Aiden signed the last purchase order of the day and placed it on the stack to the side of his desk. While the promotion to captain was an honor, he had to admit the added administrative duties were not his favorite part of the job. Unfortunately, those responsibilities took up over half his time.
He stood and made his way to the kitchen, hoping to find a box of crackers. He was hungry and wanted to grab a snack to tide him over until he joined his mom for dinner.
Aiden made his way to the stairway and descended, taking two stairs at a time. Sitting for so many hours was not his friend. Every chance for a little exercise was a gift. The guys ribbed him all the time about being a desk bunny. They teased he’d get soft sitting at that desk for hours on end.
On the first floor, he traversed the gray-speckled linoleum, making his way past the shiny yellow rescue vehicles loaded down with equipment. As he passed the open door to the exercise room, he heard a deep grunt followed by a loud thump, then another.
He stopped to investigate, finding Meghan standing in front of the punching bag with boxing gloves covering her hands. Oblivious to his presence, she pulled back, grunted, and threw her entire weight into another strike. The blow sent the bag swinging.
“Hey,” Aiden said. “You hungry?”
Ignoring him, she landed another hit. This time the momentum nearly took her off her feet.
“Hey,” he said, louder this time. “You mad at that thing?”
This time she paused and looked his way. “Sorry, what’d you want?”
Aiden rubbed at his right eyebrow. “Nothing. Just walking by and saw you in here beating up the bag.”
“I’m training,” she said, unlacing her gloves. She removed them and gave them a toss into the box by the lockers.
“Training for what? A fight?”
She nearly growled in his direction. “No, not a fight. I simply want to be fit and strong. Is that a problem?”
Aiden held out open palms. “No, no problem. Carry on.” He walked away, puzzled. Meghan was undeniably in a bad mood. He knew better than to poke an angry bear.
In the kitchen, he found Grant Costa and Jeremy Hogan at the table. Mike Carr, the HR director, stood at the stove. When he saw Aiden, he held up his spatula. “Making grilled cheese sandwiches. Want one?”
Aiden’s stomach suddenly growled. When was the last time he’d eaten? “Sure,” he said. He moved to the cupboard for some plates. “You guys eating?” he asked his teammates.
Grant shoved the final bite of a Snickers candy bar into his mouth. “You bet.”
Jeremy laughed. “When have you ever known Grant to pass up food?”
Aiden grabbed the plates and a bag of unopened potato chips off the counter and walked them both over to the table. “Hey, anybody know what’s up with McCord?”
Jeremy shook his head. “No idea. She’s as mean as a wild cat, though. I asked how her evening went last night and she nearly bit my head off.”
“Must be PMS,” Grant said, wadding up the empty candy wrapper.
The remark earned him a look from Mike. “Hey, watch it. Overtures like that can be misconstrued. For that reason, all references of that sort are prohibited in the workplace,” he warned.
Grant rolled his eyes. “Okay, allow me to reword my evaluation of the matter. McCord is cranky with a touch of psycho.” He stood and aimed for the waste can, dunking the wrapper without hitting the edges. He threw his arms above his head. “Score!”
Mike juggled a spatula stacked with hot sandwiches to the table and passed them out.
Grateful, Aiden lifted his from his plate and took a large bite. He barely chewed before swallowing, then took a second bite. “This is good, Mike. Thanks.”
A low, howling moaning sound came from the direction of the window. “Looks like we need to caulk our window frame. That wind is whipping outside.”
“I’ll add it to the list,” Aiden promised, shoving the remainder of the sandwich inside his mouth.
Suddenly, all of their cell phones buzzed. At the same time, the alarm went off out in the station. Red lights lit up and flashed off and on.
Aiden shoved his plate aside and grabbed his phone. “Looks like we’ve got a call.”
Grant frowned. “A shark bite victim. Honolua Bay.”
Everyone but Mike raced for the lockers. They grabbed helmets and their gear and raced through the station, climbing into their two rescue vehicles. Aiden drove unit number one. Next to him in the front seat was Meghan. The two new guys rode in the back.
