Fault Line (18 page)
Authors: Chris Ryan
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #General, #Juvenile Nonfiction, #Science & Nature, #Environmental Conservation & Protection
Paulo put down his pack, threw a light stick to her and in seconds was squirming past her to get under the slab. Although he was big, he was supple and quick. He saw a small body in pyjamas, lying on its back, mouth open.
The slab was so big, there was plenty of room underneath for two. Amber slipped in beside him and felt for a pulse. ‘Heart’s beating but pulse is weak.’
Paulo wiped the dust from the boy’s mouth and tilted his head back. Amber was shining the light stick so he could see. No obstructions in the mouth. Paulo held the nose with one hand to close the nostrils, put his mouth over the child’s and exhaled.
Amber was watching the chest. It should have risen as Paulo blew into the lungs. ‘Nothing’s happening. And the pulse is weakening.’
Paulo straightened up. There must be an obstruction. His mind raced. He had to move the child, but he didn’t know if there were any injuries. He remembered the ABC of emergency medicine: airway, bleeding and circulation. Get him breathing first. ‘Support his neck,’ he said to Amber.
Amber put her hands under the child’s neck. Paulo rolled him onto his side, thumped hard between his shoulder blades and pulled him back. Then he tilted the head back again and blew gently into the lungs.
‘They’re inflating,’ said Amber.
After a moment, Paulo slowed to see what happened.
The boy coughed, then moved normally, arching his body up. Paulo felt a huge wave of relief. No neck injury.
‘He’s breathing on his own,’ said Amber. ‘Shall we put him in the recovery position?’
Paulo rolled the child onto his side, then wriggled down until they were nose to nose. ‘Hello,’ he grinned. ‘Are you hurt?’
The child’s voice was faint. ‘No.’ He started to shiver.
That wasn’t good. Paulo called towards the opening, where several young faces were watching. ‘Can someone find a sleeping bag? We need to keep him warm. He’s in shock.’
A voice came back: ‘Can’t see one.’
This really wasn’t good. Shock was serious. If the boy’s body temperature dropped too low he could die.
There was a small commotion outside and the heads in the opening jostled for position. ‘Alejandro!’ called a voice. ‘Is he all right?’ It was Vicente.
‘Is he your friend?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you really good friends? Good enough to hug him?’
Vicente’s face went serious. He nodded.
Paulo beckoned him in. ‘Come here. He needs your body heat. I want you to cuddle him like this.’ He demonstrated, putting his arms around the child, his body close to Alejandro’s chest. Alejandro’s shivering eased.
Vicente squirmed into the hole and Paulo pushed him into position. Vicente looked a bit dubious.
‘Have you heard of the Malvinas War, the Falklands?’
‘Yeah,’ said Vicente enthusiastically.
‘Well, this is what the soldiers did to keep each other alive.’
‘Really?’ Vicente looked a bit happier.
Paulo and Amber moved out of the way and the little boy snuggled down next to his friend. As Paulo squirmed out he saw the big vase on the floor next to the doorway – the vase where he’d first found Amber. That’s where that plinth had come from.
‘When did you find this?’ he asked.
‘Just now,’ said Amber. ‘All this rubble fell away and we had to find something to prop it up with.’ She touched his arm. ‘Paulo.’ He followed where she was looking. Further along, right at the end of the space under the slab, a woman was lying in the rubble. Only her head and torso were visible; her legs were obscured by another big piece of concrete.
Paulo squirmed along until he was next to her. Her eyes fluttered open.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘How are you?’
‘OK, I think. Stuck.’
‘Well, let’s have a look,’ said Paulo.
Amber watched from the entrance as Paulo flashed the torch into the hold. A ragged lump of masonry lay across her thighs. It made deep creases in her sleeping bag. To do that it must be very heavy.
A voice whispered in her ear. Gabriel. ‘It’s Señora Zapata.’ His face was solemn.
