Calamity

Martin looked sharply at Ian. "You have first aid supplies? Mine are depleted, but I can get my case…"

"I'll bring what I have!" shouted Ian, "I'll, erh," he looked at Sandy, who stood expectantly in the doorway, "we'll meet you there!"

"I'll get your case from the cottage, Martin! Meet you there!" I started to dash away and found Martin keeping pace.

"Let's not run, Louisa," he panted. "Just a steady pace to the scene. It will do no good if the attending doctor, erh, doctors, are too out of breath to help!"

I slowed my pace slightly to a half trot. "So, how do you think you'll get on with Ian in this situation?"

"We'll see," he sneered. "He should be capable. Ought to be!"

"Oh Martin! Can't you give the man at least half a break? You can be so hard on people at times."

"Yeah. I suppose. But my criticism is deserved, usually." He looked up hill as we crossed the Platt, the flat space at the harbour, then and headed uphill. "Ah! There's Penhale's police Rover on scene."

"Martin, while I'm getting your case should I pick up anything else?"

"Sheets and blankets perhaps." He started to run when Penhale saw us and started to wave hurriedly. He ran ahead past the Post Office to the street side of the school. "And hurry, Louisa!" he shouted and sprinted the twenty-five yards ahead.

There was something hanging on the wrought iron fence, which divided the street from the side of the school building. Martin and Penhale conferred and started to move. I got to them and they were holding a man up, who was upside down with a leg caught on the head-high fence. A long wooden ladder lay on the ground, with several rungs broken off.

"Quick, Louisa! My case!" He shouted to me as I jogged past with various bits of me anatomy wobbling in disturbing ways. I got the front door open, picked up some sheets and two blankets from the linens, took the doctor bag in hand and ran back to them.

It was worse than I'd thought. The man on the fence, the one on the roof from earlier, had a leg impaled on the fence. "Oh, God! Martin, is he?" The victim was older, a cap flung to the ground dressed in a gray striped boiler suit. His arms hung below his head like a grisly scene from some horror movie.

"No, he's unconscious! One leg is caught, the other run through by this bloody fence! Your bloody fence!" Martin answered. "He also has a bruise on his face. Must have struck it on something."

"Doctor? How long can we let him hang there like this?" Joe asked.

Martin shook his head. "He'll be alright unless there are other injuries."

"Ah. Well, Doctor, the dynamic duo are back in action!" chuckled Penhale as if he was enjoying the situation.

Martin craned his head around. "We need more light!"

I had to look away then and wondered how Martin would deal with the gore I could see. It was enough to make me feel nauseous. No telling how Martin would deal with it. I dropped the case and blankets and backed away.

Joe Penhale called to me. "Louisa, can you get into my vehicle and turn it so the lights are on the accident? The keys are in the ignition!"

I did as he asked, backing and turning, parking the Rover so it's headlights lit the scene. People were now starting to congregate as the bad news spread. Portwenn has had its share of accidents but this was bound to be seared into memory for years. As the Rover's lights swept across the side of the school building, I saw another crumpled figure inside the fence, half in and half out of one the window wells, where the school was depressed below street level.

"Martin!" I shouted, "There's another one! Inside the fence!"

Martin turned and I saw his face turn pale in the dim light. "Good God! Two?"

Ian Exley trotted up at this point and went into action. He dropped a medical bag and a duffle onto the ground. "I'll take that one! Louisa, can you open this gate?"

I swung a gate in the fence open and we got access to the second victim. It was a young man, in his thirties perhaps, and he was bleeding from the mouth, lying on his chest, one arm visible.

"We need to stabilize his neck, first! Need a neck brace of some sort."

"Shouldn't we leave him for the ambulance crew?"

"No." He checked a pulse. "Thready and slow – probably shock." He rummage in his duffle. "Need to roll him over, but I'm afraid to move him! What can we use for a neck brace?"

"I know the thing." I pulled my mobile from my purse and dialed. When a voice answered I said, "Mrs. Tishell! This is Louisa, up by the school! There's been a dreadful accident and we need a neck brace, perhaps two! Yes? Thanks!" I flipped the phone closed. "Three minutes. Sally Tishell is on the way."

"Good! This poor fellow is starting to rouse," he said.

The man on the ground was moaning, which rapidly rose into a scream. Ian tried to hold him in place, but he thrashed about onto his back.

"Oh my God! Look at his arm," I said. He'd been laying on it. The left arm was clearly broken with bloody bone poking through shredded skin.

"Martin!" yelled Ian. "I've got a compound forearm fracture over here!"

"Well, this one," answered Martin, "is thoroughly stuck! The bloody fence is right through his lower leg and is stuck between the tibia and fibula."

Just then Sally Tishell came bustling up. "Oh, dear!" she said. "Doctor Ellingham, I've brought several neck collars, bandages and surgical tape as well! Where do you want them?"

"Over here, Mrs. Tishell!" called Ian.

Mrs. Tishell stepped through the fence past where Joe and Martin were supporting the impaled victim. Sally dropped down next to me. "This is dreadful, Doctor Exley. What can I do?"

"Let's stabilize his head and neck, first." The man on the ground groaned and tried to fight us off. "You're under care!" Ian spoke sharply to the man. "You've had an accident!" He turned his attention to me and Sally. "We need to carefully put a collar on his neck, just as you are wearing, Mrs. Tishell. And we need to do it slowly and smoothly!"

Martin started yelling again. "We need tools! A bolt cutter and probably wrenches too! Louisa!" he went on, "Call Bert Large, would you?"

I dialed the restaurant and the suave voice of Bert Large answered. "Large Restaurant - where we serve the finest in Cornish delicacies! How may I help you? May I take a reservation request?"

"Bert! It's Louisa, up by the school! There's been a dreadful accident here on the street side. We need a large bolt cutter! Got one? Wrenches too! And bring Al as well!"

"Yes!" he must have turned his mouth from the phone but I could still hear him. "Al, drop everything! I don't care a fig about the dinners, boy, or the diners! The Doc needs us! Is the tool box still in the van? Yes? We're on the way, Louisa!" he rung off.

"Bert's on the way with tools, Martin!"

Martin looked at us through the fence. His face was somewhat pale.

"Martin! Are you doing ok?" I called.

"So far," he answered me then turned his head and vomited.

"Doc? Still the blood thing?" asked Joe Penhale. "I thought you were over that - the job in London and all that. How can you be a surgeon, if you keep doin' that?"

Martin half wiped his mouth on his shoulder. "Yeah. Still the blood thing. And no, no surgery – I'm staying here."

That made me turn and look at Martin. There he was holding his arms over his head, with red blood trickling down his suit coat and shirt - a real charnel house.

I could see Penhale nod his head in the half light. "Good for us, doc. Good for us!" he said.

Martin saw me looking at him and he smiled. What could I do? I smiled back.