Island of Secrets and Scars

Ian felt the other man’s words like a blow to his gut. No, you never knew what could happen when you were dealing with a pregnant woman and the unknowns of an unborn baby. He’d learned that lesson the hard way.

“I’ll take the amputation,” he offered. Though the stench of blood and the sound of saw cutting through bone would only remind him of humid tents and men he hadn’t been able to save, he’d rather cut off a leg than risk a child.

“No.” Wes fixed his dark stare on him. “You and I will take the kid. Matt and the doctor can handle the amputation.”

“Wes . . .” He protested, but the other man was already shaking his head.

“No offense to Matt or this doctor, but we all know you’re the most qualified. I want you on the kid. The doctor already thinks the legs are a loss. The man himself might be too. We’re putting our best hopes on the kid. Once the kid is stable, if you’re still eager to amputate, you’re welcome to help Matt. The doctor can handle cuts and breaks.”

Ian wanted to argue, but what was the use? Instead, he turned his head to the window. It wasn’t that he was eager to cut some poor bastard’s leg off. In a past life, he’d performed the procedure more times than he could accurately count. And he never failed to dread when the patient woke up and realized a part of him was missing—the same way Cameron had woken up in Africa and realized their child no longer grew inside her. Neither of those scenarios were experiences he relished repeating. But given the choice—he’d rather tell a man he’d lost his leg, than a mother she’d lost her child. He could be unemotional about a leg, but he couldn’t be that detached about the child and its family.

Out the window, fire dotted the once crystal water as oil and debris burned. Bits and pieces of boats, docks and airplane floated on the surface. People on both shores worked to remove the wreckage, likely scouring for anything or anyone salvageable. Ian closed his eyes on the destruction. He couldn’t think about this incident as a whole. Instead, he needed to focus on the patient Wes had assigned him. He’d x-ray the child. If the metal hadn’t struck any organs, he’d simply work to remove the obstruction and stitch up the kid. If organs were involved . . . well, they’d attack that problem if it arose.

As they passed over the small island, he spotted small huts and cottages dotted throughout the foliage. Instead of roads, worn paths dissected the land. There also weren’t any cell phone towers. Probably no electricity or running water. Why the hell would an American doctor choose to be here?

“We’ll put down on the opposite beach,” Jonson explained. “There’s only one vehicle on the island. It will be there to pick us up. Load what supplies you can on the first trip. We’ll make as many runs as necessary.”

Ian’s stomach pitched as the helicopter began its descent. No matter how many times he flew, the landing never got easier. Time to see what hell had erupted in paradise.

Ian didn’t make a sound as the Jeep came to a rocking stop in front of a cinder block and tin building. The clinic looked sturdy and inviting, but it couldn’t be more than 30 feet by 40 feet.

“Are you sure this is the clinic?” he mumbled, climbing from the Jeep and shouldering his pack.

The small building, with its sunny yellow door, shared space in a clearing with picnic tables and what appeared to be a community garden. Although small, everything was well-tended.

Hefting the x-ray machine from the back of the vehicle, Wes handed it over. “It’s what we have.”

Ian accepted the device with a nod, but before he could reply, a woman lumbered forward, latching onto the driver. A small girl clung to the woman’s neck.

“Edmund, are these the doctors? Are you the ones who’ll help my Brodie?” Tears swam in her dark eyes. From the tracks cutting through the dirt on her caramel skin, these weren’t the first drops to fall today.

Jonson stepped forward, allowing Ian and the rest of his team to continue to the building “We’ll do what we can, ma’am.”

When Ian followed Wes into the clinic, the inside was just as clean and orderly as the outside. Very different from some of the dirty, unsanitary shit holes he and his team had worked in before.

“Oh, thank God.” A woman rushed from behind a makeshift counter. Blood dotted the front of her dress, and her dark hair had long ago given up the fight to stay in a ponytail. As she brushed a strand away, her hands shook, smearing blood and dirt over her cheek.

“Ara’s in the first room. Luciana’s with her. She’s starting to wake up. We didn’t know if we should give her anything else for the pain.” She swallowed and blinked rapidly. “The pain must be unbearable. We didn’t know what to do for her. And Brodie . . .” Her voice broke on a sob.

“Are you the doctor?” Ian hoped not. Though if she’d spent the entire day pulling victims from the water and stabilizing a child with shrapnel in its chest, he could see why she seemed ready to lose her shit.

Her green eyes widened. “Dios no.”

“Is Luciana the doctor?” Hadn’t she said Luciana was with the patient?

“No. Luci’s the island mami. She takes care of everyone. Dr. C told her to stay with Ara,” another swallow, “while she worked on Brodie.” Her eyes darkened.

Brodie. The woman out front had asked if they were here to save Brodie. The pregnant woman who Jonson said had been on the boat with her husband.

Matt stepped around Ian and Wes. “Can you show me to Brodie and Dr. C?”

The woman nodded and hurried down the hall, Matt on her heels.

“I guess we’re in room one,” Wes murmured, lugging his supplies down the hall.

Hefting his own equipment, Ian followed. As he pushed aside the curtain that had fallen shut behind Wes, he froze. On the bed lay a girl so small she almost disappeared beneath the blankets and pillows. She looked like a tiny angel floating on a cloud with her smooth face, button nose and kewpie doll lips. Her long blonde hair was braided across her head. Her little face screwed up in pain and sweat dotted her sun-kissed forehead. And a large metal bar proturded from her side. The girl’s eyes blinked open. Although filled with tears, they were the most beautiful eyes Ian had ever seen and reminded him of the green of sea-glass. Right now, they held just as many messages as any bottle tossed at sea.

“Mommy,” her little voice choked out. “Mommy. It hurts.”

“Shh,” the woman next to her, Luci, squeezed the girl’s hand. “Your mommy’s close. She’ll be here, baby. Right now, these men are going to make you better.” The woman’s gaze swung back and forth between Ian and Wes, begging them not to make a liar of her.

“Mommy can make me better. Please, Mommy.” Although her last words were yelled, the sound barely traveled to where Ian stood in the doorway. The pain in her little voice shook him into action.

He strode across the room and began assembling the x-ray machine. “What’s her name?”

“Arabella.” The older woman’s voice clogged with tears. “We call her Ara.”

He nodded and stepped to the bed, looking down at the little girl. “Ara, I’m Dr. Ian. My friend, Dr. Wes, and I are going to make you all better. How’s that sound?”

She took a shallow breath, her eyes squeezing shut in pain. “Please,” she whispered as one small tear slid down her dusty cheek.

He squeezed her tiny hand and nodded to Wes to insert the anesthesia. He sighed. “Let’s get to work.”

* * *