Chapter 14

Saturday 8:23 am

By the time that Mark arrived at Hilton Heights in the morning, Jesse was already there, and Sheldon and a team of his men were assessing the collapsed building. As Mark eyed the huge mass of rubble in dismay, Jesse approached with an uncharacteristically sombre expression.

"Have they found anything?" Mark asked anxiously.

"When they first started listening, there was some kind of scrabbling noise, but now it's silent. It may just have been rats but, well..." Jesse broke off, obviously torn between wanting to give encouragement and not wanting to raise false hopes that would be all the more cruel in the face of their destruction.

Mark understood his dilemma, but he was willing to have faith for both of them. "He's in there and he's alive," he said softly, but with determination, as if sheer will could make it so. He buried his own misgivings as deeply as he could. He knew the chances of his son remaining entirely unscathed in the collapsed building were almost nonexistent, and to be so close but still separated by tons of concrete, unable to render aid or comfort, was torture. To distract himself from further painful musing, he went to greet Sheldon who was dusting off his hands as he climbed off the wreckage. Mark had been impressed by his competence before, and was pleased that he was in charge of the rescue efforts.

Shelton held out a large calloused hand. "Dr. Sloan. Good to see you again. I'm sorry the circumstances are not more auspicious, but we will do our best to recover your son."

"Thank you so much for responding so quickly. Can you tell me what you're going to do?"

Sheldon was happy to explain the procedure. "I know how impatient you must be to find your son, but these things take time. Instability is a prime concern for us at the moment. The rains last night have turned dust to mud and lubricated the wreckage, increasing the chances of slippage. Our structural engineer has assessed the debris for risk of secondary collapse, and we need to shore up some unstable elements with lumber and telescoping steel braces.

"We try to assess the likelihood of areas containing survivors by looking at blueprints, the way the building came down, and the physical properties of the debris. The good news is that the dogs have possibly located a body, but they can't tell us if the person is still alive. I know you want to help, but please sit over there. I promise to inform you if we find anything connected to your son."

The wait seemed interminable, and Mark was grateful for the supportive presence of Jesse by his side. For once, the young man was silent, seeming to sense that not only were there no words that could provide solace in this situation, but also that Mark was in no mood for casual conversation. In a crisis situation, Mark was used to action, his skills always in demand. Sitting passively at such a juncture went against all his training and instincts. He remembered when Steve had been shot by Oz Tatum, his frustrated need to help his son had transferred into a need to be helpful, to do something useful, and he had spent time giving flu shots to the staff and other odd jobs. Inactivity merely left the mind free to dwell on the worst possibilities and conjure up correspondingly horrific visions.

His hands methodically folded a piece of paper he'd found in his pocket into progressively smaller pieces then unfolded it, repeating the routine until it resulted in a systematic shredding of the inoffensive stationery, but that was the only movement that betrayed the terrible struggle of fear and hope that raged within.

His eyes never left the scene in front of him where the rescue personnel labored on the site, working down through the collapsed levels like peeling the layers of an onion. It was painstaking work. If they moved too quickly, they could dislodge a piece of concrete and send it crashing down on anyone still alive in the rubble. Slowly, the cranes removed the giant slabs of concrete and steel beams on top of the building, then sat dormant as the team of workers picked over the smaller rubble, removing it with blowtorches, pick axes, wrecking bars and saws. As each layer was uncovered, they used dogs, fibre optic cameras and other imaging devices, hoping to reveal air pockets that might conceal survivors.

A fine drizzle started which grew heavier but, throughout the morning, there was no positive confirmation of a body, and Mark's tension grew. Every fibre of his being was taut with anticipation, knowing that an answer to the question that had burnt inside him for the past two days would soon be forthcoming. But knowledge was a two-edged sword, and it could impale as easily as it could free. The limbo of uncertainty would end, but, if Steve were indeed dead, the comfort of hope that he cradled so close would be sliced brutally away.

A sharp volley of barks split the monotone of droning engines, and, from the excitement it generated in the workers, it signified some sort of breakthrough. Mark was on his feet instantly and striding towards the rubble, Jesse close behind. Sheldon broke out of the group of rescue workers to intercept them.

"Is it Steve? Have you found him?" Mark's voice rose with the stress despite his struggle to keep it steady.

Sheldon held out a hand in a calming gesture. "The dog has found somebody, but the route he used is too small for any of my men to squeeze through. We can see only the top of his head with the camera, and he's not moving, but it's impossible to tell if he's dead or simply unconscious."

"So what do we do now?" Mark asked anxiously.

"Wait," Jesse interjected looking thoughtful. "Exactly how small is this tunnel?"

Mark immediately followed his train of thought. "Jesse!" he burst out, unsure even in his own mind whether his exclamation was a plea or a protest.

Sheldon obviously understood the significance of the question too, and he ran an assessing eye over Jesse's slim stature before nodding slowly. "It just might work," he mused. "However," he continued more briskly, "you have to understand the risks. If another aftershock hits, we'll only have 20 seconds of warning, and that's not going to be enough time to pull you out once you're inside. I can't guarantee the building won't collapse further under those circumstances."

Jesse nodded his understanding, looking apprehensive but determined, and the loyalty and courage behind his offer moved Mark to lay a restraining hand on his arm.

"It's too dangerous. You don't have to do this, Jess," he assured him quietly.

Jesse flashed him a game smile. "Yes I do. Steve went in to save two complete strangers. How could I not go in to help my best friend? Besides, you know he'd to it for me."

Mark watched unhappily as Jesse was equipped with a rope and harness and a headset for communication. He would willingly have volunteered to go, impelled both by the need to get to his son and a reluctance to see the young doctor put himself in jeopardy. However, he accepted reluctantly that his size and age disqualified him, and he watched tensely as Jesse squeezed through a hole and started inching down the inclined slab of concrete until he dropped out of sight at the end. From there, Mark was forced to follow his progress from the running monologue coming through Sheldon's walkie-talkie.

"It gets really narrow here. I'm not sure I can..." A series of grunts and gasps were all that were intelligible for a few minutes. "OK, I'm through, but I'm really glad l didn't have anything for breakfast this morning. This next bit looks tricky. I..." This time the silence was punctuated by a thud and a groan. "I'm OK, just lost the light for a moment. It's really hard to move around in here. I'm trying to look...I can see him! The top of his head is sticking through a hole. It looks like he was trying to dig himself out. Hold on a minute...hold on."

Mark unconsciously stopped breathing, hope strangling in his chest, knowing that the next minute could shatter his world forever. The blood was pounding so hard in his ears that he wasn't sure he'd be able to hear Jesse's pronouncement when it came. Finally, after an eon of waiting, the words came spilling out of the receiver.

"Oh God, he's alive. Mark can you hear me? He's in a bad way but he's alive!"

Relief almost too great to bear exploded within Mark, and his knees buckled. Sheldon caught his arm and guided him over to the nearest available lump of concrete, and Mark sank down gratefully. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, unknowing and uncaring if the moisture trickling down his face was tears or raindrops.

Steve was alive.