Chapter Two
“You ready for this, Mo? I know you think you’re tough… but you lost it when you learned that Santa wasn’t real.” Jessie was talking to her on the cell phone before the team was about to pile into the second airplane of the day.
Monica laughed. “I survived. I’m ready. Besides… why did I become a nurse if not to help people?
“You can do that at home.”
“But these people really need me. If no one went where would they be?”
There was a long pause. “Be safe, Mo. Watch out for you.” Right about then someone was giving Monica a vaccine of some sort. She didn’t even bother asking what it was for. She didn’t want to know the risk. She was going… she had to.
“I love you, Jessie. Kiss Danny for me. I’ll try and call.”
“Once every couple of days.”
“I’ll try.” She’d do more than try. Unless the lines were completely down, she’d call.
The flight from Florida to Jamaica was on a cargo plane. Less than twenty-four hours had passed since the tsunami hit the northern coast of the island, and the death toll was estimated in the thousands. There hadn’t been a tsunami of this nature on the shores of the island in recorded history. Even earthquakes were rare. There had been an earthquake in the ocean hours before the shaker hit the island, causing the tsunami to hit close behind the quake. It really didn’t matter how or why the devastation happened, it needed to be cleaned up and the suffering people needed help.
According to their team briefing, bodies were washing up on shore and those who survived filled the hospitals and clinics all over the island.
Earlier, Monica had attempted to sleep on the flight from LA to Miami but only managed about an hour. Even with the ear protection, the noise in the cargo plane was too difficult to think past to allow her brain to turn off and rest.
The conversation with John hummed in the back of her mind… but the conversation with her boss, Pat, was what really weighed on her mind.
“You’re due in on Saturday.” Pat never had liked Monica. Her voice and words echoed the sentiment Monica knew was there.
“It’s a humanitarian effort. The hospital can release a press statement about allowing your nurses and doctors leave.” This was a practiced line Walt had said to use. On top of that, Walt had spoken with the head of the doctors’ group expressing his need to be there. “The hospital can always use good PR.”
There had been a long pause. “Get your shifts covered, Monica. And use the part-time staff to do it. I’m not authorizing any overtime.”
Monica’s vacation time would keep a paycheck in her absence. Five to eight days was usually the limit to these efforts. What kind of vacation it would be… that was left to be seen.
Instead of giving Pat the snarky reply that sat on Monica’s tongue, she smiled. “I’ll get it covered.”
Monica’s ears popped as the plane began its descent. Unlike a commercial flight where a smiling attendant reminded you to stay seated and keep your seat belts on, this one was met with the head of their team attempting to yell over the noise of the plane. “Stay seated,” he said before gesturing with his hands to keep the seat belts on. Not that Monica had taken hers off.
Other than the training she’d been a part of a year and a half before in Florida, this was Monica’s first real test. A foreign country with multiple issues that would bring untold patients. Flood victims, earthquake survivors, patients cut off from their families. When she’d stepped on the plane, she locked away the part of her that bled for those who truly suffered.
Early in her ER career one of her mentors had told her something that stuck with her from that day forward. “You’re here to help. Either get in there and get your ass to work, or step away. You won’t do anyone any good crying. You can cry later.”
Best advice ever. It made her a better nurse. Monica knew that. Patients didn’t always understand, but her colleagues… they got it.
As much as Monica braced her spine for what was coming, there was no way to brace for the reality of the scale of this mass casualty incident.
The airplane met the tarmac with a jolt, the landing anything but smooth. American Airlines has nothing to fear.
The nurses and doctors were shuffled off the plane while search and rescue workers were helping unload the cargo. They brought with them everything they thought they’d need. Boxes of first aid supplies along with emergency medicine, antibiotics, and their own food supplies were crated out.
Dawn was just starting to spread on the horizon. The humid heat of the Caribbean felt mildly uncomfortable on Monica’s back. Other than Walt, she didn’t know any of the other nurses or doctors on their team. They’d met in LA before taking off. Most had their heads in their iPods or on movies on the first flight. Tina, the only newbie aside from Monica, stood beside her outside the plane as they met the Jamaican officials by the cargo doors.
“You ready for this?” Tina asked.
“Doubt it. You?”
“Until we’ve both said we’ve done this… exactly this… I doubt either of us are ready.”
Tina pointed to a pallet of boxes that were painfully familiar to an ER nurse. “What are those?”
Monica’s back teeth ground together. “Body bags.”
Tina’s face went pale. “Oh.”
The medical staff was shuffled off to another part of the runway. They’d landed in Kingston. They would be helicoptered into the Ocho Rios area and spread out from there in various means of transportation that would manage to traverse the damage.
