Next of Kin

Help me. Help me. Oh, God…dear God…

AN EXPLOSION OF SOUND cut off Jackie’s effort at positive thinking. Crashing metal, screeching tires, shattering glass. Several cars ahead of her, a huge tractor-trailer rig overturned, amid a cloud of thick black smoke. As her Mazda rushed toward the bumper of the vehicle in front of her, she slammed on her brakes. There was no way to prevent the crash. She braced herself for impact.

“Oh!” Her airbag deployed, knocking the breath from her lungs. She’d hit the car in front of her, and less than a second later felt an impact from the rear as the vehicle behind her joined the pileup.

I’ve had a car crash! For the few seconds that she couldn’t breathe, she wondered if she was going to make it. Was this what she had suffered through the last two years of her life for? To die in a traffic accident?

CHAPTER TWO

THE RED MAZDA had been out of sight for over a minute when Casey crested a hill on the highway and spotted it again amid the steady traffic ahead. He wondered where the pretty brunette was off to in such a hurry. Or maybe she was just speeding because she had a great car and it was a lovely day and she was happy to be alive. Though he was paid to control the speed on the public roadways, Casey could relate only too well.

And then with a flash of light and boom of an explosion, everything about the day changed. Flames shot from a car even farther ahead on the road.

Casey swore as he automatically reached for his radio. At that instant, a tractor-trailer unit started to weave across two lanes of the highway, the driver trying desperately to avoid the out-of-control burning vehicle.

With a quick maneuver, Casey pulled over to the shoulder, watching helplessly as the rig zigzagged across several lanes of traffic. In a chain reaction, the vehicles behind the rig began to smash into each other, one after the other, filling the air with the smell of burning rubber and the horrific noise of crashing metal and shattering glass.

The tractor-trailer finally stopped moving, settling across the highway, then tipping inward and over, crushing whatever had been in the right-hand lane next to it. The rig landed lengthwise across the highway, blocking two northbound lanes and crossing the short median strip to settle over one southbound lane, too. Automobiles in both directions crashed into each other, creating the most massive pileup he’d ever witnessed.

“Ten forty-five on Pacific Coast Highway heading north. Repeat, 10-45 on PCH. At least twenty vehicles, probably more…”

He stopped to catch his breath, realizing that he was in a mild state of shock. This one had come a little too close to home. If he’d been going just a bit faster…

“We’ve got a huge pileup blocking most, if not all, south-and northbound lanes.”

The dispatcher asked him to estimate the location.

“About five miles south of Courage Bay Hospital.” Which is damn lucky, since a lot of these unfortunate folk are going to require medical help, fast. “We’ll need everything you can get us. Backup, ambulances…”

He paused as he noticed a second blast of flames come from the burning vehicle. He frowned, wondering what could have caused two explosions in the same car. Not that it would matter to the poor driver, who had probably been incinerated with that first blast.

“What just happened?” the dispatcher asked.

Casey relayed the bare facts, then reiterated the need for help, as soon as possible. As he spoke he wove his motorbike between stopped vehicles, working his way up to the collision. Ahead, in the burning sedan, flames reached out of the gaping windows as if grasping for the sky. After a few moments the fire tapered down again.

If the second explosion had been the fuel tank, then what had caused the initial blaze? Casey made a note to discuss the anomaly with whoever headed up the investigation team later. Likely the poor devils would be here until late tonight, gathering statements from witnesses as well as physical evidence from the road and the vehicles involved in the collision.

Though he hated the carnage of serious traffic accidents, Casey had always enjoyed the process of collision reconstruction. It was like detective work, really, requiring a meticulous gathering of evidence from witnesses and from the accident scene itself.

At some point tonight, officers would carefully examine the road for skid marks, scrapes, gouges, liquid spills. They’d photograph the scene, take precise measurements with a transit, conduct a preliminary inspection of the vehicles involved. All this information would enable the officer in charge of the investigation to stand up in court and explain accurately how the accident had happened and why.

