Since when did emergency physicians panic?

“Trent, you there?”

“I’m here.”

“They’re setting up ropes and a retrieving basket for Monica. What have you been eating, drinking?”

He fumbled with the radio, felt his fingers stiffen. “Monica had protein bars, some bagged food. We ran out of bottled water two days ago and have been drinking from the pool. Seems fresh enough.”

“Not salty?”

“Tastes like dirt, not salt.”

“No vomiting, GI issues, cramping?”

“No.”

“What about you? Do you feel sick?”

Trent kept a hand on Monica as he spoke. “Headache, a little stiff, but otherwise fine.” For a guy who’s been stuck in a cave for nearly five days, he was perfect.

“Listen, Trent. When they bring up Monica, fill one of those bottles with the water you’ve been drinking, and send it with her.”

Trent’s gaze fell on the pool. “You think it’s contaminated?”

“Won’t know until I have a lab test it.”

Someone above Trent shouted.

“I’m giving the radio back to Radar.”

Radar told him to watch for the basket that would carry Monica out. They were going to test the ground with lighter equipment first, and then lower one of the medics down.

Trent felt helpless as the minutes ticked in painfully slow motion. When the basket finally breached the opening of the cave, he caught it and unlatched the hook. He fisted his hand a few times and dragged it to Monica’s side. Next came a tackle box.

This time Trent couldn’t blow off the stiffness in his fingers. Maybe I’m not so great. He rubbed the back of his neck and watched the rope elevate above him.

Finally, a man dangled above the hole. They lowered him slowly. A few rocks trickled down to splash in the pool. Trent stayed by Monica’s side, talking to her although she didn’t respond with anything other than a moan.

The medic slid out of his harness and moved to Monica’s side. “I’m Miller,” he introduced himself.

“Trent.”

Miller took a quick look at Monica and said, “Damn, Queenie, what the hell happened to you?”

“Queenie?”

“Nickname. Some of us came from California to help search.” As he spoke, he removed one of those blood pressure things and a stethoscope. Miller ducked into his work and spoke into his radio. “Walt?”

“Talk to me,” Walt said on the other end.

“Blood pressure is 170 over 92, pulse 130, respirations 34.” He rattled off her skin color, and several other things that Trent wasn’t sure of their meaning. Miller attempted to wake Monica up, only to see her eyes open but then close.

Another man was lowered into the cave and pushed Trent away from Monica’s side. The only thing he could do was stand by and watch as they worked on her. They started an IV and cut off the bandage on her leg. From the box, they removed gauze, tape… and proceeded to place a quick bandage over her wound. They wrapped something else around her leg, immobilizing it.

“Trent?”

Trent shoved around the medic to see Monica’s eyes open and search for him.

“I’m here.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m here.”

She smiled and looked between the men. The guys working on her tried to talk to her, but she didn’t say anything else before closing her eyes.

Between the three of them, they managed to get her in the basket and secured. Trent looked around the room, and then remembered the request for water. He filled a water bottle and secured it inside Monica’s backpack, which he placed beside her.

He stroked her head again, and then she was being lifted into the air.

Trent held his breath until he knew she was safely aboveground.

“You’re next.”

It took another fifteen minutes for the rope to lower back down to ground level. And by the time Trent made it out, Monica had already been whisked away.

Chapter Eighteen

There came a point where life merged with death in a tug-of-war and the body in between could do nothing but grab a bowl of popcorn and watch. On one hand, death held a peaceful blanket of nothing left but an aching feeling that something was left out of place, something extremely important that needed to be done. On the other hand, there were the clawing nails of pain and anguish that instinctively you knew needed to be felt, to be triumphed over, in order to experience one more day.

That one day would be worth the struggle.

Images floated above Monica’s thin layer of consciousness. Trent smiled above her, his face lit up by the glow of his cell phone. He kissed her, told her they were going to be OK. Then she was floating, and the ceiling of the cave floated toward her and panic set deep inside of her. I’m not done, she yelled at whoever listened.

Faces floated around her, of those who she worked with and beside, her sister, her brother-in-law… strangers.

Where’s Trent?

The image of him inside the cave, alone, welled up inside her. “He’s in there. Help him.”

Then the water from the giant wave overtook everything and she couldn’t catch her breath.

She fought to find the surface.

Jessie held her sister’s hand throughout the flight. Not once did Monica wake long enough to utter one word that she was OK.

Walt flew with them to Florida where a team was waiting.

Jack kept telling her Monica would be all right. That she wouldn’t allow anything as simple as a broken leg to get the best of her.