Monica had never been on a helicopter. In truth, heights and she had an understanding… on second thought, they didn’t. She managed airplanes because there was a strange safety inside the metal tube with wings. Out in the open… on a ledge? No. She didn’t even have a desire to see the Grand Canyon. That massive ditch did nothing for her hormones.
“This is Reynard Kiffen. Second in charge of the off-island relief effort.” Their team leader, Dr. Donald Klein, introduced the Jamaican native.
Reynard offered a smile, his white teeth in direct contrast to his dark skin. The smile was brief. “Thank you. My country, my people, thank you.” He spoke slowly and enunciated his words clearly through his obvious accent. “We have a temporary hospital set up in Saint Mary’s province. You will set up there. Accommodations are the best we can manage under the extreme circumstances.”
“We aren’t expecting five-star hotels, Reynard,” Dr. Klein told him.
The smile on Reynard’s face fell. “Some of the resorts are operational. Not many. They are taking in those they can. Moving tourists out as quickly as possible.”
Monica hadn’t thought about the tourists, those visiting for the ultimate vacation only to find themselves in a war zone.
“Everyone in the north is affected. No one I’ve met is free of the death.”
Dr. Klein patted Reynard’s back when the man’s eyes lost focus, the effect on him obvious.
Dr. Klein carried on with their instructions. “The choppers in use hold only four people at a time. That includes the pilot. Only the essentials are going with you onboard, the rest of our supplies will arrive after us by ground.”
The mere mention of the helicopter made Monica’s skin crawl. The sooner she got this part of the trip out of the way, the better.
As the group disassembled, Monica made her way to Donald’s side. “Excuse me, Dr. Klein.” Monica pushed into his personal space with a half smile.
“Donald, please. It’s Monica, right?”
“That’s right.” She’d met Dr. Klein briefly in Florida but didn’t have a chance to talk to him. Something told her that the next week would change all that.
“You’re ER with Walt?”
Monica nodded. “I am.”
“He talks highly of you. This is your first time on something like this.”
Monica was impressed. She wasn’t the only newbie on deck, but it seemed Donald had used the flight time to study his team.
“I think it’s the first time for most of us on ‘something like this.’?”
Donald’s smile sobered slightly. “It’s something new every time. An earthquake alone can be devastating.”
“I grew up in Southern California. Most earthquakes aren’t bothersome enough to get out of bed in the night.” And they always tended to strike before the sun rose.
Donald nodded and reached to his feet to grab his backpack when the sound of a helicopter filled her ears.
Ignoring her heightened pulse, she reached past her fears and blurted out her needs.
“Listen, Donald. I’m not ashamed to admit that heights aren’t a friend to me. Can I volunteer to go first? I’d just as soon get this part over with.”
He lifted an eyebrow and scratched his bald head. He appeared as if he wanted to say something, but decided against it. “No problem.”
“Thanks.” Monica shuffled her pack from one shoulder to the other and drew in a deep breath.
Donald looked over Monica’s head and shouted. “Walt?”
Walt turned around.
“You, Monica, and Tina are up first. Everyone else group in threes. I hope everyone managed some rest on the flight over. I will be making rounds when I can to force you to rest. If the opportunity presents itself, do it! We’re here to help, not make stupid mistakes because we’re tired. If you have questions, ask. Weaknesses, tell me.” He glanced Monica’s way. “We’re a team. Remember that!”
The chopper flew in behind them, cutting off the conversation. Monica turned toward the wind and gripped the strap to her backpack.
The sun had crested the horizon and the thick heat of the Caribbean started to make itself known. She stared at the “bird” as the skids planted down on the pavement. Unlike when she’d wait for a chopper on the helipad at the hospital, this time the anxiety coursing through her veins was personal.
A hand on her shoulder brought her attention to Tina, who noticed her hesitation when they boarded the plane in Florida. Instead of giving her shit about her phobias, Tina spouted off a few facts about flying being safer than driving in LA and then proceeded to tell her about the many flings she carried on in college. Soon the sexual antics of a horny twentysomething diverted Monica’s attention. “It’s just a smaller plane,” she said close to Monica’s ear.
A plane. Right. Without wings and without a jet engine. If this chopper was just a smaller plane then a smart car was a chip off a semitruck.
Her fingers tingled, reminding her to force slow, deep breaths into her lungs.
“C’mon, help me gather a couple of duffel bags. Don’t look at it until you have to.”
