Page 31 of Resuscitation
The ambulance roaredthrough Eastfork as fast as Blake could safely drive in the harsh conditions with the wind and snow rushing in through the smashed windshield.
Blake shuddered at the cold as he passed the familiar boarded-up stores and, of course, no pay phones in sight for him to call in the emergency. Whose damned idea was it to take away all the pay phones and landlines anyway?
“How’s Alyssa back there?” Blake asked, loud enough for Thomas to hear.
“Stable, I think,” he rasped in reply.
“Fine,” came her voice, sounding refreshingly annoyed. If she had enough energy to be pissed at him and the situation, he’d take that as a good sign.
“Shout if there’s any change, okay?”
“Roger.” Thomas sounded as if he was enjoying the ride. Sometimes, adrenaline did that.
As Blake turned into the hospital drive, he flicked off the lights and slowed, inching along slower than he could’ve walked it. When he saw the ambulance bay, doors open and lights on, he stopped and idled the engine. Between the snow and the bushes that lined the drive, their ambulance was fairly obscured, he hoped.
The county SUV had been parked haphazardly in the bay, lights still blazing with one of the passenger doors open. An armed man lounged against its hood, smoking a cigarette.
Then two flashes lit up the dispatch window. Blake was too far away to hear any gunshots over the howling wind, but he was reasonably certain those were muzzle flashes from a pistol. The man in the ambulance bay also reacted, raising his rifle and racing to the EMS office, yanking the door open.
Blake watched as a second man appeared in the office window. He was a big guy with a mohawk, also dressed in tactical gear.
“Everything okay?” Alyssa asked.
“I think Wayne may just have been shot,” Blake said as he moved to the back of the ambulance.
“Oh, Jesus, no.” Thomas stared up at Blake, ashen-faced. “Are you sure?”
“Not one hundred per cent, but close.”
“So, those really aren’t cops?” Thomas whispered. “What’re we gonna do?”
“Not we,” Alyssa put in. “Blake, we need to call the cops.”
“From our last comms, they should already have folks on the way.”
“Twenty minutes, they said. To where the shootout was.”
Shit. That was a helluva long time when desperate armed men were involved. “Are they sending anyone here?”
A shrug was her only answer.
“Here’s the plan,” he told them. “I’m going to get you guys somewhere safe. Then I’m going in to find a landline, call for back up.” Maybe draw the gunmen away from the civilians, he didn’t add.
“Old outpatient clinic,” Alyssa said.
“Good, that will work.”
Far enough from the ER that no one would hear them, safe from the elements and the last place the gunmen would go. Except the former clinic had already been stripped clean, had no power or oxygen.
Blake checked his supply of oxygen canisters. One more beyond what Thomas had. The ambulance had its own supply, but once away from it, both Alyssa and Thomas would need oxygen, and two tanks might not be enough if help was delayed. But there was plenty of O2 in the ambulance bay, and he had to retrieve it.
Weapons. He needed weapons to make the next part work.
Blake had his multitool, a folding knife, and trauma scissors, but they’d only be useful for extremely close quarters fighting. He grabbed the vehicle’s toolbox. Inside were a wrench, various screwdrivers, a hammer, and numerous other tools. He chose a Halligan—an eighteen-inch firefighter entry tool with a pry bar at one end and a combo adze and pick at the other. He hefted it in his hands. It felt good—his old M4 carbine would’ve been better, but at least he didn’t feel quite as naked.
“Where are you going with that?” Alyssa asked. He liked that she could breathe easier with the pneumoseal, but knew it was just a temporary fix. One problem at a time, he told himself.
“Gonna shop for supplies. Leave the motor running. I’ll be right back.”
