“He’s an idiot. And he’s mean. Likes to push people around just for fun.”
“I hear he and Barry got into it.”
“It wasn’t a big deal. Snake was running off at the mouth. Saying stuff about…well, just being a jackass. He started pushing Barry around and Barry flattened him with one punch. It was over. Done.”
“Was it?”
“You think Snake did this?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to find out.”
Pete’s phone rang again. Five more minutes. That’s all he needed with Curtis. He yanked out the phone. He hovered his thumb over the ignore button, but paused. It was the station again.
“I should take this,” he told Curtis before answering the call.
“Pete? Where the hell are you?” Sylvia’s voice sounded tight.
“I’m talking to Curtis Knox. What are you doing at the station?”
“All hell has broken loose here, that’s what I’m doing at your station. You need to get back here now. Bruce Yancy’s been shot.”
“You should have stayed back,” Earl said to Zoe as they followed Medic Three along the tarred and chipped country road, approaching the Loomis farm.
Every nerve fiber in her body agreed. The last time they’d responded to the now-abandoned Loomis farm, they’d discovered a burned corpse. “I’ll be fine.” But Carl Loomis’s charred remains weren’t what haunted her. The memory of another burning structure—one she’d been inside—was too fresh, too vivid.
Everyone at the ambulance garage knew about her demons. Tony had offered to let her stay behind and man the radio. He said he could call in someone off-duty to take the call with Earl. But she wouldn’t hear of it. She had to face the monsters lurking in the flames sooner or later.
They topped one last hill and rounded the blind curve leading down the other side. Deep gray smoke, almost the same hue as the rain clouds, billowed over the trees blocking the view.
Less than a minute later, the pair of ambulances turned into the gravel farm lane. Ahead, the barn was ablaze, flames devouring the old wood. A trio of firetrucks, including one tanker—no hydrants out here—were parked near the structure. Men in bunker gear poured water on the inferno.
Their radio hissed as Tony in the lead ambulance radioed that both EMS units were on scene. Control responded with a ten-four and the time. Eighteen twenty-six. Almost six thirty. Zoe noted it on the call report.
Deputy Fire Chief Onderick lumbered toward them, waving his arms. Both Zoe and Earl powered down their windows. A gust of rain-laden wind sliced through the ambulance’s cab. Sirens and blasts of air horns, some distant, some closer, along with the stench of burning wood and hay, filled the air. Onderick shouted something at the guys in the first rig. Zoe couldn’t make it out over the din.
Medic Three pulled forward. Earl followed, and Onderick waved them on rather than repeat whatever orders he’d given.
Zoe caught a glimpse in the rearview mirror of a pair of police cruisers, neither of them Pete’s.
Medic Three parked in the grass alongside the farm lane, leaving room for more fire apparatuses. Earl parked Medic Eight next to the other ambulance as the first fat raindrops splattered on the windshield. Zoe jumped out, instinctively reaching for the rain slicker she kept behind the seat. Except this wasn’t her regular ride. With no time to search for errant weather gear, she tugged on her EMS ball cap and grabbed the jump kit from inside the side patient compartment door.
“We’ll take care of the kid,” Tony bellowed over the diesel rumble of idling fire trucks and the vicious popping crackle of the fire. “You two treat Yancy.”
Zoe and Earl trailed behind at a jog. Zoe was able to keep her eyes averted from the burning barn, but the sounds and smells triggered flashbacks. Trapped in the basement of a doomed farmhouse, waiting for the groaning timbers to collapse onto her. She choked.
Earl slowed and glanced at her. “You gonna be able to do this?”
“Yeah.” She shook it off and nudged him forward. “Go.”
They circled to the front of the rig closest to the fire. Two men were on the ground. Fire Chief Bruce Yancy cradled a young man in his arms. Blood soaked through the junior firefighter’s turnout coat and covered Yancy’s fingers where he bore down on the gunshot wound with his left hand. The chief’s right arm hung limp at his side, more blood saturating a tattered sleeve that was half torn away.
