Scott

…

The rescue has done what the workout couldn't – jerked me back to the here and now and stopped me feeling sorry for myself. I have a team to lead and a bunch of earthquake victims who have a lot more to worry about than I have. This is no time for self-indulgence, and I'd be grateful for the interruption if it didn't mean so much misery for the people we're trying to help.

Rescues come in different shapes and sizes. Sure, we all love the ones where we can swoop in and snatch someone spectacularly from the jaws of death and return them unharmed to their loved ones. But just as often we're in for the long haul, and it's messy and complicated, and maybe all we can so is bring out corpses.

This operation has been a real doozy and it's getting worse by the minute.

She looks about nine or ten. She's probably older; kids are less well nourished here than they are in the States. But no more than twelve. And she has no pulse.

She has crush injuries to her abdomen and legs. When we located her and she started speaking to us, I promised her, in halting Spanish, that we were going to get her out of there safely. I broke my promise. We had to move her in a hurry, as the rest of the small tenement block came down around our ears; when we got clear, her heart had given out.

Virj administered medications to counter the rush of toxins that entered her bloodstream when we lifted the debris off of her. But it wasn't enough. She's survived more than a day under the rubble, alone. Now it looks like we're going to lose her.

We start CPR, ignoring the dust settling around us. Virj is on the ground alongside her, his face concentrated, his hands domed together over her midriff, doing the chest compressions. I bend over her, close my mouth over hers, blow gently into her slight body, hoping to breathe the life back into her. My hand strays to her wrist, hoping for the first flutter that will indicate we're in time.

I think there's a faint flicker.

"Keep going," I urge my brother, unnecessarily. He has no intention of stopping.

Our defibrillator is gone, smashed in the aftershock that brought down the remains of the building and nearly buried us along with her.

We work steadily. Minutes pass. I don't know how long.

Thirty compressions, two breaths.

Keep the blood circulating; give the medication time to kick in.

Maybe she's too far gone.

I can see the frustration on Virgil's face. He isn't used to losing and he isn't planning to get used to it any time soon. "Come on, sweetheart," he urges. His voice is pleading.

I feel cold fear grip my heart. We've recovered bodies, it's true. And we've brought some of them back from the dead. We've not yet lost one we've been able to touch and talk with. Please God, don't let her die.

I feel stupid. I don't know what to do now. We should have been quicker to stabilize her and get her out. How could I have let this happen? Or happening, how can I not know how to deal with it?

Holy Mary, mother of God…

The forbidden words enter my mind as easily as the breath enters my body.

As it may never enter hers again.

There's a blue tinge around her lips. Cyanosis.

…pray for us now, and at the hour of our dying.

And there's a sudden realization. This is her hour.

This is not our call. It's just not meant to be.

I lean back, shake my head.

"What are you doing?" Virj looks at me askance.

"She's gone," I tell him.

"No!" He's furious; I expect it.

"Virj…"

"I'm not just giving up!"

I check my watch. "It's been too long. She's gone, Virgil."

He shakes his head, starts up with the chest compressions again. When I refuse to breathe for her, he does that, too. I'm not sure how he keeps it up – his face is grey; he's gone beyond exhaustion.

"Virj, we can't win this one," I tell him. I try to appeal to his sense of urgency. "We're needed elsewhere."

It isn't strictly the truth. There's only recovery work now.

She's the last one; no more heat signatures under the rubble. John and Gordon are just bringing out the bodies.

"Let the others deal with it," Virj rejoinders angrily.

We're short-handed. Alan is still in Massachussets. The four of us have been doing this for thirty hours almost without a break because there's no-one else here to help. Gordon is handling it like the pro he is, but John looks like the living dead. He was dog-tired to begin with, and he just isn't used to this level of physical work.

"They're exhausted. They need us, Virj."

I glance around. The old woman, the grandmother, I think, watches us as we work. There are no tears. She clutches a rosary, and rocks back and forward, muttering her own Ave.

The earthquake that brought down her home and destroyed her family also brought down the bridges and infrastructure that would have allowed the nearest emergency services to reach this remote outpost. That's why they called us. We're her only hope. And we've failed her. I suspect this child is the only member of her family that we've brought out. I hope the fact that we moved the girl wasn't the factor that snatched away her life. I'll never know for certain. I just know I couldn't leave her to be buried all over again.

Virgil is increasingly frustrated and becoming irrational.

"Are you going to help, or are you just going to sit there?" he snaps at me.

"It's over, Virj. Let her go." I try to sound kind.

It's hard for him. I know he believes this is the end. I wonder how long he'll keep this up. But something gets through, and he finally kneels back, tears in his eyes. He can't meet the old woman's eye.

I cross to her. "I'm sorry," I say. "There is nothing more we can do."

I put a hand on her shoulder. She reaches up, squeezes it briefly. I'm disconcerted by her reaction. I expected wailing, or recrimination, not this passive acceptance.

She looks up at me.

I see something in her eyes, and it takes a moment before I identify it.

It's forgiveness. It's not an expression I'm used to.

…