Monica turned away from the chopper as the giant propeller slowed to a stop. Those around her mobilized, moving in a common direction to shift their bags into some sort of order as the sound of another chopper met Monica’s ears. Not able to help herself, she glanced toward the tarmac. Another chopper, about the same size as the last, hovered over the first until the tail lined up and the skids moved in a slow descent to the ground. Out of the first, someone jumped to the ground.
Monica narrowed her eyes and noticed the man spilling from the pilot’s seat and running a hand through his hair. He rounded the tail of the aircraft and shoved his palm into Reynard’s in greeting.
That’s my ride.
Monica glanced at the sky coming to life above her and reminded herself that those who needed her help were subject to an earthquake and a tsunami. None of which happened in the sky.
Still, her fingers tingled.
A hand clasped onto her shoulder. “Ready?”
Monica’s fingernails dug into her palms. Her head swiveled toward Donald. A slight lift to his lips was the only emotion on his face.
“Ready,” she said with more conviction than she felt.
Lord knew she understood how to fake it. From orgasms to happiness, so faking confidence was easy.
She shoved her backpack up on her shoulder and straightened her spine. Donald moved in front of her to speak to the pilot. Monica hesitated until Tina nudged her shoulder.
“Ready?”
“Born ready.”
Tina snorted and turned toward Walt.
Monica forced her feet toward the chopper as if she was born to ride in the tin box with a single propeller on top and a tiny one in the back. How the hell did the thing actually fly? It didn’t have wings.
Donald’s back was to her as he spoke to someone. He twisted when she approached, revealing a man. His dark hair was too long, his jaw held more stubble than would be considered sexy. He wore a button-up silk shirt and khaki cargo shorts. And no shoes.
Monica took in his bare feet and forced her gaze back to the man’s face. Strong jaw with a firm set. No smile. His eyes were covered with dark glasses but they didn’t detract from the pure masculinity of the man. He had to stand at least six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist…
“Monica? Monica?”
She was checking out the man and not realizing someone spoke her name.
“Yeah?”
“This is your pilot. He thinks you should ride in front. Let Tina and Walt take the back.”
Her eyes skidded from Donald’s face to that of the barefoot stranger. “He’s the pilot?”
“One of the best on the island.”
The pilot dipped his head as if he were sizing her up. Then abruptly turned toward the helicopter.
“He’s barefoot,” she whispered. As if a lack of shoes meant he couldn’t fly the helicopter. If I take off my shoes, I’m still a nurse.
Donald didn’t hear her words. The pilot was already jumping into his seat and making the propeller above her head move.
She ducked and allowed Donald to push her toward the door. Behind her, Tina and Walt were climbing into the backseat.
Monica’s hands were sweaty and at the same time cold as she allowed herself to be pushed into the small, suffocating aircraft.
“You’ll be fine,” Donald yelled in her ear as the noise of the chopper made it impossible to hear normal conversation.
Monica nodded. Her nephew, Danny, would be laughing at her if he could see the panic in her eyes.
She forced herself into the passenger seat and ignored the sound of the door closing her in. Shoeless and sexy shoved headgear into her lap. Monica glanced his way as he switched levers and went through some sort of series of system checks before they took off.
Behind her, Tina and Walt were buckling into their seats.
Monica shifted to her right and found her belt. She secured it and fumbled with the headgear before the noise in the chopper overcame her.
Once the earmuffs were on, the noise lessened, giving her a moment of calm.
The chopper shifted, and Monica’s racing pulse lodged in her throat.
“You going to be sick?”
Soft and non-accusatory, Barefoot’s voice sounded in her ears.
Her heart was racing, but she’d yet to feel her stomach churn. “I’m OK.”
Far from OK, but maybe her voice would convince him otherwise.
Barefoot snorted. A full-on snort complete with a shake of his head. He reached over and pried her fingers off her backpack and placed them onto a large rod in the center of the chopper.
“Hold this,” he told her. “When I say up, push it forward. When I say down, pull it back.”
What? Shit. Was she some kind of copilot? “You can’t fly this thing on your own?”
“You’re shotgun, Blondie. And everyone licensed to fly is solo today.”
Monica’s stomach lodged near her thyroid. She glanced to the back of the chopper where Tina and Walt were giving her a smile.
“They can’t hear us,” Barefoot managed.
“Why not?”
Instead of answering, he gave a thumbs-up to someone out the window and grasped his controls with both hands.
He can’t really mean he needs me to help him fly this machine.
“Up.”
Monica shoved the stick forward with the command and ignored her brain telling her to get off the damn chopper and walk toward the needy.
