Free Rook: Snowman by Graham Masterton Page A

The ketamine’s kicked in. And Rachel’s the best there is.”
    The woman paramedic said, “Find me a table. Quick as you can. Something to rest his elbows on. How about you, sir? Do you think you can manage to keep on holding him up?”
    Jim said, “Sure. Washington – can you help me?”
    “No problem,” said Washington, and bent down so that Jim could seat Ray on top of his back.
    Nestor came out, dragging a small wooden table behind him. The Hispanic paramedic took it, and slid it under Ray’s elbows to support them. At the same time, the womanparamedic was collecting out of her bag everything that she would need for an amputation. Jim saw the sun glint on her saw, and he had to turn away. He found himself looking at a grinning skull badge sewn onto the sleeve of Ray’s sweatshirt. God, he thought. How appropriate.
    Deftly, the woman paramedic laid out all of her instruments – saw, scalpels and needles, as well as swabs and pads. As she was doing so, the first firetruck arrived, honking and wailing, and a crew of firefighters came waddling across the lawn, carrying axes and breathing equipment. But by now there was nothing they could do. The Hispanic paramedic had already strapped a transparent plastic mask over over Ray’s face, to give him oxygen and anesthetic, and the woman was tightening tourniquets round each of Ray’s arms, just above the elbow.
    “Do you have to amputate them so high up?” asked Jim. “At least if he had his elbows—”
    The woman paramedic said, “He’s deep-frozen right up to the middle of his forearm. Unless we amputate right up here, there’s a strong chance that we’ll leave some necrotic flesh, which will mean that he’s very susceptible to later infection. Gangrene, which could kill him.”
    She looked at Jim sharply. She had green eyes and ginger freckles across her nose and there was a determination about her which Jim found both daunting and reassuring. If she had the courage to cut off Ray’s arms above the elbows, to save him from dying, then he guessed that he had the courage to help her.
    “All of this external tissue is dead,” she said, prodding the black scabby skin that covered Ray’s fingers and forearms. “In most cases of frostbite, the dead tissue is not much more than a shell, and when it peels off, which it eventually will, you’ll have nothing but pink babyskin. Excruciatingly sensitive, of course. But at least it grows back.”

    “But this skin isn’t going to grow back?”
    “Not in my opinion, no. What’s spreading in his body here is total frostbite. All of the muscles, bone and tendon are frozen solid. Here, look.”
    She picked up a scalpel and cut a deep slit in Ray’s wrist. She opened it wide with her fingers, and even Jim’s inexperienced eye could see that his flesh was white and solid, like deep-frozen pork, and that his veins were filled with crystals of crunchy maroon blood.
    “At the rate this frosbite is developing, it’s going to reach his shoulders in fifteen minutes.”
    The West Hollywood fire chief came up – a short, bristly man with a walrus moustache.
    “Hi, Rachel. Cómo le va ?”
    “ Muy bien, gracias. Y usted ?”
    “ Muy bien . What the hell’s happening here?”
    “Major surgery, I’m afraid. Can you just ask your people to clear all of the students out of here? This is going to be something that they won’t want to see.”
    “You want us to cut that handrail free? We’re carrying hydraulic cutters. Won’t take us a minute.”
    “Sorry, chief. It won’t make any difference. And every second counts.”
    Jim was fascinated by the way in which she could talk and work at the same time. She picked up her scalpel and started to cut into Ray’s left arm, just above the elbow. The tourniquet was so tight, and his arm was so frozen, that he hardly bled at all – just one big red droplet which rolled down on to his elbow and dropped onto the table underneath.
    “ Madre mia ,” said the fire chief.