He bent down, then heard a groan from inside.
He thought at first that it was the driver. But a second groan sounded more male than female. He stepped back, took out his small LED flashlight, then went back and peered inside. He saw a leg on the back floor.
His stomach turned.
Then the leg moved and Danny jumped back. It took a second before he realized the leg hadn't been amputated by the crash and that he was seeing someone trapped under the car, his leg sticking out through a rear sunroof.
"We got another back there!" shouted one of the PJs.
"Yeah, I see him!" yelled Danny. "He's trapped underneath. His leg is moving."
Trying to clear his head from the gas fumes, Danny walked a few feet from the wreck. Watching the PJs set the driver out on a stretcher, he recognized her as one of the women who worked in the all-ranks cafeteria. He knew she had at least one kid at home.
"She's pretty bad, Captain," said the sergeant in charge of the rescue team, Gabe McManus. "We need to get her over to the med center stat."
"Go," said Danny.
"What about the other guy?"
"We're going to have to lift the truck to get him. That'll take a while," said Danny. "We'll need to hook the Osprey up. Let's save her first."
McManus nodded. The others had already immobilized the driver and lifted her gently onto a stretcher.
It would take at least ten minutes for another Osprey to arrive, and a good ten if not more after that to secure a chain and lift the truck safely. Twenty minutes wasn't a lifetime— but it might be to the trapped man.
"Maybe we can jack the truck up with the gear in the Jimmy," McManus said.
"Ground's kind of loose," said Danny. "I'd worry about it slipping."
"Yeah," agreed the sergeant. "But it might do that when we hook up the Osprey, too. Car looks like it's kind of perched on some of the rocks there — slip a bit too much and he's in even worse trouble."
McManus dropped flat and peered underneath. "All we really need is about two feet," he said. "We might be able to get a couple of guys on the side, lift gently—"
"I have a better idea," said Danny.
Zen saw Danny standing next to the truck. He looked like he was trying to gauge whether he could push it over. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"We have another guy underneath. I think I can use the arm to lift it."
"You want help?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
Zen came over slowly, his power at seven percent. "We can lift it straight up," he said.
"We're going to have to pull up together," Danny told him. "Just tell me what to do."
Danny explained how to use the skeleton's fingers as clamps, then coached him on slowly revving the power. They'd have to work as a team, each clamped on one side of the vehicle.
The ease Zen had felt just a few moments before had evaporated. He jerked to the side, unable to get into the right position. His legs dangled uselessly below him. He forced his arms closer together, slipping back on the power. Sweat poured out of his body. It wasn't the heat, though it was plenty hot. His nerves were melting.
It's easy, he told himself. We're going to save this guy, save his legs. Don't let him end up like me.
His own feet were touching the ground. He edged closer to the SUV, trying to find a good place to grip.
"Got it, Zen?" asked Danny.
"Hold on. I'm still new at this."
Zen hooked his arm under the chassis and found a solid hold for the body. The finger extensions on his arm seemed too weak to hold, and left part of his hand bare — he could feel the grease and grime from the chassis.
I hope I don't crush my hand, he thought.
"Ready," he told Danny.
"Ramp up slow, real slow. On three. One, two… "
Zen twisted his wrist as gently as he could, as saw the power move up to 15, then 20. The exoskeleton was straining, but the SUV didn't budge. He twisted his hand on the throttle, fighting the urge to rev it as high as it could go.
"That's it, keep steady!" said Danny. "Steady! Just hold it there. You OK, Zen?"
"Yeah, I got it."
The PJs scrambled to brace the man and get him out. Zen could hear them talking through their radios. They were near the victim — he was conscious, answering them, complaining about his legs.
At least he felt pain. That was a good sign.
A tone sounded in Zen's helmet. He was into his fuel reserves.
"Danny—"
"Yeah, I heard it. Let's move it, you guys. McManus — you have two minutes."
It took nearly three. Zen and Danny held the truck up together for another minute and a half; by then it was too late for Zen to fly back. Instead, he fluttered down to the ground, exhausted, landing ignobly in a heap. Before he could say anything, two of the PJs grabbed him and hustled him into the back of the security Jimmy.
"Way to go, Major," said the man on his left as they slid him into the back.
"Yeah," said Zen. "Thanks."
The truck started to move. The passenger they'd pulled out was laying on a flat board across the folded-down seat, his ride cushioned by four large balloonlike buffers. The truck moved slowly down the road, avoiding the worst of the potholes.
"Major, am I going to be all right?" the passenger asked.
Zen glanced at the parajumper behind him. He was a certified combat medic, the closest thing to a doctor you could find on the front line, and more experienced in dealing with trauma injuries than many emergency room specialists. The
PJ made a slight movement with his eyes, signaling to Zen that he didn't know.
"Yeah, kid," he said. "I think you're going to be cool. I'm pretty sure you are."
"Wow, that's a relief," said the young man.
Zen recognized him as a maintainer, one of the engine specialists responsible for the EB-52 power plants. A crew dog who'd worked on his aircraft many times, he was sure.
"I wasn't wearing my seat belt," he continued. "We went off the road — there was a jackrabbit or something weird. I bounced up and down and the top flew open. The next thing I knew, it felt like the whole world was sitting on top of me and I was being pulled apart. I am gonna make it, right?"
"You'll make it," said Zen.
"My legs are kinda numb."
Zen glanced up at the PJ, who now had a pained expression on his face. He'd been prodding the young man's foot with a pin, apparently getting no response.
"They gave you painkillers," Zen said. "I'm surprised your head's not numb."
"As long as I can walk."
"Just close your eyes and relax now," said the pararescue man, resting his hand gently on the young man's chest. "We'll be at the med center in a few minutes."
Stoner fought the urge to return fire, knowing it would just give away their position. He lay still, gun ready, waiting as the bullets continued to fly. The cold seeped up through his jacket into his chest; his pants grew damp with the chill.
Finally, the rounds slacked off. Stoner waited, expecting more.
The ground smelled vaguely like cow dung. He funneled his breath through his mouth as slowly and silently as he could, worried that his breath might be visible in the moonlight. Finally, when he hadn't heard any gunfire for a few minutes, he began edging to his right. He raised his head ever so slightly as he moved, trying to see down the hill.
There were two shadows near the road, but by the time he spotted them they were moving toward the cottage and he didn't have a clear shot. He waited until their shapes had been consumed by the cottage then got up and ran down the hill toward the road.