Chapter 4
Four
Wednesday morning, Jackson and Moses had just finished cleaning out bay one when the siren tripped. The dispatcher’s voice announced a one-car collision with entrapment.
Jackson nodded, pressing his lips together. His shoulder muscles tightened. “Let me gear up.”
A minute later, he swung into the cab. “I didn’t catch that last part. Too much static.”
“Firefighters and Southwold police have also been called to the scene.” Swanny pulled away from the bay.
“Southwold police confirming. Two units en route.”
Jackson recognized the voice of Captain Bruce Balluff.
The partners listened to the back-and-forth for another minute.
“Sounds like a bad one.” Jackson peered through the window.
The clouds swirled in an angry mass above them.
The main street of Southwold stretched out before them, small family-owned businesses lining both sides.
They passed coffee shops, restaurants, and various shops.
Green grass flowed from the sidewalk to the curb, dotted with shrubs and the occasional tree.
In the background, majestic mountains rose like guardians overseeing the city, distant and proud, a mixture of blues, grays, purples, and whites.
Swanny kept his gaze on the road. The siren wailed and the ambulance lights swirled like red and white strobe lights, glinting like prisms in the store windows.
The cars on the street slowed, then steered to the side.
The ambulance sailed past, the faces staring back at them a blur.
“Witnesses said that an SUV that had been driving recklessly failed to make a steep turn and broke through the guardrail on Suicide Lane.”
Jackson’s gut clenched. That curve had gained the nickname of Suicide Lane because several times a year, people drove off the cliff, sometimes accidentally and others not.
Had this driver really taken a turn too fast, or had he tried to end his life?
Jackson silently prayed for the soul in the vehicle. Then he thought about what Swanny had just said. Guardrails were built to withstand serious pressure. How fast had this vehicle been traveling?
“Through the guardrail? It’s only two years old.”
Swanny shook his head. “It’s toast.”
“RAS 1, what’s your ETA?” Captain Balluff asked over the radio.
“Under five minutes, sir,” Jackson responded. The scenery whipped past too fast to capture it all. Just as they turned the curve, two fat droplets hit the windshield.
“No. It’s not supposed to rain until after lunch,” Swanny half growled, half moaned, the sound guttural and grating.
“I guess the weatherman made a mistake.” A few more independent splatters gave the final warning before the clouds opened and rain pounded the vehicle. Visibility narrowed to a small band about twenty feet in front of the vehicle.
Their ETA had just multiplied.
It was closing in on six minutes when Jackson perked up.
“Up ahead.” He pointed at the flashing lights piercing the rain.
Little red flames welcomed them, showing them the way like breadcrumbs in an old fairy tale.
The firefighters had set up flares to line the side of the road in measured increments, like beacons.
“I see them.” Swanny tapped the brakes and twisted the wheel, carefully guiding the ambulance off the main part of the road.
The moment the ambulance stopped, Jackson hopped out, grabbing his gear.
Within seconds, his uniform clung to him like he’d gone swimming in it.
Water dripped from his hair and down his face. He blinked the wetness off his lashes.
Swanny flipped the hazard lights on and jumped out. Officer Geoff Sands greeted Jackson and Swanny. “I took down the plates. While you’re taking care of him, I’ll run them.”
A single SUV teetered on the edge of the road, the front wheels barely on the pavement. The nose hung precariously above the drop, its headlights shining into the empty space before it. The river churned below, the rapid current tumbling over rocks and carrying tree branches and debris in its wake.
“Help!” A scream tore from inside the SUV. “Get me out! Get me out!”
A rusty groan stirred the air. The vehicle shifted. He needed to act now.
Jackson ran to the SUV. The driver’s side window had shattered. Glass was scattered across the pavement, and shards crunched under his boots.
“Careful, buddy!” Swanny called out, only a few feet behind him.
Jackson raised a hand in acknowledgment. The man inside the SUV grew agitated and his movements frantic. The vehicle rocked with the increased motion.
“Sir! Please remain calm. We’re coming to get you out. Please hold still.”
The man shouted louder, his words incoherent. Almost like he was under the influence.
Drunk? It was possible. Or just terrified. Jackson couldn’t rule anything out yet.
He reached the SUV. “Sir, can you open the door? We need to get to you.”
The man glanced his way. Jackson saw the glassy eyes, the sheer panic. He had the look of someone on a really bad drug trip.
Jackson’s pulse sped up.
