Rain Check

by Portwenn Hydra

Doc Martin and all of its characters, themes and plotlines are the property of Buffalo Pictures. This work of fiction is written for purely entertainment purposes and no infringement of any legal rights is intended or implied.

Chapter 12

Stewart sprinted ahead and I followed, the sack of medical supplies banging uncomfortably against the side of my leg. The bloody dog kept running to and fro between the ranger and me, barking excitedly as if herding a flock of recalcitrant sheep. I wanted to kick the beast out of the way but was too tired, suffering from sleep deprivation and lack of proper food. The last thing I remembered eating was a pasty snatched from the village hall kitchen the night before. Since then, I'd performed my first vascular surgery in years and Louisa had left to care for our son at High Trees. It now seemed a life time ago.

The rain was holding but the wind blew stronger than ever. A gust pushed me sideways as the dog made another foray under my feet and I stumbled, falling hard on the rain soaked ground. The sack slipped from my hand and vials of antibiotics and insulin, packets of medication and hydration salts tumbled into the muck. "Bugger!" I muttered, and hoisted myself up, gingerly moving the shoulder that had taken the brunt of the fall. That'll hurt like the dickens tomorrow, I thought, and bent over to see if anything was salvageable. The packets were soaked through and some of the vials had shattered on impact. I'd need to find more supplies on the way to High Trees – if James Henry continued with a fever he would at the very least need Calpol and hydration salts, at the worse antibiotics and intravenous fluids. This meant a stop at the village hall to restock, all because of the blasted dog.

The flea bag was staring at me tauntingly, a tongue depressor dangling jauntily from the side of his mouth. "Look at the mess you've made," I yelled, making a grab at the vermin but it skittered from my grasp, running up the hill in the general vicinity of where Stewart said to have left the jeep. I sneered and trudged uphill after it, dragging the now gritty sack in one hand.

It was slow going but I finally crested the hill and was relieved to see Stewart. He could easily have made a run for it, unstable as he was with PTSD fueled by the storm and delusions of talking squirrels and canines. The man was stark raving mad, but he was my one and only chance at getting to High Trees and my family.

The wind was worse on the headland, lashing off the harbor in gusts that made standing upright almost impossible. Stewart was gesticulating wildly for me to hurry, and I put my head down, doing my best not get blown off the cliff. It wouldn't do to end up splattered on the Platt like some errant road kill, especially after I've finally sorted out my priorities. It had taken a descent into my own personal pit of hell to finally realise Louisa and James Henry were more important than work or my own needs or wants. And more than anything, I wanted to be a good father to James Henry and husband to Louisa. If only she'd agree to marry me, I thought sadly.

Reaching the jeep, I yanked door the open, grateful to step out of wind. Stewart jumped in and said excitedly, "This is great Doc, just you and me on a mission. I'll get you to the missus and your little tike in no time."

"We're not married," I said, fumbling for the seat belt but only found a short strip of frayed nylon where the safety harness should have been.

"Anthony doesn't like restraints. Had to cut out the seat belts or he wouldn't ride with me. Don't worry, you won't need it." He flashed me a maniacal grin and I grabbed the roll bar with my good arm when the jeep pitched forward with a crash of gears that rattled my bones. I wasn't a religious man, but sent up a prayer hoping Stewart wouldn't kill us both with his questionable driving skills. But he finally got the gears into drive and we barreled past the surgery and down Roscarrock Hill, barely missing the uprooted hedgerow and rubbish bins blown in the road by the storm.

"I have to stop at the village hall to pick up supplies," I yelled over the whine of the engine.

"No problem, Doc. I'll wait for you outside. Too many people for my liking." I couldn't argue with that, not being a fan of crowds myself.

We were half way down the hill when Stewart glanced in the rearview mirror and slammed on the brakes. I pitched forward, sending shooting pains through my injured shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing?" I exclaimed, rubbing the sore spot with one hand.

"No need to use that language Doc," admonished Stewart as he jumped out into the driving wind. I muttered another expletive at the delay, and craned my neck to see what the deranged ranger was up to. Giving up, I whipped out my mobile to see if there was a signal. Still nothing. I was irritably shoving the phone back into the pocket of Bert's mac when Stewart returned holding the mangy dog.

"Couldn't leave him behind. Anthony wouldn't have liked that one bit." The critter wiggled out the ranger's arms and jumped on my lap, muddying my only patch of dry trouser. I shoved him off with a sneer but didn't say anything - best stay on the giant squirrel's good side. Auntie Joan would have had a good laugh at seeing me riding in a decrepit government issued jeep, sandwiched between her smelly terrier and a madman. Good lord, what had I got myself into?

Stewart managed to put the jeep in drive without hopelessly crashing the gears and we coasted down the hill. By then dawn was clawing through the angry clouds swirling over the village, and a misty fog had replaced the driving rain. It was the start to another day but I barely noticed; my thoughts were consumed with finding the quickest way to collect what I needed from the makeshift hospital and make a quick getaway to High Trees.

