tapped into a computer. ‘I’ll have a security guard patrol that deck. You have a great day now.’

At least that was something. Anya touched Martin’s arm. Maybe the purser was right. It made sense that the first and last nights of a cruise would be the rowdiest. No one could keep up that pace for fourteen days.

‘They’ll be asleep by now. We could go play loud music outside their rooms.’ Anya smiled, remembering the accommodation hall at university. A friend had once rewired the speaker system to play ‘Too Many Times’ early the next morning after a ball. The number of angry sore heads proved it had been effective.

‘Maybe if you get seasick you could knock on one of their doors?’ Martin said. ‘You should have heard them carry on about a girl vomiting inside one of their rooms.’

Anya gestured for Ben and the trio caught the lift to the pool deck. Before Anya’s towel hit the lounge chair, Ben had slid into the pool. Martin took the opportunity to go for a run on the deck above.

The sun had risen but had no heat in it. A fresh breeze caught Anya’s hair as she pulled it back into a tie. Wisps at the side escaped and gusted about her face. Ben was already splashing in the pool and she imagined the holiday ahead – nothing to do but lounge around and enjoy time with Ben. She had forgotten what it was like being outside. Her body seemed to crave every hint of energy the sun bestowed.

At this hour, only a handful of people were up and about. A cleaning crew swept the wooden decks and collected rubbish from the bins. Towels were already stacked in readiness for the day ahead.

‘You coming in, Mum?’

Anya shed her sandals and lifted her dress over her head.

It had been a while since she had been in a swimsuit but, thankfully, her size and shape hadn’t changed, just succumbed to some gravitational pull.

She sat on the side of the pool and dipped her feet in. The cool water was refreshing. If she wasn’t fully awake, she soon would be. Ben dived under the surface and bobbed up like a dolphin. He had to be part-amphibian, she thought. For the moment they had the pool and quiet to themselves.

Anya closed her eyes to savour it. She missed Ben more than anyone knew and understood his desperate need to have both parents together sometimes. Just like she had wanted when her own parents divorced.

The peace was suddenly shattered.

‘ANNIE!’ Martin leant over the rail from the next level up. ‘Emergency! Need you up here now! Ben, you stay there.’

Martin disappeared. He had been an intensive care nurse and his tone was enough to alarm her. Whatever it was, he didn’t want Ben to see. ‘Dad and I need you to sit on the lounger. Don’t move anywhere, you’re like a statue,’ she said, pulling Ben out of the pool. ‘If you go back in the water, there’ll be no more swimming this trip. This is incredibly important, OK?’

Two elderly women in tracksuits saw the commotion and offered to sit with the boy.

Ben nodded and shivered. Anya wrapped a towel around his shoulders and another over the goose bumps covering his legs. ‘I’ll be right up there,’ she said, pointing to the balcony and throwing her dress on. Ben gave another understanding nod.

‘Call out if you need me.’ She thanked the women then rushed up the stairs, past a middle-aged man on his way down.

About ten feet along on the left, Martin was crouched at the open doors of a waist-high towel cabinet.

‘There’s no pulse. Help me lift her out.’

Anya couldn’t immediately see a face but bare feet protruded from the door.

She took the legs and Martin carried the limp top half of the young woman. Long, wet black hair obscured the face. They gently lowered her onto the hard deck and Martin commenced mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Anya began cardiac massage and the pair worked in synchronisation.

A passenger had attracted the attention of a cleaner who dropped his high pressure hose and ran over.

‘This is a medical emergency; we need you to call for help.’

The panic on the cleaner’s face showed he understood.

A minute later, an officer arrived with a first-aid kit. He took out a one-way breathing mask and introduced himself as William. Martin stepped away and used the back of his hand to wipe what looked like a small amount of vomit from his mouth.

‘Please, not again,’ William muttered, kneeling down beside the patient. He began blowing into the tube on top of the mask.

‘Does anyone know what happened?’ he managed in between breaths.

Anya continued the compressions, desperate for the patient to breathe. She paused to feel for a carotid pulse.

No pulse.

‘Come on,’ she urged, locking her hands together and pressing on the chest with short sharp bursts. After each breath, William listened for any spontaneous sounds from the mouth.

‘Med team’s on the way.’ Breath. ‘Should be here any second.’ Breath.

Anya was unsure who William was reassuring.

A woman in a crisp white officer’s uniform squatted to their side, and unzipped a large backpack. A security man asked a small group of observers to step back.

‘I’m Karen, senior nurse on board,’ she puffed. ‘What have we got?’

Martin spoke. ‘Young woman. Feet were sticking out of that cupboard. When I found her, she wasn’t breathing and had no pulse. We commenced CPR . . .’ he checked his watch, ‘four, no, five minutes ago.’

The nurse dropped to her knees and snapped on blue gloves.

Anya continued compressions, sweat beading on her forehead.

‘She vomited and may have aspirated.’ Martin wiped his mouth again, this time on the crook of one elbow.

‘Reeks of alcohol. Do you have any medical training?’ The backpack contained a small oxygen tank, which the nurse connected to a mask and bag. Working from the top of the girl’s head, she extended the neck and placed a Guedel’s airway over the tongue. With the mask in place, she held one little finger under the chin and the others on top. A few bursts of oxygen were delivered before she reached for the carotid with her other hand. Anya paused.

