Chapter 3 #2
Her blood pressure was 90/50, and I didn’t like that one bit. She was bleeding out somewhere, and my money was on her legs. “I’m gonna hook you up to an IV so we can get some fluids in you. Just keep your wrist there.”
It didn’t take me long to hook her up to a large-bore IV, and by then, Engine 3 was working around me to assess the car and make a plan to get her out of there. “Amber, the firefighters are here to get you out, so I’m gonna step back and let them do their job, okay?”
I pushed myself to my feet.
“What’s her condition?” Gifford, the chief of Engine 3, asked me.
“Amber Sullivan, seventeen years old, restrained. BP 90/50. I suspect she’s bleeding, but I’m unable to see anything because the car is so crushed. Says she can’t feel her legs.”
I didn’t need to tell Gifford what that meant. He nodded. “We’ll get her out as quickly and carefully as possible and use a long board.”
“I’ll keep checking in with her every—”
“Hey!” someone called out. “Stop!”
I looked over my shoulder. The truck driver was storming at me, a gun in his right hand, with a cop in pursuit.
“Gun!” Gifford yelled. “Everybody down!”
All around me, people dove to the ground, but I narrowed my eyes, focusing on the gun, and stayed standing.
Christ on a bike, the dude was wildly waving a Desert Eagle.
That was a show-off gun that people liked for its intimidating look.
No one would ever seriously consider it for self-defense since it was way too heavy and unyielding.
And the way he held it made me wonder if he’d ever even fired it.
No way in hell would he be able to fire that with one hand while running. The kickback alone would knock him on his ass.
He was close to me now, appearing shocked by the fact that I wasn’t moving out of his way.
That in itself was somehow funny, but his heavy panting breaths and the bobbing belly popping out from under his T-shirt gave it even more of a slapstick effect.
All that was missing was a banana peel for him to slip on.
Alas, I didn’t have one of those ready, but what I did have was twenty years of training and experience.
I stepped out of his way and ducked, pretending to dive to the ground like everyone else, then jumped back up when he’d stomped past me.
I tackled him from behind, my hand clamping around the wrist that held the gun, and we went to the ground hard.
It took me all of two seconds to overpower him and get the gun, which I then slid out of the way.
With a knee between his shoulder blades, I kept him down with my weight.
Problem solved.
“Let me go, asshole!” he screamed, and a waft of alcohol drifted my way.
Drunk driver indeed, and I didn’t even bother responding.
The cop arrived, and to his credit, he wasn’t even remotely out of breath. What he was, however, was annoyed. “That was a risky move,” he snapped at me. “The gun could’ve gone off.”
“I served in the Army for over twenty years as an explosives and ordnance specialist. Some things never leave ya.”
His anger evaporated. “So you knew what you were doing.”
“No way in hell would he ever have been able to fire that thing with one hand.”
His female colleague had now secured the gun, picking it up with a tissue, and all three of us looked at it. “Desert Eagle,” she said with a sigh. “Jesus fucking Christ, talk about compensating.”
She wasn’t wrong there.
“Anyway, thanks for the help,” the cop said, then yanked the guy’s arms back and slapped wrist cuffs on him.
“Make sure to get his BAC as soon as possible,” I said.
The cop nodded. “I was about to do a Breathalyzer when he made a run for it.”
“Good.”
The cop hauled the guy up with a little assistance from me because getting three hundred pounds of dead weight up wasn’t easy, and I turned my attention back to the blue car.
Engine 3 had put hydraulic pumps in place to make sure the car wouldn’t collapse on top of Amber when they dragged her out, and they were now cutting the remains of the driver’s door away.
“Nash,” Gifford called out, and I came over.
“You were right. Her legs are bad,” he said softly enough so she couldn’t hear it. “Especially the right one. You need to get in.”
My heart sank as I knelt next to the car again. “Hi, Amber. How are you doing?”
“O-kay.”
Her voice sounded weaker. “I’m gonna stick my head in real quick to take a look at your legs, okay?
” This time, I didn’t wait for her response because time was of the essence.
One look at her legs confirmed what Gifford had predicted.
She needed tourniquets. Now. But more importantly, I needed her to stay calm.
“You were right. You do have bleeding on both of your legs. I’m gonna stop the bleeding with a tourniquet. That may hurt when I put it on. I’m sorry.”
“We have access from the passenger side as well now,” Gifford said.
“I’ll crawl in,” Kaelan said. He was lankier than me, so it would be easier for him on that side.
What followed were a few tense minutes as we wriggled our way into the mashed-up car so we could set up tourniquets on both of her legs.
As soon as I tightened the first one, Amber passed out, which was both concerning and for the best. She’d lost so much blood already that she’d need a blood transfusion as soon as she got to the hospital. All I could do now was give her fluids.
Once we’d stopped the bleeding, Engine 3 went back in and managed to drag her out, keeping her spine as level as possible as they strapped her to the board and carried her to the rig for us.
Seeing her legs made my stomach spin for a second. That right lower leg was beyond saving. That would be an amputation for sure. I’d seen enough injuries like that to know—including Creek’s. Her left leg might be salvageable, but I wasn’t sure.
We loaded her into the van, and I sat next to her, hooking her up so I could monitor her vitals.
Gifford closed the doors and banged on them, the sign for Kaelan that we were good to go.
With lights and sirens on, we set course for the hospital as I hung another bag of fluids, hoping it would be enough to stabilize her.
Kaelan called it in, so the ER knew we were coming in hot because Amber was running out of time.
She was young, so that was a plus, but she’d lost so much blood. That poor, poor girl.
Amber never regained consciousness as we made it to the hospital, where the trauma team stood waiting for her in the ambulance bay.
I quickly rattled off the vitals for the handover, and they wheeled her inside, leaving me standing there with bloody gloves and a heavy heart.
As much as I loved my job, this part sucked.
But at least it left me little time to sit and worry about the boys and if they’d be okay, about Forest and what the hell was going on with him, and about myself and whether I’d be alone for the rest of my life—a thought I squashed down hard whenever it popped up.
Yeah, staying busy was so much better.