by Kit Crumb
“Mrs. Shepard, can you hear me? Marge?” No response.
He placed two fingers high up on the side of her neck and found a strong pulse, then looked over at Claire and yelled, “She’s got a healthy pulse and I don’t see any blood.” The entire SUV shook as the two firemen tugged on the rear hatch. Marge Shepard rolled from her side onto her back. Rye danced out of the way just in time. When he looked back at Claire she was still up front and pale as a ghost. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah fine,” Claire said. “It’s just a little tight down here.”
Looking back at Marge’s stretched out body, he figured she must have weighed at least 400 pounds. While one breast was draped on her side, the other was standing up like a high school boys’ dream. Something metallic was poking out of the top. Rye sliced away the dress, then Marge’s bra. The nipple of her left breast was pierced, about an inch of metal sticking out. Rye couldn’t figure out what he was looking at.
“Claire I need you over here.”
She took a deep breath then duck-walked next to him.
The muffled voice of Jake came through the back hatch.
“We’re going to need you to push.”
Rye got up and stepped over to the hatch, leaning against it with his shoulder.
“I’m at the hatch, let’s do this together.”
“On the count of three, we’ll pry and you push,” Jake said. “One, two, three.”
Without a sound, the rear hatch on the SUV popped open, but as it did, the huge vehicle lost its square shape, sagging as if about to flatten out. Rye whirled around at the sound of a gasp.
Claire was down on her knees with her hands over her head. He could hear her rapid breathing. He turned back to Jake who was already jogging back toward the big rig, returning to his interview with the trucker. He moved quickly to Claire’s side.
“I’m going to need your help. You alright?”
“I think so, with the side door and hatch open I should be fine.”
When he knelt down next to Claire, he took her by the arm. “Just watch your breathing.” He removed a cloth from his breast pocket and wiped the sweat from her forehead. “Ready?”
Claire smiled and nodded.
Rye pointed at Marge’s erect breast. “What’s that?”
Claire had been in too much of a panic to note Marge’s condition. She bent down for a close-up of the protrusion from the nipple.
The object was metal, round with a rounded end and light colored. She didn’t answer at first, but straightened up and began looking around the inside of the SUV for anything that might give her a hint. Then she spotted Marge’s crocheting and the tangled skein of yarn.
“I think it’s a knitting needle,” Claire said. “There isn’t much blood. Judging from the size of her breast, I doubt that the needle reached the muscle, but I think that there’s a hook at the end. Extraction?” Claire said, and looked up at Rye.
“I think so. If it gets bumped in transit, aside from tearing up her breast it could pierce the chest muscle. But if you don’t mind, I’d like you to stabilize her breast and I’ll do the extraction.”
Claire kept her thumbs against the nipple, hands wrapped around the girth while Rye began to manipulate the crocheting needle.
“I’m going to bring the needle up the same path it made in penetration, and snag as little tissue as possible with the hook.” He managed to remove the needle without much problem, and then stem the blood flow.
“I think she’s bigger than George. Slide in the backboard and see if you can get Jake back here with another person to help move her out,” Rye said.
Forty minutes and three beefy firemen later, with Rye and Claire doing the directing, George and Marge Shepard were transported. Although neither had suffered any life threatening injuries, Claire figured Marge’s excessive weight had probably been responsible for numerous muscle tears.
She had gone back to the ambulance to restock the jump kit, leaving Rye to work on Brad Meyers after they’d pulled him from his crumpled BMW.
Somebody grabbed Rye’s wrist . He whipped around to see a young blonde kneeling down beside and slightly behind him.
“Please help me, my name is Crystal.”
She appeared nervous, constantly looking over her shoulder. Quickly taking in the young woman as not having any obvious injuries, Rye assumed that she might be suffering from shock.
“Are you injured?” Rye said.
“Please.”
“If you could wait until my partner gets here…” Rye never got to finish his sentence. The girl abruptly got up and walked over to a red Dodge Caravan on the shoulder of the road.
A few moments later Claire arrived and finished suturing up the numerous cuts and punctures Brad had received from everything from flying coins and pencils to CDs that acted like flying razors.
“Guy’s a mess, Claire. Lost a lot of blood, no arteries cut but a lot of punctures that need irrigating.” He took a minute to point out some areas of concern. “I’m headed over to that Dodge on the shoulder of the road. I think there’s a girl there that might be in shock. Holler when he’s ready to be moved.”
Chapter Nineteen
The girl was sitting in the opening made by the sliding side door of the Dodge Caravan. Rye noticed that she watched his progress closely as he made his way to where the vehicle was parked on the shoulder.
“Hi. My name’s Rye. You’re Crystal, isn’t that what you said?”
Crystal didn’t say a word.
Rye knew that most non-injury shock cases are unable to understand the carnage that they see at an accident scene. They often feel so helpless that they shut down.
“You know, most of the people involved in this accident came through OK,” Rye said, watching the young woman for a reaction. “As a matter of fact, the driver of that SUV wasn’t hurt at all.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Crystal said.