Tears filled the chief’s eyes as he looked up at the paramedics. “Save him,” he pleaded.
“We got him, Yancy,” Tony said. He eased the kid out of the fire chief’s arms.
Yancy winced, his breath a sharp hiss.
Zoe tugged her cap down lower as a gust of wind and rain threatened to rip it from her head. She studied the entrance wound, relatively small compared to the hole in the back of his arm. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“Nope.” Yancy swallowed hard. “Bullet shattered my arm,” he said through clenched teeth.
Earl dug into the jump kit and pulled out a triangular bandage, which was quickly soaked from the rain. He fashioned a makeshift sling to immobilize the arm. “If you can walk on your own, let’s get out of this rain and into the ambulance.”
“I can walk.” Yancy looked over at the other team working on his young charge. “Is Jason gonna be all right?”
“They’re the best. You know that,” Zoe said. Not a real answer, but the best she could offer at the moment.
Zoe helped Earl ease the bandage around the broken arm. A loud crack drew her gaze to the burning barn in time to see the roof give way, disintegrating into the hungry flames. She shivered and looked away, taking a glance at the landscape. Overgrown pastures surrounded the barn, house, and a few other decrepit outbuildings rolling in waves upward to the tree line at the top of the hill.
Was the shooter still out there? Had he sufficiently gotten his jollies, picking off helpless rescue personnel? Or had the rain driven him into hiding?
She caught Earl watching her and guessed he was asking himself the same questions.
They helped the fire chief to his feet. As they trudged back to Medic Eight, Tony caught up to them. “Can one of you give me a hand with the gurney?” From the look on his face, no one needed to ask how the junior firefighter was doing.
“I got Yancy,” Zoe told Earl. “You go.”
Earl and Tony veered away at a slushy jog. Yancy leaned on Zoe with his good arm and they pressed on through the deluge.
She yanked open the ambulance’s back doors and helped him climb in. After pulling the doors closed, the sound of the flames and the diesel engines were muffled, leaving only the drumming of raindrops on the roof.
“Jason’s mother’s gonna kill me for letting her boy get hurt,” Yancy stuttered through chattering teeth as he took a seat on the jump bench.
Zoe pulled her trauma shears from her pants pocket, glad she’d sprung for the heavy duty variety. “It wasn’t your fault.” She wanted to add the boy would be fine, but she had a bad feeling it would be a lie.
Wishing she had Earl’s extra set of hands to help keep Yancy’s arm stabilized, she removed the temporary sling and started cutting the heavy sleeve of the bunker coat.
The fire chief groaned. “You got any good drugs in this meat wagon?”
“I sure do. As soon as I can get this coat off you, I’ll start an IV and slip you something for the pain.”
The going was slow and tough, and Zoe had to use both hands to cut through the layers of fabric.
Yancy watched her work. “You want me to do that?”
“I got it, thanks.”
“You do realize that’s a five-hundred-dollar coat you’re destroying.” He forced a grin that was more of an agonized grimace.
“I think whoever shot you took care of that already.”
He grunted. “This stuff is made to st
op projectiles—falling debris, nails and shit. Doesn’t do squat against bullets.”
With the sleeve slit from cuff to shoulder, Zoe helped Yancy ease out of the decimated coat. She tugged a blanket from under the straps on the gurney and settled it over the fire chief’s shoulders.
“You’re soaked to the core,” he said, resisting the blanket as much as he could with only one functioning arm. “You need this more than I do.”
“Forget it, Yancy.” Zoe grabbed a bottle of saline and some clean towels. “Behave yourself. You’re the patient. I’m the boss here.”
He grumbled something she couldn’t make out.
She doused the wound to wash away some of the blood and debris. The entrance wound didn’t look bad at all. But the back of the arm was a ragged mess. Blood soaked through the bandages as fast as she applied them. She hoped the air splint she applied to immobilize the break would also act as a pressure bandage and help stem the bleeding.
