Christmas on 4th Street (Fool's Gold #12.5)

Not the tack he would have taken with anyone else, he thought. But Felicia tended to live in her head.

For a second he thought she might burst into tears, but instead she seemed to pull herself together. “You’re right. I have excellent organizational skills. Those will help everyone. Me falling apart will not.”

“They’ve found people,” someone yelled.

The huge ballroom went still for a heartbeat, then all the volunteers started moving. Gabriel hesitated for a second, but Felicia pushed him away.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Go. You’re needed.”

He headed for the medical team by the equipment and identified himself. He pulled on a spare white coat and opened one of the large medical travel kits. Less than five minutes later, two people were carried in. They were both in their twenties, and he didn’t recognize them. The woman was unconscious, while the man insisted he was fine.

“Broken leg on that one,” one of the people helping the man said. “We don’t know about her.”

Gabriel was already moving toward her. Everything around him faded as he began his examination.

* * *

Gabriel was conscious of the passage of time, but only in the sense that it was moving forward. He had no idea if he’d been working ten minutes or ten hours. The injured came in clusters. Two here, five there. Most of the injuries were minor, although a few people had been buried in snow for some time. He diagnosed broken bones, hypothermia and shock. One woman came in screaming for her son, who had suffered little more than a few cuts and bruises.

As she fell across her teenager and babbled about how grateful she was, Gabriel told himself to be patient. That she couldn’t understand how compared to a rocket-propelled grenade or an IED, this was nothing. That any loss of life would be minimal and most of the injuries minor.

Still, the work was gratifying. More medical personnel joined him. A tall, scarred man introduced himself as Dr. Simon Bradley. Gabriel remembered him being mentioned and knew he was a plastic surgeon who specialized in burns. Gabriel directed him to where those with cuts were being patched up.

Mayor Marsha arrived, accompanied by three big guys in what looked like survival gear.

“They’re from CDS,” one of the nurses said. “The bodyguard school. They’ll be helping with the search.”

“We need avalanche dogs,” another nurse said. “The town is getting so big. Things like that are important.”

There was more conversation, but he didn’t listen. Not while he had patients. He examined the older woman who was next in line. She was awake and alert.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, testing her pupils, then reaching for his stethoscope.

“Foolish. I could see the snow coming down the mountain, but couldn’t ski out of the way fast enough. I got caught on the edge. I’m a little shaken, but nothing is broken.”

He confirmed her self-diagnosis, then sent her over to the group who were probably okay but needed observation. He turned to go to the next patient only to see they had a temporary lull. Just then Carter came walking into the ballroom with his dad. There was a teenaged boy between them who was limping. Gabriel hurried over.

“Have you seen Felicia?” he asked.

Carter grinned. “She about squeezed all the air out of us. She was really worried.” He sounded pleased by the information. “This is my friend Reese. We weren’t in the avalanche. Reese slipped on some ice.”

“I’m fine,” his friend protested. “My ankle hurts. It’s no big deal.”

“I’ll check him out,” Gabriel told his brother. “How’s it going out there?”

“A couple of people are missing. Teams are heading out to find them. Considering how bad it could have been, we got lucky.”

* * *

Noelle found talking on the phone while keeping an eye on Pia Moreno was harder than it sounded. Felicia had been calling from the hotel and updating the head count. Families found themselves needing to stay in town unexpectedly. Hotel rooms had to be located and reserved.

Brew-haha had been converted into a command center. Laptops and notepads covered the tables. There was a cell-phone charging station by the front counter and dry erase boards on wheels were constantly updated with injury counts, available hotel rooms and emergency information.

Pia, the person previously in charge of festivals, had waddled in, insisting she could help. As she knew everyone and everything about the town, that was probably true. But she was also days or possibly hours away from giving birth.

Noelle finished her call, then turned to Pia. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look really uncomfortable.”