‘My ex-wife’s a doctor and I’m a trained ICU nurse.’

‘In that case, can you grab me a sixteen-gauge cannula? And you may want to put on gloves and take over this end.’

Martin positioned his hands over the mask and continued to squeeze air into the girl’s lungs.

With Anya on the right of the patient, the nurse moved to the left and extended the arm. ‘Veins aren’t good, but we’ll give it a go.’ She pulled the plastic sheath off the cannula with her teeth and pierced the skin. ‘I’m in,’ she announced. ‘William, can you peel off some tape from the roll.’

The officer quickly obliged and the access vein was deftly secured.

‘Do you have adrenalin, I mean epinephrine?’ Anya had never understood why America used different terms from Britain and Australia for the same medication.

‘And an automated defibrillator.’ She held a mini-jet for Martin to see.

‘One to ten thousand epinephrine.’ Martin confirmed the dose.

While Martin and Anya continued their physical resuscitation, Karen injected the young woman’s only hope of survival.

‘You OK?’ The nurse glanced at Anya who nodded and continued compressions, pausing only for Karen to cut off the young woman’s blouse, revealing a flimsy bra. She slid it to waist level.

Anya looked up. A small group had formed and were watching, some even taking photos. ‘Can we get anyone who isn’t helping back,’ she said loudly. ‘Can you use towels to make a screen?’

This young woman deserved respect and privacy.

The nurse shouted orders to security and a wall of towels went up around them. She used a spare from nearby to wipe the chest.

‘No piercings, no underwire. We’re good to go.’ Karen placed one gel pad on the right side, the other below the heart on the left. The machine charged and Anya knelt back and held her breath. The adrenalin had the chance to circulate. All eyes focused on the tiny screen.

‘It’s VF. Everyone clear.’

Anya felt relief. At least it was a rhythm that might be shocked back into a heartbeat.

The young body bucked with the electrical charge. Martin felt for a pulse and his shoulders tightened. ‘No output.’

The monitor showed a flat line.

Anya resumed cardiac massage, with aching arms and cramping fingers. The physical effort was exhausting. But she was not giving up. ‘What if she’s diabetic and hypoglycaemic?’

‘Could be, if she’s been here all night.’ Without hesitation, the nurse inserted a large pre-packaged syringe into the vein. ‘Fifty mils of fifty percent dextrose going in.’

A tall olive-skinned man in white uniform arrived. He was unshaven, hair tousled.

‘What happened?’ His voice was gruff, and his accent eastern European.

The nurse filled him in.

‘Give Narcan.’ He remained standing, arms folded as if in judgement.

The antidote reversed any effects of narcotics, in case the patient had overdosed on codeine, heroin or morphine. It would not cause harm and could just save her life. The effect would be immediate. For the first time, Anya hoped illicit drugs were responsible.

The needle entered the cannula and the Narcan was injected. Nothing.

‘Mum!’ Anya heard Ben call for her and turned. He had slipped behind the towel screen and was crying, clutching one of the towels. ‘I got scared. You didn’t come back.’

Martin continued to squeeze oxygen into the lungs via the bag. ‘Hey buddy, this lady’s pretending to be asleep. Just like when we practise lifesaving on the beach.’

But it wasn’t the scene that disturbed Ben; it was their absence. Anya looked for someone to help. The women in tracksuits were nowhere in sight.

William was quickly at Ben’s side. He turned him around and knelt down to his eye level. ‘There’s someone I know who would just love to play with you.’

He called over a female crew member who poked her head over the towels. She had a broad smile and introduced herself to Ben with an English accent.

After a word and a trip to the railing, William returned. Anya was relieved but the muscle fatigue and hand cramping were taking hold.

‘One of our best kids’ club counsellors is with your son. If you like, I can take over.’

By now, short of breath and strength waning, there was no argument. She slid to the side; hoping blood had circulated to the girl’s brain with each press on her narrow chest.

Around a dozen staff stood guard and talked into phones, while peering over the towels. So much for privacy and dignity.

The ship’s doctor knelt down and listened to the lungs. ‘Air and fluid is in both sides. There is much congestion.’

Karen closed then opened her eyes. ‘About to give more epinephrine, and then a diuretic.’ Again, she presented the labels to Martin for verification while he kept up the rhythm of squeezing and relaxing the bag.

Within a minute, William was perspiring with his effort.

‘We should open her chest,’ the doctor announced.

Karen remained calm but assertive. ‘We’re not equipped for open heart surgery in the middle of the ocean. We can handle minor surgery but not that.’

Martin checked for a pulse then glanced up at Anya. The monitor still showed a flat line. Someone had to make a decision.

Karen noticed the exchange. ‘How long?’

‘Twenty-three minutes.’ Martin had slipped back into his former role.

‘What is the exact time?’ The doctor demanded. He was about to stop the resuscitation and record time of death. Anya did not want to give up. The girl was young. She deserved every chance. So did her family. Especially on a cruise ship. Death was the last thing anyone expected on a family holiday.

‘How about Flumazenil?’ She blurted. It reversed the effect of benzodiazepines, like valium and rohypnol, a date-rape drug.