The Shearing Gun (30 page)

I was aware of the sounds of metal being pried apart, and the feeling of relief that came over everyone as they got the woman out. I felt stupid, but I’d seen them do it on the TV, so I looked at the unconscious stranger I was breathing for and said to him, “Hear that? They have your wife out of the car now. That’s my boyfriend over there doing his God impression. He’s supersmart and will be able to save your wife; I’m sure of it.”

My wrist was a ball of fire and my fingers starting to cramp, so the nurse took over and pumped for a few minutes before we swapped back. I heard someone say something about the helicopter approaching, and within a minute I could hear the blades
whumping
, coming in to land.

I looked to where Elliot was and was horrified to see him covered in blood, performing some sort of open-air operation on the woman. I felt like I was in the middle of a
MASH
rerun.

The nurse saw my shock and reassured me, her fingers still on the elderly man’s wrist, and the stethoscope still in her ears to make certain that his heart was still beating. “It’s okay. Your boyfriend knows what he’s doing. That woman has an arterial leak somewhere, and he’s finding it. She won’t make it unless they can stop the bleeding in the next couple of minutes.”

Someone came with a blanket and covered the three of us—the unconscious man, the nurse and me—as the helicopter set down and whipped up a strong wind and a lot of dust particles. I kept pumping through the pain in my chest and wrist, reminding myself that help had arrived. The man was still unresponsive, but I was assured he was doing okay—his face was no longer deathly pale.

Then help was there. Orange suited people with university degrees and knowledge gently eased in at my side and assessed the man, talking medical lingo with the nurse. A machine was produced, and a long, thin tube. Then they pulled me off and inserted the tube down the man’s throat. I was now unnecessary baggage. I stumbled away and collapsed next to the road to watch. Elliot was still doing something
inside
the woman’s pelvic area, which turned my stomach. That was just unnatural. Someone had set up an IV drip, and they were pouring blood into the woman’s veins as it bled out the other end all over the man I loved. I watched as he pulled back and pressed with two hands to her stomach. All three of them—Elliot and the two original paramedics—watched some monitor hooked up to the woman. For long minutes they didn’t breathe, and then Elliot smiled and looked relieved.

The life-flight crew had secured the man and were back for their second patient. They lifted the woman, hooked up machines to cords and tubes, spoke to Elliot, and scrambled into the helicopter. It picked up speed and was lifting off within a minute.

A second ambulance crew pulled up and parted the crowd of onlookers so they could get through. I saw one of the new crew approach Frank where he was leaning against a police vehicle. The other came to me when I decided that the road was a good place to sit. The road wasn’t moving. The road was solid.
Oh, shit. I felt like crap.

“Hi! I’m Debbie, a paramedic. Were you in the accident?”

I nodded and pointed to our car. “That was us.”

She looked me over. “What happened to your car? Did it flip or just hit the tree? Where does it hurt the most?”

“We just skidded and hit the tree. On my side of the car. Elliot was driving.”

“Can you take a deep breath?”

I tried and fuzzy dots formed in my sight. “No,” I puffed. “It hurts too much.”

“Okay, sweetie. Where does it hurt the most?”

I pointed to my ribcage on the left of my body. As I did, tendrils of pain moved up my arm. “My side here, and my wrist. Fuck—that hurts!”

“Okay. Did you bump your head when you crashed?”

“No. There was an airbag.”

“Good. Now, I don’t want you to move, but I’m going to lift your shirt and have a look at your ribs, okay?”

It was good that she didn’t want me to move, because I was beginning to shake a bit. Reaction, I think. My vision was tunneling, and I didn’t feel like there was enough breath getting into my lungs. I felt the need to throw up.

I moved my arm up slightly so she could lift the material. Then Debbie, the sadistic motherfucker, decided to press on my ribs. I felt something move inside of me, and the top of my head exploded. “Ah!” I yelled. I wanted to call her several names that all had the word
fucking
preceding them, but I could hardly breathe. A vise was squeezing my lungs and had stolen all my breath. Talking was beyond me.

