“Doctor!”
The child’s father grabbed her arm and shook her. “What now? You gotta do something! Our baby’s dying!”
She knew that all too clearly. She also knew she alone couldn’t handle an emergency of this magnitude. She could control the shock temporarily, but the girl would most certainly lose her limb if not her life if she didn’t get emergency treatment immediately. The small county hospital wasn’t equipped to handle trauma of this magnitude. A nasty cut, a broken radius, yes, but not this. Taking her there would be a waste of valuable time.
She rounded on the awestruck mechanic. “Can you fly us there? This is a life-or-death situation.”
“I just tinker on ’em. Never learned to fly ’em. But there’s a pilot here who might fly you where you need to go.”
“Where is he?”
“In yonder.” He hitched his thumb in the direction of the hangar. “But he’s feeling right poorly hisself.”
“Is there a plane available? Better yet, a helicopter?”
“That pro golfer that retired here a while back? He keeps a chopper here. Fancy one. Flies it back and forth to Dallas once or twice a week to play golf. He’s a regular Joe. Don’t reckon he’d mind none you using it, considering it’s an emergency and all.”
“Hurry, hurry!” the mother pleaded.
“Can this pilot fly a helicopter?” Lara asked the mechanic.
“Yeah, but like I said he ain’t—”
“Keep the IV bottle elevated,” she said to the mother. “Monitor her breathing,” she told the father. She was taking a chance by leaving her patient but didn’t trust the loquacious mechanic to convey to the pilot the urgency of the situation.
She rushed past him and entered the building at a run. Several disemboweled aircraft were parked inside. She didn’t see anyone. “Hello? Hello?”
She went through a door on her left, entering a small, stuffy room. In the corner was a cot. A man was lying on his back, snoring sonorously.
It was Key Tackett.
Chapter Eight
He smelled like a brewery. Lara bent over him and shook him roughly by the shoulder. “Wake up. I need you to fly me to Tyler. Now!” He mumbled something unintelligible, shoved her away, and rolled onto his side.
Inside a rusty, wheezing refrigerator Lara found several cans of beer, some foul-smelling cheese, a shriveled orange, and a plastic container of water, which was what s
he had hoped for. Gripping the handle, she removed the lid and tossed the entire contents into Key’s face.
He came up with a roar, hands balled into fists, eyes murderous. “What the fuck!” When he saw Lara holding the dripping pitcher, he gaped at her with speechless incredulity.
“I need you to fly a young girl to Mother Frances Hospital. Her right arm is hanging on by a thread and so is her life. There’s no time to argue about it or explain further. Can you get us there without crashing?”
“I can fly anywhere, anytime.” He swung his legs to the floor and picked up his boots.
Lara spun around and left the building. The father rushed up to meet her. “Did you find him?”
“He’s coming.” She didn’t elaborate. He was better off not knowing that their pilot had been sleeping off a drinking binge. The mechanic was standing beside a helicopter, giving them the thumbs-up signal. “What’s your name?” she asked the young father as they hurried across the tarmac.
“Jack. Jack and Marion Leonard. Our daughter’s Letty.”
“Help me get Letty to the helicopter.”
Together they lifted her out of the station wagon and rushed her toward the helicopter. Marion trotted along beside them, holding up the bag of glucose. By the time they reached the chopper, Key was in the pilot’s seat.
He’d already started the engine; the rotors were turning. The Leonards were too worried about their daughter to notice that his shirt was unbuttoned and that he desperately needed a shave. At least his bloodshot eyes had been concealed with a pair of aviator sunglasses with mirrored lenses.
Once they were aboard, he swiveled his head around and looked in Lara’s direction. “All set?”