Page 21 of Resuscitation
Blake leaned toward the phone. “I can see several more units on 37, near the bridge—but they’re not moving, looks from here like they’re across the whole road, blocking it.”
“You’re our only unit available,” Wayne said. He didn’t spell it out, but it was clear he was leaving it up to them to decide: follow protocol and leave with Thomas, prioritizing their patient’s need to get to Potsdam…or possibly enter an unsecured scene to rescue potential injured law enforcement officers.
Blake and Alyssa had an entire argument with a few looks, shakes of the head, raised eyebrows, jerks of the chin back toward Thomas, and assorted scowls.
“Thomas is our responsibility,” Alyssa finally said, pulling rank.
From the rear, Thomas raised his voice. “If you leave hurt policemen lying in the snow just to get me to a hospital bed I don’t even want, I swear to god not only won’t I ever speak to either of you again, when I die, I’m gonna come back and haunt you for the rest of your lives!”
Good enough for Blake. He checked the intersection and turned in the direction of the police vehicles.
Alyssa sighed and spoke into the phone, “Wayne, let the cops know we’re approaching the scene to assess. Have their dispatcher call the units involved, tell them our radio is out so they’ll need to go through you for comms. I’ll keep the line open.” Then to Blake, “Slow, maintain a safe distance.”
Clearly Alyssa had never been in a gun battle. They were already past a “safe” distance. But Blake’s gut told him this scenario was all wrong. Best he hoped for was that they’d find cops living but hurt, because the other option…
“Remember the first rule of EMS,” Alyssa reminded him.
“Don’t become a victim yourself,” he answered grimly.
As they approached, they identified a dark shape in the snowy ground, far from any vehicle. Blake hit the high beams and the exterior spotlight, aiming it past the motionless form to the ground near the two cruisers ahead of them. Four more bodies that they could see. There could be more on the other side of the vehicles. He stopped the ambulance.
“Shit.” Alyssa’s grip on the phone tightened. “Wayne, we’ve got multiple officers down.”
Blake admired the way her voice remained steady. For once, he wasn’t as able to compartmentalize, a flash of memory overwhelming him. The snow-dusted asphalt became the sandy dust of that highway from hell in Afghanistan. The bodies of the officers were his comrades: Rodriquez, O’Leary, Miller writhing in pain…
NotMiller. An officer on the ground, clad in black SWAT gear, waving his arms.
Blake rolled his window down and stuck his head out. “Sir! Can you show your hands and identify yourself?”
“Officer Lopez. I’ve been shot in the leg.”
“Is the gunman still on scene?”
“No, they’re all dead. Damnit, I’m bleeding out!”
Blake held his hand up to Alyssa, who was still on the phone, indicting for her to stay put. Before she could protest, he grabbed the trauma bag, opened the driver’s door, and jumped out.
His boots crunched through the slushy snow as he approached the first body and quickly checked it for any signs of life: her eyes were open, a blood trail ran down her chin and neck while her skin was turning blue.
Blake had seen enough dead bodies to know he was staring at one. He approached a second officer, sprawled face down, handgun still gripped by icy fingers. Blake carefully moved the gun away, rolled the man over, felt for a pulse. Nothing.
“Hey, bud, hurry!” the wounded officer pleaded. But if he was able to scream like that, he wasn’t as critically injured as an officer unable to call for help might be.
Blake began to move toward the man, but something he’d seen set alarm bells going in his brain. He glanced back, and his eyes fell on the dead officer’s name badge: Lopez.
He turned to see the wounded “cop” rolling over to reveal an automatic rifle aimed right at him.
Blake slowly raised his hands.
“Don’t move a muscle!” the man demanded as he struggled to his feet, leaving behind a large patch of blood in the snow where he had been lying.
ChapterTen
Friday,February 13th, 8:41 P.M.
Sara placeda plastic basin of hot water mixed with betadine on the floor near her tween-aged patient’s grimy foot. Five years of residency training at one of the East Coast’s busiest trauma centers put to good use, she thought.
“Evan, we’ll need to let it soak for a while, soften the tissue around the ingrown toenail. Then I can take pack it with iodine gauze, and you’ll be set.”