No matter how many times Aiden had responded to a call, he still felt his stomach clench and beads of sweat on his back. This job carried huge responsibility, and even more now that he was captain.
Even so, he was a member of a well-trained team. They had all put in hours of mock rescues and taken grueling physical tests. After a round of twenty-five pull-ups, SAR team members ran a timed one-hundred-yard obstacle course while carrying two fifty-pound dumbbells. Then they were timed while they marched one mile carrying a forty-pound rescue litter—the caged metal stretcher used in air and sea rescues. Team members then had to get in their rescue harness, swim fins, and snorkel for a one-third of a mile solo swim, followed by another third pulling along a volunteer “victim”—to be completed in less than twenty-seven minutes.
In Aiden’s opinion, his team was the best around. They were ready for anything.
Still, shark bite situations posed a particularly dangerous scenario, especially when the victim remained in the water. Not only were they racing against time to get to the victim before they possibly bled out—but the possibility of another hit to one of his team members was imminently possible. This required special care and a team who remained level-headed at all times.
They would work alongside Coast Guard and county medical emergency workers, but the people dispatched directly into the water in these situations was often the SAR team.
It took less than a half hour to reach the remote area in Honolua Bay where the incident was reported to have occurred. A small crowd had gathered on the shoreline, anxiously awaiting the rescue. Thankfully, the Coast Guard already had one of their bright-yellow helicopters in the air.
Aiden slammed his vehicle into park and they scrambled out. “McCord, you take the Wave Runner.” He motioned to the other two. “You’re with me.”
They assembled the water rescue equipment they’d need—rescue tubes made of high-density foam, ring buoys, a rope, a backboard, and a medical bag. All were tossed into a bright orange rescue raft. Together, they pulled the raft from the trailer and heaved it to the water’s edge.
Next, they quickly donned high-buoyancy SAR vests and yanked neoprene hoods over their heads, then pulled on their gloves and scrambled aboard.
“Hurry,” Aiden shouted. “Let’s go!”
Palms along the shoreline bent to the force of the winds whipping the ocean water and causing white caps on waves Aiden would guess to be at least four to six feet high. Not the highest swells he’d encountered, by far, but still a respectable obstacle to their efforts.
As the engine roared to life and they set out, bucking the waves, Aiden glanced skyward. Dread mounted as he noted the dark color forming to the east. Honolua Bay was on the northern tip of Maui, on the windward side of the island, and was subject to Kona winds, which could get dangerous.
The SAR team would have to work efficiently…and fast.
Aiden brought a walkie talkie to his ear and listened as the helicopter pilot reported the coordinates for the location of victim and his friend. He quickly calculated the distance in his mind. Four-hundred-forty yards. Aiden gunned the motor to high-throttle against the powerful waves bucking against their rescue sled.
In the distance, he spotted Meghan on the Wave Runner. She was waving wildly, signaling she’d located the victim. The voice on the other end of the walkie talkie confirmed they were close to their destination.
Aiden heard Meghan cut her motor and watched as she dove into the water with a rescue tube and a ring buoy in hand. Using a one-armed side-stroke, she expertly cut through the ocean’s surface until she reached the person in the water.
He maneuvered the rescue raft in place and tethered it to her Wave Runner. The team members scrambled into the water, loaded down with ropes, medical supplies, and a backboard.
The victim was a twenty-two-year-old surfer. His surfboard was mangled with toothmarks from the shark attack…likely a tiger shark, which were prevalent in the area, especially during and after a storm. The gray sky and the murky ocean water at the mouth of inlet leading into the bay created conditions that were perfect for a shark strike. The area could only be accessed by taking a trek on foot through lush tropical vegetation and a forest of tall banyan trees covered with long vines hanging from the limbs. The beach consisted primarily of tiny black stones and boasted of pockets of shallow water filled with reefs loaded with colorful fishes, which made the spot a popular destination for tourists wanting to snorkel. Eel spottings were reported regularly, as well as an occasional octopus.
Honolua Bay was also a favorite spot among surfers, especially when there was a north swell firing. Sadly, tiger sharks also frequented the area, causing three to four incidents per year, a few of them fatal.