“Hank?”

Oh, thank goodness. That was Quackle’s voice. He would get rid of the devil near me.

He spoke to the vicious, satanic nutjob with her hand still on my shoulder. I made a mental note to ask Elliot if I could borrow some of his medical journals. I was getting really sick of people talking around me and not knowing what they meant.
Flail chest, pneumothorax, paradoxical movement, cyanosis, pulmonary contusion.
I understood fractured ribs, perforated lungs, and shock. I really hoped they didn’t mean me.

“Hank! Buddy? Look at me, Hank. You are not allowed to do this to me. How will I live with myself if you’re seriously injured on my watch? No, don’t talk. Just nod or shake your head. Okay? Tell me, can you breathe properly?”

That would have to be a no, Quackle.

“Okay, now, is the pain in your chest just in one place? Yes? Only over here? Are you hurting anywhere else on your body?”

With great difficulty I lifted my arm and pointed to my wrist.

“Does your neck hurt? Your back? How about your head?”

I felt something and realized he was cutting my shirt. I grunted.

“I know, Hank. This is one of my favorites too. I’m sorry I can’t cut it on the seams this time, buddy. I’ll buy you ten more, I promise.”

I was going to hold him to that promise.

Then they were off again. Babble, babble, babble, bullshit.
Intubation, ventilation, oxygenation, transportation.
A whole bunch of “shon” words.
X-ray, surgery, hospital, Perth.

Elliot remained at my side while they gave me some sort of pain relief. I was floating on a pink cloud, then—or perhaps that was them transporting my injured arse to the ambulance. A mask was put over my face, and I felt like I was in loopy-loopy land.

“Hank? I’m going with you, alright? When you’re better I am going to yell and scream at you for not telling me earlier you were injured. But for now I’m being very calm and reasonable, which you’re lucky about, because I think you have fractured ribs, mate. It’s okay. We have to get you to a hospital and X-ray to see how bad it is. The reason you can’t breathe is because you’ve bruised your lungs. The part of your lung that’s bruised isn’t working to put oxygen in your blood, so the other parts have to work harder. With any luck we’ll only have a single fracture and some bruising. But it might be a lot worse, which is why we’re going back to Perth.”

Fortunately Quackle was right. I had two fractured ribs and substantial bruising. They had been concerned that a piece of bone would pierce my lung, or that a whole section of my ribs were broken and caved in, but I was told I was lucky. Hell! Two broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and a three-day stay in hospital was not lucky to me.

Frank Watson had a simple dislocation and didn’t even need to be admitted to hospital—he was the lucky one.

The nineteen-year-old in the red sedan was not so lucky. The man, who I found out was called Seth, died on impact. He had a fiancée and a bright life ahead of him that had winked out in an instant, because he was too impatient to wait for a safe passing lane.

Theo Costas, the driver of the four-wheel drive and caravan, wrote Elliot and me a letter of profuse thanks. I didn’t feel like I deserved it, but Elliot reminded me that I had performed CPR on the man for at least seven minutes and had breathed for him for over fifteen minutes using the balloon Elliot told me was called a resuscitator. Theo had had open heart surgery following the accident, and suffered a broken clavicle, humerus, thumb, and knee cap. His wife was seriously injured, but pulled through. She’d had numerous internal injuries and two broken hips. She was in hospital for five months before she was well enough to leave.

Elliot had bruising along his sternum from the seatbelt and some whiplash, but was otherwise uninjured.

Our lives, however, were irrevocably changed. Our secret came out—big time!

Who knows the actual source—there was Frank Watson at the accident site and two other people from town who were caught up in the chaos of the traffic jam. It could’ve been them. I had a few visitors in the hospital where Elliot was known as my “partner”—so had spousal privileges. And of course there was the news that Elliot and I had been traveling together back from Perth. People drew their own conclusions from that.

The correct ones.

Damn them!

Chapter 24

“Y
OU
’
VE
BEEN
outed.”