The chopper lurched and within seconds, they were in the air. The tarmac disappeared with alarming speed. Those on the ground scrambled into the next chopper and Monica felt her already chilly insides grow even colder.
Barefoot’s hand left his controls and kept her hand on the stick between them. “Keep pushing it up,” he instructed.
“You can’t fly this thing on your own?”
Instead of answering, he moved his hand away and switched a lever on his side. Monica kept her hand shoved forward, as if it were a joystick on a video game and she was close to breaking her all-time record. This isn’t happening. The sky was streaming at her, the earth was slipping away, and she had her life in her hands. Walt’s and Tina’s, too. Not to mention Barefoot’s. Not that she cared about him. Who brought a passenger on board and expected them to help pilot the flight?
The sun blinded her as they made it into the sky but Monica’s death grip on the helicopter joystick didn’t falter.
“Keep looking toward the horizon,” Barefoot instructed.
“OK,” she told him. Did she have a choice?
The world whizzed past with thick trees below them.
“Don’t look down. I need your attention on the horizon.”
Monica swallowed her stomach back. Maybe that late-night sandwich wasn’t a great idea. Donald told them to eat and she’d forced herself to down a turkey and cheese and a bag of stale chips. Normally she loved salt and vinegar chips. Only now, they didn’t feel good so close to the surface.
Barefoot’s hand moved back to hers. She’d slacked off.
Monica gripped the joystick again and forced her eyes on the sky. Good thing the pilot was watching her.
The chopper sliced through the sky at a speed that defied nature.
“First time on a chopper?”
Monica swallowed.
“Yeah.” She dared a glance to her left. Barefoot was looking below them. Monica attempted a look down and gulped.
“The horizon, Blondie. Look out there.”
She swallowed. “It’s Monica.”
He chuckled and squeezed her hand still under his. “We’ll be landing soon.”
Thank God.
He squeezed her hand again as if he read her thoughts.
The chopper shook and pitched down a few feet.
“Just the morning wind. Ease back a little.” Barefoot moved the joystick with her until it was centered. Monica kept her hand as steady as she could, even when he moved his hand away.
At second glance, Barefoot appeared a little more together than at first glance. His shorts were tailored and his button-up shirt might seem like a typical island floral, but she knew Tommy Bahama silk when she saw it. His Ray-Ban sunglasses weren’t dime-store quality and he obviously knew how to fly his chopper.
Is it his helicopter?
“Is this your chopper?” she asked.
He glanced her way and his lips turned into a smile.
He didn’t answer.
Monica glanced behind her to see Walt and Tina staring at something below them. Without thinking, Monica glanced down as well. The trees of the Jamaican forest abruptly thinned out and large lakes appeared in the center of the landscape. Only on closer inspection they weren’t lakes… they were collections of ocean water brought in by the tsunami. In its wake were fallen trees and debris miles wide. Homes… or what Monica thought were homes, were nothing more than stacks of wood, branches, and garbage brought in by the surf.
She was miles above it.
“Oh, God.” Her stomach pitched.
“Pull back a little,” Barefoot instructed.
She did. At the same time, she forced her eyes on the sky. The ocean streamed out beyond the devastated shoreline.
Barefoot pitched the chopper to the right and Monica leaned into the craft as if her slight weight was going to make a difference in a proper landing.
“Down… slowly.”
Unlike the tarmac where they’d landed the first time, the spot in which Barefoot was planning on placing the chopper was a postage stamp of a yard. It reminded Monica of the yards behind the tract houses springing up all over Southern California.
Below them, someone waved an orange light.
Barefoot placed his hand over hers and pushed the lever back as the chopper slowly made its way to the ground.
As the skids came to rest on the ground, Monica released a shuddering breath. I made it. Without puking. The last part was the most impressive. Smelling up this small cabin wouldn’t bode well for future passengers.
Barefoot tapped her fingers before he pried them off the lever she’d gripped with all her life. “This is your stop,” he said with laughter in his voice.
“Right. Right.” She shook her head and unclenched her fist.
Under the sunglasses and headgear, Barefoot sent her a hundred-watt smile. Or maybe he was laughing at her. She forced her lips into a smile. “Ah, thanks for not killing me.”
Barefoot chuckled. “Be safe, Blondie. It’s a mess out there.”
Someone opened her door. The noise of the propellers along with the wind they created removed the smile from her face. Walt was standing there gesturing for her to exit the chopper. She placed a foot outside the craft and then remembered the headgear.
Barefoot’s attention was on her as she pulled the earphones off and gave a slight wave. She’d barely made it away from the aircraft and Barefoot was flying away.
Without a copilot.