Page 65 of Paging Dr. Breakup
In the shadow cast by the angle of the setting sun, she peeked through a window and spied a figure on the side of the house across from the woodpile, sprawled on the ground. Her heart thumped hard, stealing her breath.
No!
Deirdre dashed out and around the house, skidding to a stop. Calvin lay prone, arms extended above him and legs straight. There were drag marks from his feet around to the front of the house. He wasn’t moving. Was he breathing? She checked his pulse above the neckline of his dark flannel shirt and noted his torso rise.
Her breath rasped in her throat. She couldn’t draw in enough air. “Calvin?” She patted his back and shoulder. “Calvin?”
Not even a moan returned. The back of his head was matted with sticky blood. She grunted as she rolled him in one movement, keeping his head and neck in line, unhappy that he had to lay in slush and mud. The side of his face that had been pressed against the wet gravel was clammy and red. His lips were blue.
But he breathed.
His shirt was wet and muddy on the front. She grimaced at the damp ground beneath him. Now the shirt was wet and muddy on the back as well. His hair-dusted forearms and strong hands rested on the ground, completely lax. He didn’t move.
Yanking out her phone, she prayed that her phone still remembered the Garretts’s Wi-Fi password so she could call out with the satellite internet. She dialed 911 and nearly cried in relief when the trooper picked up. Quickly, she gave the information to dispatch.
She carefully opened Calvin’s eyelids. No pupillary response. Icy terror rushed through her from head to toe. Her ears buzzed.
Oh God, not again. She couldn’t lose someone she cared for. Not like this. Not Calvin.
Stay, she mentally begged him. Like Elijah had asked her, five years ago.
Stay.
She needed Calvin to survive this.
She could help him right now. Deirdre needed to work the problem. Assess the situation.
He was breathing. He had a pulse.
He was also cold and wet. His last text was over an hour ago, so she could calculate the maximum length of time he had laid here. Too long. He was too cold. Hypothermic.
She peeled off her jacket and tucked it over him. Then she spied his jacket near the woodpile and dashed over to grab it and place it around his hips and thighs, providing reasonable cover from neck to knees.
“Calvin?” she tried again.
He made an incoherent mumble, then went silent, puffing air between his blue lips with quick, shallow breaths.
Hurry, EMS. Hurry.Tears flowed as she shook in her boots.
The memory of Elijah’s withered and comatose body, failing in its last hours, superimposed itself on Calvin’s injured form. She couldn’t watch this. Couldn’t be here. This was too much. Her chest ached. It hurt to breathe. She curled her fingers around her car keys and glanced toward the front of the house where she had parked. The need to escape this pain overwhelmed her.
No.
She would stay.
Her face went numb. Blood-chilling panic drove her.
Dashing into the house, she yanked a throw blanket and cushion off the couch and ran back out, tucking the blanket over and around him and easing the cushion under his head. That was about all she could do at this point. Basic care and support until he could get proper evaluation.
She rechecked his weak, fast pulse and increased breathing rate.
Hurry.
What felt like hours later, a vehicle pulled up. She ran to the front of the house and directed the EMS crew. An Alaska state trooper vehicle pulled up next to the ambulance.
Mav and Louise jumped out, bags in hand.
Mav frowned at Deirdre. “What happened?”