That was the second sentence that Neil said to me after “How are you, mate?” when he came to visit at the hospital. My stomach dropped, and I came over all ice-cold.
Fuck!

“Nah, man,” Neil continued. “It’s not all bad. Of course you and the Doc are getting a lot of gossip time on the vine at the moment, but everyone’s talking about how you both saved lives and shit. There are some people who are totally shocked, but most are taking it in their stride. I did hear, though, that Sarah Ferguson has started mourning by wearing all black, now that she’s heard that the two most eligible bachelors in town are off the market.”

“You’re full of shit,” I told him. “Sarah Ferguson always wears black.”

“Yeah, but she’s still mourning. There are a lot of
I always knew
s going around, plus some bad mouthing about city fellas, but you two have a heck of a lot of supporters. Last night in the pub, it was Big Bob mouthing off about
homos
and some bad shit, so I just asked how many sheep Bob could shear in a day. He soon shut up.”

“I hope they don’t fucking start shit on Elliot,” I growled.

Neil smiled. “They aren’t—not really. He’s their superstar. He was written up in the newspaper; didn’t you see it? Small town doctor performs surgery on the side of the road to save a life. Didn’t Elliot show you?”

He didn’t. I had to ask to see the article, and he refused to provide me with a copy. He was staying at Murray and Jimmie’s place for a few days, but I knew he needed to get back to town and back to work. It worried me that he could possibly be walking into a shit storm of gossip, and I was stuck in the city. They were letting me out of hospital the following day, so Murray and Jimmie were driving home to be with me, since I wasn’t allowed to travel. I had to remain for at least a week in the city, under the watchful eye of Jimmie, while Elliot went back to Dumbleyung.

“Why can’t I see the article, Quackle?”

“Because it’s total bulldust. Any doctor that came across the accident would’ve done the exact same thing, but they’re making me out to be a hero for doing my job. What about all the paramedics that helped? The police? You? What about all the guys who managed to get that car open so that I could work on the patients?”

“I know,” I soothed, “but can I still see it?”

“No,” he said stubbornly.

I sighed and changed the subject, looking at him with worried eyes. “I need you to promise me that you’ll be safe back in town, okay? Don’t walk down the street by yourself. Don’t answer the door after dark. Don’t attend an emergency by yourself. I’ll see if I can ring Dennis Hopley, the local copper, and ask him to keep an eye on you.”

He sat on the chair next to my bed and smiled in understanding. “I’ll be fine, buddy. I know what happened to your uncle, but it won’t happen to me. Society has moved on a lot in twenty years. There’s no longer any glory in gay bashing, and the penalties outweigh the risks for most people.”

“I’m still scared, Ell.”

He came over and kissed my brow tenderly. “Nothing will happen. You’ll see.”

A sudden thought occurred to me. “You won’t…. You’re not going to leave without telling me, are you?”

“Leave?”

“Leave Dumbleyung. Leave me,” I clarified. “I know things are going to be hard for you now, and Doc Larsen may ask you to go, but you won’t just up and go without telling me, will you?”

He gave me a look that I could loosely translate—it was shock, disbelief, and a bit of
seriously-man-this-is-what-you-think-of-me?
He frowned fiercely in my direction and set me straight. “Well, for a start it’s completely illegal for George Larsen to fire me for being gay, even if he did have a problem with it, which I’m sure he doesn’t. Secondly, I would never leave without telling you, and I’m rather hurt that you think I could. And thirdly, I’m not going, Hank. We’ll talk about it later, but believe me that I’m not leaving you.”

My heart was breaking with the knowledge that he may not be leaving now, but he would sometime in the future. The pain meds I was doped on made me weepy, and I felt like crying like an emotional woman during a full moon. I groped for his hand, needing physical contact with him. “But you
will
leave, Elliot. You’ll have to leave sometime. You’ll go back to Melbourne and be someone brilliant, like I know you are. I don’t mean now, or next month, but eventually. All I’m saying is that you need to warn me. Just give me a little bit of warning that you’re going, so I can prepare myself.”