She expected a battle from the grizzled old fire warrior when she told him to lie down on the gurney, but he gave her no argument. A check of his blood pressure confirmed what the lack of color in his cheeks already told her. She leaned toward the back doors, trying to spot Earl around the Star of Life emblems plastered to the back windows.
“What’s going on out there?” Yancy asked.
“I can’t see a thing.” Until her partner returned, she was on her own. She flipped open several storage compartment doors and gathered IV and oxygen tubing, a non-rebreather mask, and a bag of fluids. Within minutes, she had her patient on O2 and started him on IV fluids. As she unlatched and opened the portable EKG, a shadow fell over the rain-streaked back window. For a second, she thought Earl had returned, but instead, someone pounded on the door.
“Zoe? It’s Wayne Baronick.”
She heaved the door open and almost didn’t recognize him. The detective wore a plastic weatherproof hooded slicker, covering his usual all-business dress suit.
“Mind if I come in and ask the chief some questions?”
Zoe slid down the jump bench to make room. “Watch your—”
Too late. He slammed his head as he climbed in. “Damn it,” he said, wincing.
“Don’t knock yourself out. I’m busy with the one patient I already have.”
Wayne flipped his hood back and rubbed his scalp. “The depth of your compassion is astounding.”
She clipped a blood oxygen sensor on Yancy’s finger. “Have you seen Earl out there?”
“They’re still working on the young fireman.”
Yancy pulled the non-rebreather mask from his face, perching it on his chin. “How’s Jason?”
“Jason? Oh. The kid.” Wayne glanced at her askance, his eyes telling her it wasn’t good. “They wanted to bring in Life Flight, but the helicopter’s grounded because of the weather.”
“That’s not an answer,” Yancy said.
Zoe replaced the mask over his mouth and nose. “This doesn’t do any good unless you wear it right.”
He glared at her. “You gonna get me something for this pain or do I have to get it myself?”
“I’m calling the hospital next. You know the protocol. On a scale of one to ten—”
“Twenty-five,” Yancy snapped.
She looked at Wayne. “He’s all yours, Detective.”
“Thanks a bunch.”
Zoe moved to the seat at the front of the patient compartment, allowing Wayne to slide into her vacated spot on the bench. She picked up the phone and punched in the Brunswick Hospital’s emergency department’s frequency, keeping one ear on the conversation between the two men.
“Did you see anyone when you first pulled up?” Wayne asked Yancy.
“Didn’t see anyone at all, other than my guys. The son of a bitch never showed his face.”
“Can you give me an idea of where the shots came from?”
The doctor came on the line, drawing Zoe’s attention back to the task at hand. She relayed her patient’s vitals and condition and was granted permission to administer a dose of morphine sulfate, repeating every five minutes as needed.
“What’s your ETA, Medic Eight?” the doctor asked.
“ETA thirty minutes.”
Provided Earl showed up to drive.
She hung up and pulled out the key to the locked drug compartment. “I hate to interrupt, but I need to get Yancy started on some pain meds.”
“About gawddamned time,” Yancy muttered.
The detective pocketed his cell phone. “I’ll talk to you some more at the hospital,” he told the fire chief.
“I doubt I can tell you anything else. Like I said, I didn’t see much.”
Zoe caught Wayne’s arm as he moved toward the rig’s back door. “I also need to get to the hospital. Could you go find my partner?”
Before the detective could respond, someone else pounded. Wayne opened the door to another firefighter. Instead of turnout gear, he wore a dark coat with wide fluorescent bands, and he appeared on the verge of tears.
“Earl told me to drive this ambulance to the hospital,” the firefighter said to Zoe. “They needed an extra man to…” He shot a glance at his chief. “To work on Jason.” He again met Zoe’s eyes and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
If she hadn’t already been sitting, her knees would have given way. They needed Earl because they were using heroic measures to keep the young man alive.