Paulo was talking to the teacher. ‘How long have you been trapped like this? Just since the second quake?’ But he already knew the answer. The piece of wall must have fallen on her while she slept and she didn’t stand a chance of getting clear.
‘No. Since the first.’
Paulo whistled. ‘And it’s taken us all this time to find you.’
She sighed. ‘I’ve been sleeping, waking a bit, sleeping some more. I couldn’t exactly come out and help.’
Paulo needed to think. What should he do? The first quake was hours ago. He remembered the decision he’d had to make when they found the robber in the tomb. The robber had only been like that for a short time, minutes at most. This was different. After a few hours the damaged tissues would have built up a lot of toxins and when she was released . . .
Jose peered through the hole. ‘Is it safe to start clearing?’
Paulo didn’t want to tell her the truth of what a bad state she was in. He pretended to inspect the lump of concrete. ‘No, I think we’ll need a crane to lift that,’ he said.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Jose. ‘If a few of us get under that end—’
Paulo didn’t want to have a debate about it. The facts were nasty. He shimmied out of the space, got up and took Jose to one side. ‘She will die as soon as we release her. We must not move her until there’s an ambulance here.’
Jose looked at Paulo sceptically. He was at least thirty years older than Paulo – about the age of his father. He probably doesn’t see why he should take orders from a mere teenager, Paulo thought.
‘I think we should move it,’ said Jose. ‘She must be better off without that thing on her. I’ll move it if you can’t.’
Paulo bit his tongue. He realized Jose felt threatened by him and wanted to prove he was stronger. How could he convince him?
‘Please,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s how my uncle died. A piece of farm machinery fell on him and we moved it. The doctors said if we’d waited, they could have given him some drugs and saved him.’ The story was a complete fabrication but Paulo was desperate. ‘It was so horrible,’ he added. ‘I felt guilty for years.’ Maybe if he looked vulnerable the silly man would feel superior enough.
Jose tried to push past him.
In the blink of an eye Jose was on the ground, his arm up behind his back. Amber was sitting on top of him. Paulo watched wide-eyed. She leaned over and muttered in his ear, ‘Why don’t you listen, you macho jerk? This is life and death, not a weightlifting competition.’ She released him.
He got up slowly, his face mutinous. Amber stared back at him. Her face said, If you try that again, you know what I’ll do.
‘Suit yourself,’ said Jose in a surly voice. ‘But I think you’re wrong.’
Amber put her arm through Paulo’s. ‘We’d better go and reassure Señora Zapata. She’ll be wondering why we’re not moving her.’
Paulo crawled back into the small space.
‘Can’t you boys get this off me?’ said the teacher. ‘You look big and strong.’
Paulo took a deep breath. ‘Señora, I don’t think we should move this until an ambulance is here.’ He told a little white lie. ‘Just in case there’s some damage we can’t see.’
Señora Zapata nodded slowly. Paulo didn’t know how much she was reading between the lines.
A giggle came from Alejandro and Vicente.
‘I’ll stay here and keep an eye on these little monkeys, then,’ she said.
Paulo patted her on the arm. ‘If I’m not here and someone tries to move this, tell them they can’t unless they show you a blue flashing light.’ He squirmed out.
Everyone seemed to have come to a natural break. The children were sitting quietly with Beatriz and Pedro, sharing out sweets from Amber’s emergency supply. Jose and Imelda had flopped down against a heap of rubble. They looked exhausted. Amber dug into her insulin kit and offered them a pack of glucose tablets. ‘Try these. They’ll help you keep going.’
Imelda took the pack and peeled off a couple of the tablets. ‘Thanks.’ She looked up at Amber. ‘It’s easy to get upset when you’re tired.’
Amber shrugged. ‘No hard feelings?’
‘No hard feelings,’ said Jose.
Amber sat down with her back to the wall of the dinosaur gallery and closed her eyes. A half-peeled pack of glucose sweets dangled from her hand. She looked drained. Paulo settled down beside her. ‘Amber, don’t bite my head off but I have to ask – are you keeping up with your insulin?’
