Page 2 of What Hurts Us

The H145 helicopter gleamed in the sunlight filtering through the open hangar doors. Refrigerated units held drug vials, while metal cabinets were chock full of anything and everything we would need while on call.

“Not bad,” I said as I stuck my head into the open chopper door. During flight training in Colorado, my training class had gotten well acquainted with the ins-and-outs of the company’s aircraft fleet.

AB sided up to me and patted the black-and-white stripes that crisscrossed the tail. “Zebra Cake’s a beaut. We do our part to keep her in tip-top shape. It’s a tight fit with three of us on shift today, but usually it will just be two of us and a pilot.”

AB prattled on about all the calls they’d gotten during her last shift as I loaded up my flight suit.The trusty stethoscope I’d had since nursing school. A three-mil syringe. A ten-mil flush. A fourteen gauge and a ten gauge to keep on me—we had more in the chopper. Pens and a permanent marker. Trauma shears. Kelly clamps. A flashlight and a pen light. A carabiner. Most importantly: a phone charger.I double-checked that the AirCare app on my phone was front and center, and took a moment to peruse the nursing protocols and drug reference guide.

Ear-bursting beeps echoed through the metal hangar like the screech of a dial-up internet connection.

“Tones are dropping,” AB snapped as she untied the arms of her flight suit and shimmied it on. Her badge readJoy Faison.No wonder she went by AB. She didn’t particularly strike me as aJoy.

I could hear Frodo—whose real name was still to be discovered—thumping around as he jumped into his boots and suit. “Weather’s pretty good. Odin will probably give dispatch the go-ahead. Remember—three to go, one to say no. Although today it’sfourto go. Everyone has to be on the same page. If you think flying to a certain scene is unsafe, speak up.”

It was protocol for pilots to receive calls and decide if conditions were safe enough to spin up. If things looked uncertain, the entire crew had to agree on whether to go or not. Dispatch would give the pilot the location of the call and the hospital we would transport the patient to. If the radar was clear, we’d be in the air in less than ten minutes. Only then would dispatch relay what type of medical emergency or trauma it was that we were responding to.

Procedures like that kept the guilt at bay.

Mother nature was unpredictable and made flying in a helicopter extremely dangerous in certain conditions. Crews would be more likely to risk operational safety if they knew a child was in trouble or a trauma was close to home.

The Falls Creek base was stationed thirty minutes outside Durham and Chapel Hill. We could get to rural calls faster and treat patients, working at the top of our licenses while transporting them to higher levels of care.

Flight nursing was science, art, and a little insanity.

The mic on my shoulder radio clicked, and AB gave me a nod as we ran back inside to grab our helmets. “Thirty-three-year-old male, approximately ninety kilos. Possible head trauma. No loss of consciousness. Pulse is strong. Vehicle versus vehicle, and vehicle versus tree. Vehicular entrapment. Fire and EMS are on the scene for driver and cow extractions.”

I shoved my white flight helmet on and positioned the mic in front of my mouth. “I’m sorry. Did dispatch just say there was acow extractionin progress?”

Frodo—whose flight suit readJohn—laughed as he ran toward the airfield. Odin was on his heels after giving Loki a scratch and a doggie biscuit. The two of them grabbed the dolly and towed the chopper out onto the airfield.

AB jumped into the bay of the helicopter with me while Odin and Frodo rode shotgun. An ear-to-ear grin was plastered on her face as the heavy thump-thump of the rotors whirred. “Welcome to Falls Creek.”

The view from the air was exquisite. Rolling green hills, the thick forest surrounding the Eno River, and farmland as far as the eye could see.

Pate Chapel Road was a two-lane strip of asphalt that wound through two neighboring farms a few miles outside Falls Creek. The blacktop was a logjam of emergency responders. Even in the middle of the day, strobes of red, white, and blue filled the sky.

Odin, our tattooed, ex-military man with the disposition of Ted Lasso, dropped the helicopter into a bright green pasture as if it was light as a feather.

“Once we assess the scene, you and AB will lead this circus,” Frodo said through the headset as we unbuckled from the jump seats.

I yanked my helmet off and dropped it in my seat. AB was already out, popping the bay open and pulling the stretcher through the back. I grabbed the bright red med bag while Frodo grabbed the secondary. “Nothing like jumping in with both feet,” I grunted as I slung the canvas straps over my shoulder.

“I like your style, kid. You and AB check in with ground transport. I’ll see what’s happening with the hotshots.”

I wasn’t sure if I had earned the right to call him Frodo or if I should stick with John, so I just nodded and headed off to the ambulances while he caught up with the firefighters.

“Hutch,” AB said, acknowledging a paramedic with a chin tip.

Hutch—an unfairly gorgeous man with deep-set dimples, thick lashes, and a broad chest—offered a smile that would make anyone of the female persuasion weak in the knees. “You must be the rookie. Heard AirCare was getting fresh blood. First day?”

“Layla Mousavi. First day and ready to rock and roll,” I said, offering my hand.

His handshake was firm, and his stance screamedformer military. “Shane Hutchins.”

“What do we got?” AB clipped.

Shane laughed. “Fuckin’ Creekers is what we have today.” He pointed out at the cluster of emergency vehicles. A paramedic was treating the driver of a second vehicle while cops assessed the scene. The teenage boy had a busted nose and burns from the airbag deploying in his second-hand truck. Firefighters had the jaws of life out, the compressor roaring as it pried open the mangled metal door to a Falls Creek Police cruiser.

Police officers were busy taking statements and rerouting a line of slow-moving traffic onto the grassy shoulder. Two wreckers were lined up to tow the disabled vehicles away from the scene. Standing in the middle of it all, an old man in worn overalls and a John Deere hat was arguing with a black-and-white cow.

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