Red X: Jean-Paul and Candace

[x-cynosure.livejournal.com]

The medtech runs into Jean-Paul again and conscripts him to help with an air lift.



The rescue effort had been underway for hours before Candace saw the dark-haired flier up close again. He was in the middle of a terse conversation with one of her colleagues, and it was going nowhere at full speed. She drew in just in time to catch the word "mutie".

"Breyers!" she barked at the other medic. "Van Zandt needs a hand." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder as the two men turned to look at her. The man gave Jean-Paul a dirty look, then strode off towards the other crew, grumbling under his breath.

"I need a lift," Candace said to Jean-Paul, her tone still matter-of-fact. "Are you busy?"

"Just freed up." There was tension in the man that she was willing to bet had nothing to do with the wreck. "Where do you need me?"

"About fifty meters that way." She indicated the direction with an incline of her head. "Can you carry a backboard with someone on it, and keep it mostly flat? The patient's young, shouldn't weigh too much."

"I am less worried about weight than balance, but let me see. If it is a full-size board, then I will have to get in touch with another flier or one of the telekinetics."

Candace grimaced. "I don't know that we have the time. The board's about four feet. It doesn't have to be perfectly flat, and we can strap the patient in tightly. Will that work?"

He nodded curtly. "I should be able to manage that. This is another local lift, then? Where do you need me to go?" The tension from whatever the confrontation had been about had slipped away; time to be professionals.

"She's just over that way, but I can't get there from here or get her out on my own." The medic pointed at the wreckage in front of them, twisted metal and unstable earth. "I need you to take me in there so I can secure her, and then bring her back out."

It was only a short flight over the wreck once Candace gathered her equipment; there was a gap on the far side where rescue crews had managed to open the area up, but it meant going the long way around. Time was too valuable to waste.

"Secure her" meant "extract her from the wreckage without causing further damage," the speedster realized as he set them on the ground next to one of the commuter cars. The car had taken the worst of the damage in the accident, and the girl, a small child of six or seven, was lying under what had once been seating. Candace pushed the small spine board into his hands. "Hold this," she instructed, dropping to the ground and shimmying into the gap between seats and floor. Jean-Paul couldn't hear what she said, only the sounds of comforting murmurs as the medic talked to her patient. After a moment, she twisted to look back at him. "I need you to slide the board back here."

Her newly-recruited aid pushed the spine board to her. The girl was crying, but not moving much at all, and Jean-Paul didn't know if it was because she had been told to lie still or something far worse. Getting her out was the first step.

Candace slid the board under the girl deftly, taking advantage of a gap in the wreckage, talking the whole while in the same soothing tone of voice. After the board was in place, she turned to talk to him again. "I need you in here. You're going to slide the board out slowly while I keep her neck secure. Once we get her free, I'll get her secured to the board. Got it?"

"I have done this before." Whether the words were supposed to be rebuke or reassurance was uncertain, but at least he kept his grip on the board and didn't jostle the patient. Even against a spine board sized for children, the girl was tiny. Her curly black hair stuck to her forehead in damp mats. "Do not cry, petite. We will have you out of here soon."

The medic slid a pair of foam blocks to either side of the girl's head. "Hold these," she requested, her tone slightly less brusque than before. She strapped the blocks into place as Jean-Paul held them, then pulled out a stethoscope and listened to the child's chest for a moment. "You do this sort of thing often?" Candace asked as she flipped the stethoscope back over her neck, hands moving quickly over the girl's body to assess for injury.

"Not for several years," he admitted. "But I have been trained to provide assistance in search and rescue. Part of that is knowing when to let those who put people back together for a living take the reins."

Candace nodded at that. "You're doing fine," she told him, frowning as she pressed her fingers against the girl's abdomen. She reached for another set of straps. "Here--help me secure these." They threaded the straps through the sides of the board and around the girl's shoulders, waist and knees, then carried her out of the car and into the open clearing between train cars.

"There should be an ambulance waiting where you picked me up. I'll radio ahead and tell them you're coming. And don't worry--I'll make sure they don't give you any grief." The look on her face showed that she meant it.

"Just remind them that I am not contagious and I do not think we will have any issues." The words were quick and delivered under the flier's breath, pitched so that the girl couldn't hear. Candace helped him balance the board and its passenger across his arms, and then he was off again.