The hours lumbered by in the heat and misery. Using the protocols given to her, Monica started IVs on the sickest patients, and administered antibiotics in hopes that the minimum of infection-fighting medicine would help until Walt, Donald… or any doctor at all could come. The patients in the red room were simply too sick to send to the hospital. Monica knew they wouldn’t survive the trip on the Jamaican back roads.

Tauni had gone home to sleep and Trent was still roaming the clinic… somewhere. Trent opted to stay, and had the locals transfer the patients in trucks to the main hospital. All Monica had to do was wait for help. And pray their supplies held up.

Shortly after noon the next day two small miracles shed light in Monica’s world. Walt arrived in an ambulance, a real equipped medical transport, complete with a portable monitor and supplies. The second miracle was power. Real power, not the flaky kind that was knocked out with the wind. Monica would have been giddy if she’d managed anything other than a catnap beside the red room wall.

Like a zombie, she led Walt from patient to patient, explaining everything she’d done. “The antibiotics are dangerously low. We’ve managed a gram of Ancef on the worst of them, and a secondary dose on these four,” she said pointing to those in the room. “We ran out of tetanus last night. Our gauze, antibiotic cream, splints… everything is nearly gone. There’s not quite enough of anything to fill everyone’s needs.”

Walt shook his head and pulled her aside. “We need to get Mari to the main hospital.” Mari was a thirty-two-year-old woman who’d come in with a penetrating wound to her abdomen. Every hour her vital signs grew graver.

“I didn’t think she’d make the trip in the back of a truck.”

Walt patted her on the back, as if assuring her for her decisions. “She might not make it anyway. I can’t operate here. It’s worse than Donald thought. No one told him half the building crumbled.”

“Shandee assured me the only thing under the debris was a storage room.”

Monica hid a yawn behind her hand.

“When was the last time you slept?”

She was fading, and knew it. “It’s been a while.”

Walt tilted his head to the side in question.

“Back at the main hospital. But I’ve managed a few winks against the wall.”

“Is there any place you can go here? A quiet room?”

“Are you kidding me? The people are roaming the streets. Most have lost their homes. You saw it out there. If it wasn’t for Trent, I wouldn’t have managed even a shower since we arrived.”

“Who’s Trent?”

Monica glanced around the room searching for him. He’d left during the night for a few hours, and returned with coffee. Thank the heavens.

“The pilot. He’s around here somewhere.”

As if Trent heard his name being called, he emerged in the doorway.

Monica waved him over.

“Trent, do you remember Dr. Eddy?”

“Walt,” her colleague corrected her.

The men shook hands.

“Thanks for stepping in,” Walt said.

“There’s not a lot I can do.”

Walt glanced between them. “Can I ask a favor of you?”

“Sure.”

“Can you get Monica out of here for a while? She needs some sleep.”

She wanted to argue. She’d already put Trent out enough. The poor guy didn’t have much of a choice. As it was, Monica recruited any able-bodied person to some task or another. But Trent had something none of the rest of them did. He had a house that still stood… and a shower. “You don’t have to,” she offered but knew her lame voice gave away her desire for a little downtime.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I keep waiting for you to drop.”

Walt laughed. “Not our Monica. She’s the embodiment of the Energizer Bunny.” He nudged Monica with his shoulder. “Get out of here. I don’t want to see you for at least ten hours.”

Monica’s eyes grew wide. “But—”

“Another group of medical relief arrived. I’ll have Donald send more help.” He made shooing motions with his hands.

“If you’re sure.”

“Go.”

Monica caught Trent’s smile as they turned around.

“Oh, and Monica?”

“Yeah?”

“You did great.”

Chapter Seven

Trent shot out of bed, his heart racing, sweat dampened his sheets.

He didn’t remember his dream. He didn’t need to. His body recognized the uncomfortable burn of memories… lost dreams. It had been two years since a dream forced him from his bed.

Why now?

But he knew. A woman slept in his home, a beautiful, intelligent, and smart-ass woman who sparked memories.

With his sleep patterns completely screwed up, Trent pushed back the covers, encountered Ginger who had taken to the bed since the earthquake, and padded barefoot around his room. The moon shed some light inside the house, and kept him from running into walls. He slipped on a pair of sweatpants and walked quietly past his guest’s bedroom and out onto his back deck.

The warm Caribbean air was a welcome relief. Up here, on his perch that overlooked the ocean, he could forget the world literally crumbling around him. Here he could listen to the gentle waves far below and the crickets calling in the night.

Here he could forget.

Here he could heal.

Ginger walked in a circle at his feet and curled up in a ball before settling to sleep in a different spot.