Normally Amber hated it when the others fussed about her diabetes, but she knew he’d made an important point. In an emergency it was easy to think so much about others that you forgot to look after yourself. ‘I’m fine. I don’t need to take it until morning. I’m keeping track of time, don’t worry.’
Paulo ran a hand through his hair. ‘Well, you’re doing better than me. I’ve lost track of time. I feel like we’ve been here for ever.’
Amber sighed. ‘I’m not physically tired, more emotionally. They’re getting harder to rescue and they’ve got injuries.’
Their voices had got quieter and quieter. Paulo whispered, ‘Señora Zapata . . .’
Amber leaned forward and put her head in her hands. Then she looked at Paulo. ‘Surely she must be in pain?’
‘I don’t think she is. I think shock is preventing her realizing how massive her injuries are.’
‘She said she’d been sleeping.’
Paulo shook his head. ‘I don’t think she’s been sleeping. More like having blackouts.’
‘So she’s being brave.’
‘Or it’s the shock talking. Hey, Amber.’
‘What?’
Paulo leaned closer to her. ‘Where did you learn to do what you did to Jose?’
Amber smiled, her eyes still closed. ‘Li taught me a few of her moves.’
Paulo grinned. ‘I thought it was in the Cheong style.’
A new sound echoed through the galleries. A sharp sound; a crack through the air.
Amber’s eyes were wide open again. ‘Those were gunshots.’
19 L
OOTERS
OOTERS
Alex and Li heard the shots and acted on reflex. They each clapped an arm around Señora Marquez and hit the deck.
Alex saw a pile of concrete; debris shuttled into the corner by the tremors. That would do as cover. ‘Over there,’ he hissed. ‘Keep low.’
Li kept her arm across Señora Marquez. She felt the woman hesitate. ‘Move,’ she said sharply, ‘or we’ll be shot.’
The woman didn’t argue. They squirmed on their bellies, pulling themselves along the dusty floor with their elbows.
Another shot rang out. It ricocheted off a piece of concrete.
But the three were safely behind the pile of rubble.
Li sat up. ‘Why would anyone be shooting at us?’
‘I don’t know.’ Alex put on the night vision goggles and peered out cautiously. The dark basement hopped into clear visibility like a channel change. He scanned upwards. Two figures were up in the entrance hall, glowing like radioactive snowballs.
‘Two shooters,’ whispered Alex.
Another shot. Then a voice through a loudhailer. ‘Come out with your hands up.’
‘And then what?’ hissed Li to Alex. ‘They shoot us?’
Señora Marquez was silent. Her eyes were darting from Li to Alex, wide with fright.
Alex looked again. ‘They look like police, so maybe they won’t shoot.’
‘Are you sure? They were shooting a moment ago.’
Alex checked. The shape of the holsters, the glint of light on the badge, the outline of the peaked caps. ‘They’re definitely police.’ He took the goggles away from his face and looked at Li. ‘We’ll have to go out there. If they come down here and flush us out that will be a lot worse.’
Señora Marquez swallowed. ‘Flush us out?’ she asked hoarsely.
Alex nodded to Li. OK? She nodded back. Alex shouted to the policemen, ‘We’re coming out. Don’t shoot.’ He took a deep breath and stood up, his hands in front of him and visible.
Li did the same.
A powerful torch stabbed out of the darkness, making their eyes water. It was high up; about the level of the entrance hole Li’s girder had made. It made the voice disembodied; they couldn’t see beyond the torch. ‘Come out into the open.’
They stepped forwards carefully onto the rubble. They could hardly see. Loose chunks of masonry wobbled under their feet.
‘We have orders to shoot looters on sight. For the last time, throw down your weapons or we’ll shoot.’
Looters? ‘We’re not looters,’ said Alex. ‘And we don’t have any weapons.’
‘You are holding a weapon in your hand.’
‘They’re night vision goggles.’ Alex stopped, got his balance and held them in the beam of light so they could be seen. ‘Not a weapon. We’re looking for survivors.’
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