All very cool, fascinating stuff.

But right now, Casey’s job was the opposite of cool. His first concern was public safety. He circled the area with warning flares, shaking his head at the extensive damage. Somehow he had to clear a path through this mess for the emergency vehicles. The far southbound lane was probably his best bet. He began directing those drivers whose cars were still capable of moving to the side of the road.

FINALLY, JACKIE WAS ABLE to catch her breath. She flexed her hands, wiggled her toes, and decided she was okay. Her neck ached a little, but that was all. Around her the cacophony of the accident had died down. In the sudden silence she heard people calling for help.

How many drivers and passengers had been injured?

She scrambled for the cell phone she kept in her glove compartment for emergencies and dialed 9-1-1. The dispatcher seemed already aware of the incident, but still asked several questions. Ignoring a painful protest from her neck muscles, Jackie reached under the passenger seat for her first-aid kit.

After being assured that help was on its way, she disconnected her call and dropped the phone. She had to get out of here to see if she could help. She grasped the door handle, but even with a good shove from her shoulder, couldn’t get the door to budge. Her beautiful new convertible was totally wrecked.

On shaky legs she stood on her seat. Before coming to a final stop, the tractor-trailer rig had crossed the center-line, and traffic now stood at a complete halt in both directions on the highway.

God give me strength, she prayed as she climbed out the open roof. The awful sounds of crying and moaning and entreaties for help were everywhere now. She hardly knew where to turn.

The bright sun suddenly seemed an abomination. She’d never seen such devastation firsthand. In front of her was a tangle of metal and shattered glass. Just ahead of the overturned rig, a sedan burned wildly. Had the occupants made it out before the blast? She prayed so.

“Please, help me! My son is bleeding badly!”

The woman in the car in front of Jackie’s had managed to open the driver’s side window and was waving at Jackie. She sprang into action, scrambling over the torn metal of the Mazda’s hood, then jumping down to the pavement and racing to the woman’s aid.

“Where is he bleeding?” Jackie pulled on a pair of disposable latex gloves as she spoke.

“His arm.”

Peering in the passenger window, she saw a boy of about fifteen or sixteen strapped into the seat. He was shifting restlessly, and bright red blood spurted from a cut artery in his upper arm.

Jackie grasped the door handle and tugged. “How about you?” she asked the mother. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay. Just please, please, look after Brayden.”

Jackie wasn’t convinced. The woman had the beginnings of a bruise on her forehead. But she was conscious and talking and able to move. That made the son the priority right now.

The door jammed. She put a foot against the car and tugged with all her might. To her amazement, the door fell to the road. She leaned in for a closer look at the boy. His respirations were rapid and shallow.

“Hi there, Brayden. That’s quite a nasty cut you have.” She was glad to see his eyelids flutter when she spoke to him. Pulling off her cardigan, she used it to stem the flow of blood. His mother was at Jackie’s side now, having extracted herself from the car.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“I think so.” She hadn’t had a chance to inspect for other injuries yet. She had thick absorbent pads and bandages in her kit and did her best to dress the wound. As she worked, she spoke calmly to the mother.

“We need to stop the flow of blood until help arrives.” The matronly woman stared at her blankly, probably in mild shock.

“Here.” Jackie took one of the woman’s hands and placed it over the bandaged wound. “You need to apply firm, direct pressure right here. Can you do that?”

The woman nodded.

“Good. Help will be here soon and your son will be fine. Be strong.” She clasped a hand on the woman’s shoulder, then slipped on her stethoscope to continue her examination.

The boy’s pulse was fast, but thready. She took one of his hands and squeezed it gently. “Can you hear me, Brayden? If you’re too tired to talk, then squeeze my fingers.”

Nothing. He was probably in shock, too.

“Do you have anything warm in your van?” she asked the mother.

“A sleeping bag from my son’s sleep-over last weekend.”