Little Bitty Puzzle Pieces

By PJzallday

Rescue

"Is it much further?" Bobbi Kraus called from the back of their Recreational Vehicle.

Behind the wheel, her husband Jim grumbled, "How the hell should I know?"

Spring was late in coming to their home in Central Alberta, so the retirees had stayed longer at their winter place in Arizona. As they were packing up for their trip north, the Krauses heard about a community the size of their home town that had been swallowed up in some kind of geological disruption. Curious, they decided to drive up the California coast to have a look.

It was evening by the time they arrived. Standing at the edge of the crater, they marvelled at its size, snapped a few twilight shots and briefly pondered the lives of the people who'd lived there. But the tourists didn't stay long.

The hot sticky day's drive and months away from home had made them punchy — and sweaty — and seeing the devastation of the town only made them worry about their own home. Deciding the best course of action would be to turn in and make an early start in the morning, they were keen to find a place to park. Bobbi suggested they head to the ocean where they could take a dip to cool off before bedding down for the night. Her husband agreed and soon they were on their way down a dirt road toward the Pacific. As luck would have it, the road eventually linked with what the pair supposed was the road from the town to the beach and they found a vacant parking lot that seemed a good enough place to set up camp for the night.

After having a bite to eat, the Krauses climbed out of the camper and strolled to the beach to watch the sunset.

The sky was aglow of pinks and oranges as the sun slid into the sea. In the warm ambient light, Bobbi was admiring the silhouette of a nearby bluff when she noticed what appeared to be somebody amongst the rocks at its base. Motioning in the direction of her discovery, the concerned woman looked to her husband for confirmation that it was, as she thought, a person — most likely a man.

"Hey there!" Jim called out. "You alright?"

The figure remained motionless slumped beside a large bolder.

"C'mon Jim. Go check on'im," his wife urged, shoving him along anxiously from behind.

Shrugging her off, he complied. "Fine." As he got closer, Kraus felt a building sense of dread in his stomach; he was convinced they'd stumbled upon a corpse. "Hey… buddy?" Taking a deep breath for strength, he crouched and nervously reached to touch the outstretched hand of the prone form. "Cold," he gulped.

More boldly, Bobbi insisted, "We've gotta check for a pulse." She put two finger tips to one side of the body's throat. "I think…" She paused then, smiling, declared, "He's got a pulse. It's weak, but I'm… I'm pretty sure there's a pulse."

"Should we move 'im?" Jim questioned uncertainly.

"We've got to at least get him to the beach," suggested his wife. "He could drown here."

"Sure." Lowering his voice, he added, "We're out in the middle of nowhere. This guy looks pretty bad; he might not be able to wait for an ambulance."

"Yeah. I think yer right."

Shortly thereafter, they'd slung the frail form of a young man between their shoulders and were doing their best to carry him to their camper.

"You got him?" asked Bobbi as she fumbled for her keys and opened the RV door.

The retirees struggled to manoeuvre the near life-less body through the narrow opening and into the living quarters. Once inside, they eased the man down onto their banquette and let out relieved sighs.

"Better keep him off his back," Bobbi advised, while searching the overhead bin for supplies. "Sunburn's pretty bad."

Jim stood peering uncomfortably at the prone stranger. "His breathing seem OK to you?" he muttered almost to himself. Without waiting for his wife's reply, Jim moved for the driver's seat. "Gotta get to a hospital."

***

At the edge of sleep, he could feel her arm cradle his head and her free hand stroke his back. They were together; he was content. If only they could stay there forever.

***

Buffy sat with Giles and Dawn as they reviewed paperwork. The few days following the Hellmouth battle had been hectic. They'd contacted the families of each of the injured girls, assuring parents as best they could that their daughters would be fine and that every effort would be made to see them reimbursed for the costs incurred by the girls' hospitalization and subsequent travel expenses home.

With many of the survivors already on their way and the remainder being released from hospital, the impact of what had happened in Sunnydale would soon begin to sink in. There had been moments over the past days when Buffy felt sudden waves of panic, but now she feared those episodes would become all too frequent. For years, she knew exactly what she was meant to do with her life. She believed that, like it or not, her life would be spent in the thankless task of demon killing; it would be short and end violently. Now, with dozens maybe hundreds of others taking up her Calling, Buffy had a real opportunity to choose another path. Ultimately that choice, she would have to make alone.

"Ms. Summers?" a tall young man in a white coat with "B. Davies, M.D." stitched on it, approached with a clip board.

Buffy was thankfully distracted from her thoughts. "Yes?" she replied as she rose to her feet.

"If you'll follow me," the emergency medical resident invited, "I'll have a look at those stitches."

It wasn't long before Dr. Davies had examined Buffy's wounds and was scribbling notes on her chart.

Half-heartedly, Buffy inquired, "So we're all OK?"

"Cuts — even the deeper ones — are all healing nicely. Bruises and swelling are down. You ladies are all going to be just fine," the young doctor assured. "It's amazing, really, given all you've been through that no one was killed."

When they'd first arrived a few days earlier, there was concern that the police would be brought in: gang violence was suspected. But Giles simply told the truth — part of it — that the group had narrowly escaped the collapse of the town of Sunnydale, which shortly after their arrival was all over the news. Several of the girls had taken to posing for photos and doing interviews, but Buffy and the others who'd suffered the most physically and emotionally preferred to avoid the media frenzy.

"Excuse me." The resident clutched at his beeper and headed for the admit desk.

"Thanks Doctor," Buffy said absently.

His words had struck an uncomfortable chord: "no one was killed". But someone had been — several people, in fact. Buffy was suddenly overwhelmed by an emptiness she'd tried to reject for days. Dazed, she wandered out of the emergency room, oblivious to the warnings to clear the hall and narrowly missing a gurney being wheeled in. Once outside, she breathed deeply, sat down on the curb and cried.

***

"So what've we got," Doctor Davies asked the triage nurse as he entered the exam room.

"Unidentified white male. Thirties. Brought in by a couple of tourists. Limited circulation to the extremities. No visible sign of injury aside from the sunburned back. Pulse is weak and thready. B.P. seventy over forty," the nurse rattled off.

"He's hypotensive. Dehydrated. Get a CBC. Chem seven. Check his lytes. And start an IV," the resident requested as he began to examine the patient. "Has he been lucid?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Possibility of hypovolaemic shock. May need to start a dopamine drip," Davies suggested. "Where'd they find him?"

"On the beach up the coast."

"Add a tox screen. Let me know when the blood work comes back." He continued his assessment as the nurse fastened the intravenous line. "Hopefully if we can get some fluids into this guy, he'll come around." Turning the man to examine his back, the doctor shook his head. "Somebody should tell tourists you can't get a California tan in one day," he muttered noting the rawness of patient's blistering skin. "Start him on prednisone, sixty milligrams pd. Ibuprofen for pain: four hundred milligrams every four hours. I'll see if I can get him a bed upstairs."




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