But the devastation that met us when we rounded the corner to the Platt startled me out of my ruminations. The winds and tides had taken their toll, and I was dumbfounded at the pile of jagged timber sprinkled with shattered glass that had once been the village pub. A lone fruit machine poked through the rubble, listing to one side and draped in strings of spindly seaweed. Most of the shops and dwellings were without windows, and shingles littered the cobblestone streets. But most impressive was the village's fishing fleet, scattered over the beach, battered hulls ripped open to the elements and ropes and netting strewn haphazardly over the sands. The only sign of life were the seagulls, diving in and out of the waves crashing over the twin break walls guarding the entrance to the harbor. My companion visibly tensed, and I suddenly recalled his house had been destroyed by a lightning strike a few hours before.

"Ah, Stewart, about your house," I started. He silenced me with the wave of one hand before weaving around the debris and accelerating past the school towards the village hall. "No worries, Doc. Anthony and me, we'll rebuild."

I nodded, making a mental note to speak with the council about Stewart's predicament. There would be emergency funding available to those affected by the storm, and I'd make sure the reclusive park ranger was well looked after. But for now I had my own pressing problems to deal with. We rolled to a stop in front of the hall and it was time to put my plan into action - grab what I need and run out again to be on my way to High Trees before anyone waylaid me for medical advice or worse, another surgical procedure. I jumped out and yelled above the keening gale, "I'll be right back!"

"Ok Doc, I'll be waiting," he answered.

I ducked against the wind, pushing open the worn paneled door before stepping into the hall. A fug of unwashed bodies, wet wool and over brewed tea stopped me in my tracks, and I tried not to gag as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. It appeared the electricity was still out and lanterns glowed dimly in the half light. I spotted Harrison across the room tending to an elderly man sitting in the designated triage area. The boy scouts were nowhere to be seen, but Peter was sitting next to the fisherman with the fractured leg, his gaze never leaving the rise and fall of the man's chest. I felt a stirring of pride for the boy, who I hoped would consider a career in medicine. He'd make a damn good doctor.

I stepped aside to let a group of anxious looking fishermen exit the hall, murmuring about broken masts and smashed rudders. They'd find nothing good down at the beach but I kept my own counsel, instead hurrying across the room towards Harrison.

"It's gout, Mr. Sweet. There's nothing to do but wait until the pharmacist gets in a supply of Indocin. Until then, keep it elevated. For Christ sake, where have you been?" The last was directed at me, and I pulled him aside before he started ranting in front of the patient.

I ignored his question and said, "I need supplies, IV solution, analgesics, hydration salts and antibiotics. My son is sick with a fever out at the nursing home and I need to get to him." And Louisa, I added silently.

He frowned. "Isn't Edith with him? She's more than qualified to care for a sick infant. And she'll pull supplies out of her arse if she needs to."

"That's not the point," I answered tersely, refusing to be side railed once again. "He's my child. I need to be with him." Harrison ran a hand through the week old whiskers sprouting on his chin and sighed.

"Okay but send me Eeds. I need her help with the preemies." He glanced at the area where the newly delivered mother and the new born twins were secluded. "We're giving them each a turn in the incubator, but I don't like the looks of the girl. By the way, I was able to raise the Royal Cornwall on the police radio and they'll try to send a helicopter as soon as possible."

"Bad idea," I said, rummaging for supplies in the plastic bins next to the triage area. "The helo won't be able to land in the cross winds and the beach is littered with debris. Better off getting a military all-terrain vehicle sent from St. Mawgan. Get me the radio." I didn't have time to get involved, but on the other hand felt a responsibility to the patients who continued to be technically under my care.

One of the boy scouts materialized and I snapped for him to fetch Penhale. The police constable raced out of the kitchen, a half-eaten pasty in his hand.

"What is it Doc? Is there an emergency?"

We were standing smack in the middle of a first rate disaster, but I didn't waste my breath stating the obvious to the blumbering fool.

"Give me your radio," I demanded.

"Come now, Doc. You know it's only to be used by authorized personnel."

"Give it to me now you simpering moron or I'll wring your neck." My outburst had the desired effect and Penhale handed over the radio without further ado.

I put the call through, and was told a military transport was already on its way. Before signing off I asked if the dispatcher could get a message to High Trees, but was told the lines and cell towers continued to be nonoperational.

The cold pit of worry that had settled in my stomach blossomed into full blown terror. What if things had gone from bad to worse and it was too late for James Henry? I stood rooted to the spot, knowing full well I wasn't being rational. But I couldn't help it, and Harrison asked as I was trying to calm my racing thoughts, "You okay mate? Can't say you look too good. But you were right about the transport. Just hope they get here soon. I'm worried about infection setting in Jacob's leg. We might run out of antibiotics and pain medication before the day is out."

"I'll send Edith here the minute I get to High Trees, but can't say when I'll be back. As for the supplies, you'll have to make do. I'll take two vials of pediatric amoxicillin and leave you the rest."