Aiden swam to the victim, joining Meghan. “What’ve we got?” he asked her, aware the surrounding water was turning a burnished red color. A sign of danger to both the victim and to the rescuers, should another tiger shark be lurking.
“Looks like a severe gash to the leg and another to the heel. Lots of blood.” She had secured a life ring under his armpits.
Aiden knew what that meant. The probability of shock setting in. “What’s your name, buddy?” he asked, cradling the victim’s head against his shoulder.
The kid was young, reported to be about Shane’s age. “Rich,” he forced out through chattering teeth.
“Well, Rich…we’re going to take good care of you. Don’t worry about anything. We’ve done this hundreds of times, and we’re going to get you safely on shore. Then the emergency workers are going to get you all the medical care you need. So, you hang in there. Okay?”
Rich nodded. His face was pale, an indication of loss of blood.
After instructing his guys to load Rich’s friend on the Wave Runner to get him out of danger, Aiden pulled off a glove and placed two fingers against their victim’s external jugular vein. The pulse was weakened. He gave a silent look in Meghan’s direction. She nodded and pulled a tourniquet kit from her bag.
The human body has, on average, between four to five liters of blood. The greatest risk in a shark attack is that of bleeding out. A victim can bleed out from an amputated limb in under five minutes. Thankfully, Rich’s injuries were less severe. Still, it was apparent he’d suffered a rip to an arterial vein. Attending to blood loss was their first priority when it came to first aid.
With the help of the rest of the team, they rolled Rich onto his side, known as the recovery position. That way, if Rich lost consciousness, his airway would remain open and not blocked off.
The tourniquet was quickly placed, high and horizontal.
“You still with us, Rich?” Aiden asked, knowing they had less than three hours to get him needed additional medical care.
The guy nodded, his eyes still wide with fear.
Meghan grabbed his chin in her gloved hand. “We’re going to get you safely to the hospital, do you hear me? Relax, and let us do the work. You are simply along for the ride.” Her comment was meant to lighten the moment, and it hit its mark. Rich gave her a weak smile.
Over the next minutes, the Coast Guard helicopter overhead maneuvered into place above them. The blades made a whapping sound that echoed off the ocean’s surface. Or perhaps that was Aiden’s heart beating against his ribs.
A line lowered a basket. Their next job was to secure Rich on the backboard so he could be secured and lifted into the basket, then transported to Maui Memorial where a medical team was waiting.
The two new guys moved into place and worked to slide Rich in place. They quickly secured belts over his abdomen and upper legs. Another strap was strategically placed over his forehead and fastened, leaving little chance for movement once the helicopter would lift him to safety.
That was the first chance Aiden had to inspect the wound. The sight made his stomach somersault.
The gash on the front of Rich’s right lower leg was approximately five inches in length. Aiden could see bone protruding from the bloody flesh. The kid’s heel looked like hamburger meat. It was likely an amputation was in Rich’s future.
Aiden closed his eyes against the image, one he knew he’d see in his dreams for nights to come. This job carried more than the weight of the equipment.
He glanced over at Meghan. Their gazes met. She had tears in her eyes.
Aiden gave her a supportive smile and she quickly looked away, wiping at her eyes with her wet sleeve.
That’s when he saw the bruises. Dark, purple blotches at her wrist.
The sky opened and heavy pellets of rain immediately turned into a downpour. “Let’s go. Let’s go.” He lifted an arm and made a circular motion, signaling to the helicopter pilot that the victim was secure and ready for transport.
The rain would not hinder the helicopter’s function, but it would make visibility an issue. As soon as their shark bite victim was inside, the pilot gave the thumbs-up. The helicopter engine geared up and the helicopter lifted, its rotors causing circular waves on the ocean’s surface.
Aiden swam over to Meghan. Over the chaotic noise, he took hold of her bruised arm. “We need to talk,” he shouted.
“Leave it alone, Briscoe. It’s none of your business,” she warned. She turned away. Using a well-practiced crawl stroke, she swam to the Wave Runner, climbed on, and sped away.