Found at Sea - By Anne Marie Duquette Page 0,77
Help’s coming. I gave Donna our coordinates before we left. Sooner or later she’ll show up.”
“I’ll hang on,” she whispered, leaning her head on Jordan’s shoulder.
“I’ve got three waterproof flares,” Jordan said. “You?”
“Three also.”
“So...” Neil turned his gaze toward the setting sun. “How long do you figure we have to wait?”
“As long as it takes,” Jordan said, holding close the woman he loved. “As long as it takes.”
* * *
IN THE END, the wait didn’t take long at all. Donna needed barely thirty minutes to find their location. She showed up on Neil’s Dealer Ship alone; she’d insisted that Gerald take her place on the helicopter to reunite with Dorian at the hospital.
Jordan grabbed on to the ladder of Neil’s vessel with one hand, his other arm still around Aurora’s waist as Neil climbed aboard first and shed his dive gear. Donna couldn’t leave the bridge in the rough waters, even though Neil yelled, “She’s broken her ankle and has signs of the bends. Help us get her up.”
“I’m the only crew. You’re on your own,” Donna yelled back.
Neil then climbed back onto the dive platform, taking Aurora from Jordan’s arms.
“The controls are yours, Neil,” Donna said to Neil as soon as everyone was on board. He made his way to the pilot’s wheel. “I’ll help with Rory. How is she?”
Donna gently slid off her remaining dive boot. Even in the fading light, she gasped at Aurora’s flayed, bleeding toes. Her eyes caught Aurora’s for a second, then Donna studied her broken ankle.
“I got trapped...tried to dig my way out,” Aurora whispered.
“I’ll splint that ankle,” Donna said as Neil increased speed for San Diego. “Jordan, you bandage her toes.”
Before they could do either, Aurora doubled over in pain, her body in the fetal position as the bends cramped her insides.
“Forget the toes,” Jordan said, holding on to Aurora so she didn’t roll right into the side of the boat. “We need a helicopter.”
“The cruise-ship helicopter had to go refuel. He was running on fumes.”
“Call the Coast Guard chopper,” Jordan said. “We need a decompression chamber. Tell Neil to radio in a Mayday.”
* * *
THE PAIN WAS WORSE than anything Aurora had ever experienced—or hoped to experience again. Decompressed nitrogen in her circulatory system, nitrogen compressed by the depth of her dive and the pressure of the deep water, now expanded faster than her body could handle.
The bubbles of nitrogen in her veins and arteries could cause a stroke if trapped in her brain, could cause a heart attack, could cause paralysis. They could blow apart lungs and other organs, explode blood vessels, cause severe injuries or death.
All she could do was scream and scream as severe embolism cramping—the bends—attacked her body. For the first time in her life, her beloved ocean had turned against her. She felt Jordan hold her, Donna removing her wet suit and swimsuit, Jordan wrapping her in warm blankets, Donna splinting her broken ankle. Even the pain of broken bones felt insignificant compared to the agony she suffered. Her voice changed from piercing to raw to hoarse and finally grew silent. Her overworked muscles stiffened from exhaustion. Yet the pain still continued.
Only Jordan’s voice kept her sane.
Even Donna abandoned her, saying with a cracking voice and wet eyes, “I’ll go check on the chopper.”
Jordan held her shivering body. Warm blankets were useless against her pain. Only Jordan helped.
“I’m here, sweetheart. Hang on,” he kept saying.
She felt his love surround her, as his arms did. Jordan loves me, she told herself over and over. Jordan loves me.
“Remember what you wrote,” he was saying. “You love me. I love you, too. You hang on, sweetheart. Just hang on.”
She didn’t—couldn’t—register much of the boat ride. The sunset, another spectacular California sunset, went unappreciated. The noise of the Coast Guard helicopter in the dark went unheard as agony became her whole world. She didn’t notice the departure of the Coast Guard helicopter; darkness and the ocean’s sudden choppy swells had made ship-to-chopper transfer impossible. She didn’t even register when the Dealer Ship arrived in San Diego Harbor.
By the time Jordan’s strong arms carried her off the ship onto the waiting ambulance, she’d thankfully lost consciousness.
Balboa Naval Hospital, San Diego
Nighttime
TANYA STOOD beside the navy’s barometric chamber. Inside, Aurora, still unconscious, lay covered, a temporary splint on her ankle. Outside, Jordan and her aunt’s doctor, a tall woman in uniform khakis, consulted in low, serious tones. Every dire prediction twisted inside Tanya’s middle.
“...Could be some brain damage...hard to say with only two