"Guess I have no choice," answered Harrison wearily

The injured fisherman started to moan, and Harrison scurried off with more pain medication as I shoved the radio in Penhale's hand and went in search of my medical bag. It was where Morwenna had left it, tucked under the trestle table that had served to operate on the injured fisherman. The all too familiar stench of blood filled my nose and I slowly breathed through my mouth until the nausea subsided and the world righted itself. I was overwrought and tired, a sure fire recipe for the haemophobia to rear its ugly head, but I couldn't afford to let it slow me down. "Must stay focused," I muttered, hurrying back to the triage area, case in hand. The faster I got the supplies sorted, the sooner I'd be on my way.

It only took a matter of minutes to stash what was needed in my case, and I was just about ready to leave when I heard someone moving behind me. "Doc? Is that you?" whispered a man's voice.

I swung around ready to tell whoever it was to go away, but the words never made it out of my mouth. There stood the surfer who had affair with colonel's wife a few years back, the man who had been skulking over the babies the night before. At the time I hadn't given him a second thought, preoccupied as I was with the preemie that had gone into respiratory distress.

"It's me, Ross," he said, glancing nervously behind him.

"What are you doing here? I thought you moved to Wales."

"I did, but it hadn't been my choice to leave, was it?" he answered.

Not only did the tosser have an affair with the colonel's wife, he had also availed himself of more than a few of the fishermen's wives. It all came to a head shortly after the idiot broke my nose in a pub brawl, and he had to skip town when the cuckolded husbands threatened to turn him into fish bait.

"Right. I have to be somewhere," I said, grabbing my medical case before starting towards the hall's exit.

"Wait! You have to help me," said Ross, trailing behind me.

"No I don't," I answered. We had both reached the door and Ross said urgently, "They're mine. Well I think they're mine."

"What on earth are you talking about?" I snapped.

"The babies. I think I'm the father."

This was ridiculous; I had no interest or time for the Claire Tyler reality show. "Congratulations. Now get out of my way."

"You don't understand. Claire said she never wanted to see me again, not after she found out about the nurse. But she has it all wrong. I never touched another woman while we were together, but she didn't believe me." I wonder why, I thought silently as he continued to natter on. "Then she stopped coming to Cardiff and wouldn't take my calls. I heard she was expecting, and I've been looking for her since. One of my surfer mates said she was coming to Portwenn to meet with Carrie Wilson. So here I am."

"What's in Cardiff?" I asked against my better judgment.

"My uncle runs the food service for the Dr. Who Experience. That's where we met, Claire and me. She'd bring in the Americans from London and I'd serve them fish fingers and custard. They're mad for the Doctor in America, if you didn't know."

I didn't know and couldn't care less. To my dismay Louisa was an avid fan of the show, and I would take myself upstairs to read while she wasted a perfectly good evening watching a grown man fly around the universe in a box fitted with fairy lights. It was barmy, but at this point I'd watch hours of the rubbish if it meant finding Louisa and our child safe and sound at High Trees

Speaking of barmy, I hoped Stewart hadn't taken off without me. I edged opened the door with the hope of making a quick exit when Ross wailed, "Where are you going Doc? I need your help – what if they are my babies and Claire won't let me near them?"

I looked at Ross's stricken face, and felt a pang of empathy for the man. Hadn't I been in the same situation a few months back when Louisa had wanted nothing to do with me? In hindsight, it had been terrible to be shut away from the woman I love and our unborn child, but this wasn't the time to delve into the past. I flung open the door and stepped into the storm. "Afraid you're on your own," I said over my shoulder, running to the waiting jeep.

We took off in a spray of mud and gravel, a light rain splattering against the windscreen. More rain would slow us down, and I fervently hoped it would hold off - the roads were barely passable as it was, rutted from the torrential flood waters. Soon enough we came upon a section of washed out road and Stewart yelled, "Hang on Doc!" veering the jeep down the embankment and onto the moor. The dog bounced onto my lap, and I pushed him away while trying to keep from being tossed against the side of the jeep. My shoulder was still hurting, and I grasped the seat with one hand while anxiously watching a bank of storm clouds roiling in from the east.

After a while Stewart found a stretch of unmarred road, and we were going at a good clip when he asked, "Do you have any of those digestives? I'm feeling a little peckish."

"Um Stewart, I think you should keep both hands on the wheel. Anyhow, we're almost there," I said.

"Come on Doc! It's free sailing from now on. The roads are clear at this elevation. See?" He took one hand off the steering wheel and the jeep stayed the course.

I sighed and started digging in the sack at my feet. Unlike the medical supplies the biscuits had survived the earlier tumble in the mud, and I was about to hand one to Stewart when he screamed "Duck! We're under attack!"

I abruptly sat up and looked out the windscreen to see something large and grey fly by- it could have been a bird or debris blown by the gale force winds. Stewart continued to scream and the jeep suddenly jumped off the road and down the verge, flipping over once before crashing in a ravine filled with flood water. Then there was the sound of an explosion and the world went dark.

Authors' Note

Happy Independence Day to all our American readers!