“Watch out!” Geoff shouted.
Swanny grabbed Jackson by the back of his shirt and yanked.
Jackson’s fingers brushed the SUV a second before the vehicle lurched forward.
Metal ripped apart. The SUV ground through the guardrail and slid toward the edge.
It teetered for a moment, tipped forward, then the entire body tumbled down the incline, flipping end over end, leaving fragments of metal and glass dotting the incline in its wake.
The SUV came to a sudden stop at the bottom, half in the river.
Jackson didn’t wait. He hopped over the destroyed guardrail and began skidding his way down to the victim, his boots slipping and sliding in the mud.
The rain continued to fall in sheets. The hill pitched so sharply he half slid, half ran, grabbing at branches and rocks to keep from being swept down uncontrollably.
Above him, Swanny’s voice barked into the radio, calling for ropes, for divers, for backup.
At the bottom, icy water filled the floor of the SUV. The driver’s door lay partway up the hill. The victim hung half out of the opening.
Careful to avoid the jagged edges of the mangled metal, Jackson reached out and felt the man’s neck. Then he pressed the button to speak into his radio.
“I have a pulse!” It was faint and unsteady, but it was there. And as long as life was present, he’d do whatever he needed to preserve it.
The rain slacked. Ropes dropped from the top of the embankment.
Jackson glanced up and saw Swanny and a couple of firefighters working their way to the bottom of the hill.
Swanny picked his way over to Jackson. Together, they extracted the unconscious man from the vehicle and found a relatively flat surface to lay him on.
Swanny held a flashlight over them so Jackson could see.
Fresh track marks dotted the man’s arms.
The injured man’s eyelids fluttered open. “My girls. Tell my girls…”
“Hang on. You can tell them yourself.”
“Don’t want to die—” His voice petered out. He rasped a single, gurgling breath, then his chest stopped rising. His eyes were unfocused. Jackson shone a light in them, and they didn’t react. He felt for a pulse again. It was gone.
Jackson grabbed the scissors from his bag and sliced the man’s shirt open. He used his fingers to locate the base of the sternum, locked the fingers of both hands together, and began chest compressions. A sharp crack filled the air at the first compression. He’d broken a bone.
Swanny had already covered the man’s mouth with a shield so he could deliver rescue breaths without fear of contamination. Soon, Jackson’s arms ached from wrists to shoulders. The area between his shoulder blades cramped. But they didn’t stop.
The firefighters had set up a landing zone.
Jackson and Swanny continued CPR for the next ten minutes.
Jackson checked the man again. When he felt a pulse, he nodded at Swanny.
They both looked up when they heard blades rotating in the air.
The chopper had arrived. It landed farther down on a flat outcropping.
Ace, one of Renegade’s chopper pilots, jumped down from the chopper and carefully made his way to the paramedics.
“He’s got a pulse,” Jackson told him. “It’s thready, but it’s there.”
“We’ll take it from here.” Ace and his partner loaded the man onto the helicopter. Jackson said a prayer for the man. He hoped he’d make it. Jackson had done all he could, but the man’s odds weren’t good.
Jackson and Swanny dragged themselves back to the top, using the ropes the firefighters had brought.
“My arms feel like wet noodles,” Swanny complained.
Jackson opened and closed his hands. “I think that rope scratched my skin clean off.”
Geoff approached them. “I ran the plate. Our victim is Henry Walters, a divorce court lawyer. From what we’ve been able to figure out, he went to his bank around lunchtime and cleared out his entire account.”
“I think he was either drunk or high,” Jackson told them. “His eyes were glassy, his movements were erratic, and there were track marks on his arm. Of course, it could have been panic or shock.”
“Probably drugs. They’ll run a tox screen.” Geoff rubbed a hand down his face. “They’ll find out then.”
Another officer joined them. “Do you suppose it might have been the new drug that’s going around? Neurosync?”
Jackson pressed his lips together. Amber and Moses had been called out a few days ago when a young teenager, a girl named Crystal, had overdosed on it. It had been bad. He’d never seen Amber really cry until that call.
“We won’t know until we get the toxicology reports. It’s possible. From what I heard about our victim, he doesn’t seem the type, but you never know.” Geoff sighed, shaking his head.
Jackson suppressed a shudder. The new drug seemed to be everywhere. The word on the street was that it had mind-controlling properties. He’d scoffed when he’d heard that, but what else would convince a man like this to empty his bank account and drive off a cliff?