Nine
For the second time in as many days, Pete found himself racing back to Vance Township to deal with a shooting. His headlamps and red and blue emergency lights carved through the veil of rain. The winds ripped a crop of early-turning leaves from the tree branches, scattering them across the dark, glossy pavement.
Roadblocks had been set up, same as the previous night. However, unlike last night, the weather would prevent the state police helicopter from searching, and the rain would offer a challenge to the K-9s. Pete wondered if this elusive shooter had intentionally used the inclement forecast to his advantage.
One other difference between tonight and last…Zoe wasn’t in the passenger seat beside Pete. He knew who the victims were from the phone conversations he’d had with his men. He knew Zoe was unharmed. But damn it, some maniac was going after first responders. Paramedics. Firefighters. They may not have been part of the brotherhood of law enforcement, but they were definitely close cousins.
And Zoe was closer yet.
The narrow country road approaching the Loomis farm was clogged with police and fire vehicles. By the time Pete made it into the driveway, the old barn had succumbed to the flames. Fire crews continued to pour water onto the still-burning debris.
He eased off the lane, making room for an exiting tanker headed for the nearest hydrant. Or farm pond.
Figuring he wasn’t about to find a parking spot any closer to the action, he turned off the ignition, pulled on a slicker, and stepped out of the Explorer.
Pete located Baronick standing outside the Mobile Command Center being briefed by a pair of county officers and a state trooper. They acknowledged Pete before excusing themselves. Baronick motioned for Pete to follow and led the way to the big truck’s door.
Once inside, the detective swept his hood back. Water splattered everywhere, earning him a dirty look from the computer techs. “Sorry, guys,” Baronick said.
“What have we got?” Pete asked.
“Not very much. Just like last night, he pulled a hit and run. Two men down.” Baronick held up one finger. “But unlike last night, he left a pair of uninjured witnesses. There were four firefighters manning the first truck on scene. The first two off the truck were gunned down. The other two stayed inside and radioed EOC for police backup.”
“Did either of them see anything?”
“They were able to give us an idea of where the shots came
from. Not exact because it happened fast. Bam bam and outta here.”
“That’s it? They didn’t see our guy?”
“Nope. They said the shots came from the tree line about two-hundred yards away. I have men over there searching along with the K-9 unit, but with this rain…”
Pete shook his head. “Last night, he used a stolen ATV as bait and the setting sun to his back to conceal himself. Tonight, he sets a barn fire on a night when evidence is going to be obliterated before we can find it. Is he that lucky or that smart?”
Baronick raised an eyebrow. “I had an instructor in the academy who taught me there are no such things as coincidences. And in my mind, luck constitutes a coincidence.”
“Must have been a good instructor.”
“He was all right.” Baronick gave a hint of a grin. “Some guy named Adams.”
“Smartass.” Pete dug out his notebook, trying not to drip on it. “Looks like we’re back to square one where suspects are concerned. Even if Snake had a motive to go after firemen, he has the IQ of a wood duck. No way he’d think to plan a hit around the weather forecast.”
“Rules out the girl too.” Baronick’s phone rang. He turned away to answer it, plugging his other ear with a finger.
Who the hell was doing this? Pete dug out his own phone, hesitated, then punched in Zoe’s number.
The Emergency Department of Brunswick Hospital was jumping. As if two shooting victims from Vance Township weren’t enough, one of the nurses told Zoe there had been a multi-vehicle accident on the eastern side of the county with five patients either already arrived or in transit.
After transferring Yancy to a cubicle where a nurse and an aide had taken charge of his care, Zoe found a quiet spot in the hall, parked her empty gurney, and stripped the soiled linens from it. As she tossed them into a nearby bin, her cell phone burst into its rendition of “I Fought the Law and the Law Won.” Her pulse quickened.
“Hey, Pete,” she answered.
With a Vengeance Page 8