It was obvious from the tone of her voice that she wasn’t concerned in the least about the accident victim’s injuries, wasn’t in shock and had no apparent injury.
“You asked for help, but you look fine. What do you need?”
Rye had carried his jump kit with him, setting it down next to Crystal. The sliding side door of the van was open enough to allow him a view inside where he spotted the cardboard box filled with videotapes. “Excuse me, can I help you?” a deep male voice said, startling Rye.
“Oh, sorry,” Rye said, turning his back on Crystal to get a look at the source of the booming voice.
“I see that you two have met. I’m Sherman Van Drake,” Hubble said, extending a hand.
“Rye Anderson, pleased to meet you and thanks for your help with the flares. It’s not everyone who comes across an auto accident and cares enough to help out.”
Crystal slipped Hubble an “I told you so” look without Rye seeing.
“Not a problem.” Hubble walked around Rye to join her. “Just glad to have been able to help.” Turning to her he said, “Why don’t you get in the van, we need to be on our way.”
That was it, no small talk about the accident, no curiosity about injuries.
Claire was just finishing up with the driver of the BMW when Rye returned, jump kit in hand.
“Good timing, he’s stable and ready to transport,” she said.
The ride back to headquarters was the usual rehash of what had happened, what they saw, what they had done. The object was to keep details of the accident fresh in mind until they were able to fill out the reports.
“You run in and start your report, it’s my turn to restock and do maintenance.” Rye said.
Claire stayed in the cab until he had backed the ambulance into the garage. “We need to talk,” she said, and then hopped out and headed for the side door that opened into the kitchen.
Rye watched her leave, knowing she was still upset about their demotion. Walking to the front of the aging ambulance, he wondered what was on her mind.
“This should jus
t take a minute, I’ll be right in.”
He popped the hood on the ambulance and began checking fluids. As he stepped onto the front bumper and reached down into the engine compartment for the power brake fluid dipstick, he was reminded how he and Claire had selected their ambulance model with a test drive and that it was Claire who dubbed it the “Beast.” He couldn’t believe it was still in the shop and that they had to drive this back-up.
Checking the belts was the last step in the twelve-point engine check he did after each run. Closing the hood, he walked around to the left side, picked up the heavy-duty 220-volt cord and plugged it in. This would keep all the fluids warm for quick starts without a warm-up period.
The next step was inventory and restocking. Although a mundane task, by nature Rye enjoyed this part of what was referred to as the “after run.” Often he would find notes from Claire; most were reminders to place an order, some were sexy, or suggestions for movies. He wouldn’t find any notes today.
Walking from the attached garage into the kitchen, still drying his hands, he was surprised to see Claire on the phone. He stepped into the bathroom and tossed the towel in the hamper. When he returned, she met him, hand on hip, and a big smile.
“The good news is the Beast is ready and everything was covered by insurance.”
Rye walked to the refrigerator. “How could that be? I haven’t even filed yet.”
Claire’s smile broadened as she took down two fluted glasses from a cupboard. Rye pulled out a pitcher of their celebratory cider and filled the classes. “Phone message, Lance said he called insurance right away. Apparently, a meth fire attended by police and fire places us in a special high-risk category. An insurance clause we’ve been paying into for years.”
Rye fell into a dining room chair and tipped his glass in mock salute.“Great, at least we can ride in style. If we get any calls that is.”
Claire sat down across the table from him. “Olden hasn’t totally jerked our license or we wouldn’t have gotten the last call.”
“You’re probably right about Medford Ambulance being out of the area. But until we find Rusty I think we’re doomed to play second fiddle. Maybe it’s time we help with the investigation,” Rye said.
Chapter Twenty
Rye was up and dressed when he leaned in and whispered to a still sleeping Claire, “C’mon sleeping beauty, we’ve got a 1086 just out the door.”
She rolled out of bed and was in her jump suit—no shower, no makeup—inside of two minutes, barely time to brush her hair. They hadn’t gotten a night call in months, definitely bottom-rung-of-the-ladder stuff. Rye was in the garage unplugging when Claire entered with the jump kit. “If this is another retirement center, I’m going back to bed.”
He watched her slide into the passenger seat and slap her harness into the locked position.
“Hey, 1086. A pedestrian down,” Rye said.
Claire glared at him. “Just a rude awakening, that’s all. Better a night call then another nightmare I guess.”
He reached up and hit the button that would send the big double garage door sliding into its overhead position. Claire glanced down at the clipboard Rye handed her. “You weren’t kidding about just out the door,” she said. “Make a left, go to 2600 Snoop Drive, about six blocks down.”
Rye flicked two toggle switches, setting four red and blue lights whirling. He slammed a big red button on the dashboard that set only one siren into a single squeal.
“Might as well not wake the neighbors,” he said.
The sensor on the dashboard automatically turned on all the normal nighttime running lights.
Snoop Drive was four lanes and ran straight as an arrow. As soon as they were out of the garage, Rye detected the spinning lights of the black and white that had called in the accident.
“What are we looking at?” he said.
Claire turned to the second page of her clipboard. “Single vehicle and pedestrian.”
“Better alert the hospital,”
She unclipped the microphone and punched in dispatch at Medford General.
“This is Mad Dash responding to a 1086, ETA five minutes. Mad Dash, out.”
She snapped the microphone back on the dash just as Rye brought the ambulance up next to the police car. They exited the ambulance at almost the same time. Rye grabbed the jump kit and headed for the car; Claire went in search of the officer.
“Over here.”
Her head snapped around scanning the darkness for the source of the voice and spotted a flashlight waving in the air.
Allen Steins was kneeling over the writhing body of a young man obviously in pain.
“Hold on, Ben,” Steins said to him, “this is an EMT.” He stood as Claire ran up. “Bad leg break, hope you’ve got some really strong pain killer.”
“Thanks, Allen, give me a hand with the light.”
The officer stepped out of the way holding his flashlight high enough so that the halo of the powerful beam encircled the prone figure.
Claire knelt down setting the jump kit next to the victim’s injured leg. “Hi Ben, my name’s Claire. Looks like you have some nasty trauma to the knee. I’m going to give you a shot of morphine, any allergies or addictions I should know about?”
Ben was shifting his body from side to side, his face twisted into a grimace of pain. He was braced up on his hands looking straight up. “No, no. How bad’s the break?”
She gave him two shots of morphine. The first was intramuscular so it would trickle in slowly, the second was right into the tissue of the knee, so that she could align it without Ben passing out.
“It’s your knee Ben, hard to tell how bad. Emergency will be able to give you the details. Just try to hold still.”
It was really bad. The kneecap was pulled away from the patellar tendon and the more Claire irrigated the knee the more damage she found. The lateral meniscus, as well as the coruscate ligaments, the two that cross behind the knee, were completely shredded. The car had apparently struck from the front or side. Ben had probably seen the car coming straight at him and was trying to turn away when it hit him.
Claire watched his tension and fidgeting fall away as the morphine kicked in. He laid back with his hands behind his head.
Rye ran up with a backboard and a special knee splint. Stabilizing the leg, they lifted Ben onto the backboard. The officer kept the light just ahead so they could see where they were walking until they got within range of the giant spotlights of the ambulance.
They slid Ben into the back and transferred him to the gurney there. Rye stayed while Claire walked over to the car to check on the driver. Rye said she seemed in shock.
When Claire got to the car, the officer was taking the driver’s statement.
“Candace Dagmar?” Allen Steins said, looking at her driver’s license.
“Yes D-a-g-m-a-r, just like it sounds.”
“And where do you work, ma’am?”
“I’m the manager at Across the Border Tacos. We close at two. I was on my way home.”
Candace Dagmar sat quietly in her Geo Metro with the wool blanket Rye had given her draped around her shoulders. Officer Steins met Claire as she approached the car. “You mind staying with her while I call in her driver’s license?”
“No problem. She drunk?”
“Not at all, why?”
“The victim must have lit up like a Christmas tree when her headlights hit him. He had reflective tops on his socks, toes and heels of his shoes, too. He also wore a reflective vest and hat.”
“She could be in shock, she seems coherent, but doesn’t express any concern for the victim,” Steins said. “I’ll be right back.”
Claire walked to the little car and leaned on the driver’s side door.
“Hello, my name’s Claire, I’m an EMT. Do you hurt anywhere?”
Claire knew that Rye had asked the same question, but if the woman had been in shock she might not remember that he was even present.
“No I’m fine.
You know, that runner came out of nowhere, just stepped right in front of me. I hope he has some kind of runner’s insurance, cause it’s going to cost me.
“Look,” she said pointing to the deflated air bag draped over the steering wheel, “the air bag came out.”
Claire winced. If the airbag deployed it indicated that the impact was solid and explained the extreme condition of Ben’s injured knee.
“I’ll tell you one thing, Linda was sure surprised.”
Claire looked around puzzled. “I’m sorry? I didn’t know you had a passenger.”
“Do you see anyone? I was talking to her on my cell.”
“You were talking on the cell phone when you were driving?”
“Have you got a hearing problem? I said I was talking to her on my cell.” Claire was turning away as the woman became more belligerent. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”
She met Officer Steins who was returning to finish the questioning.
“Allen, that woman just told me she was on her cell phone at the time of the accident.”
Steins made a face and picked up his pace. Her license had come back clear, but news of the use of a cell phone complicated her situation.
“Ma’am, were you talking on your cell phone when the accident occurred?” the officer asked.
“You act as though I did something wrong. I hope you gave that runner a ticket, he stepped right out in front of me.”
“Please answer the question, ma’am. Were you on the cell phone when you struck the runner?”
“Well yes, I was instructing my assistant manager in how to close. Oh, I know what you’re thinking, that the phone might have affected my driving. That’s just wrong.”
“How’s that, ma’am?”
“I’m almost always on my cell when I drive. I’ve really perfected the ability to split my attention.”
Candace Dagmar seemed smug, sure that she had vindicated her actions of talking on the phone while driving. Meanwhile Officer Steins was shining the beam through the side window as he listened, until he spotted the clamshell-style cell phone peaking out from under her purse on the passenger seat.
