Page 52 of In Sheets of Rain

18

I Completely Forgot To Buy A Pineapple

The Fire Service had secured the scene when we arrived. John navigated the ambulance through the tightly packed vehicles, trying to avoid the central barrier and scraping paint off the truck in the process. It wasn’t rush hour, but Auckland City on the Harbour Bridge was gridlocked.

“Rear ended,” he said, taking in the damage to the two vehicles at a glance. “Looks like they want to use the Jaws of Life.”

“How fast do you think they’d been going?” I asked, noting the nonexistent boot on the Toyota sedan in front.

“Fast enough to make the Firies bring out the big guns.”

He parked the ambulance, blocking the scene as best he could. Not that anyone was going to come up behind us and take us by surprise. It had taken ten minutes to spread the immobile lanes of traffic and nose our way through to the scene.

I jumped down from the passenger seat, slipping my reflective jerkin on, and grabbed one kit and the O2bottle, leaving John to grab the rest. My ponytail made the crash scene helmet I wore sit at an odd angle; I pushed at it in aggravation.

“Nice of you to get here,” a fireman said.

“You seem to have it under control,” I offered.

“Always good to have company, though,” he said. I smiled. “We’re gonna have to cut the roof off this one.” He pointed to the car that had been rear-ended. “Doors won’t open, and space is at a premium.”

“OK,” I said, moving to that car and letting John assess the driver of the car behind.

There was a fireman partially inside the vehicle too, in the rear seat, trying to calm a woman down. She was elderly and speaking Chinese. She didn’t seem to understand him and was quite distraught. I noticed her pallor, her chest rising and falling, the way her eyes kept darting around. In the front seats were two gentlemen — one younger than the other. The older man was the driver and looked like he was having difficulty breathing. I put the oxygen mask on him.

“What have you got?” I said to the Firie.

The woman wailed. The men groaned. And the fireman said, “She’s got a huge gash on her cheek.”

I finished checking the vitals of the men in the front; they fought me every step of the way. Then I leaned in the rear window by the woman and took in the state of her cheek. Half her face was hanging off. Brittle skin. Torn easily.

“OK,” I said, touching the woman’s hand to comfort her. She held on tightly. “We’re going to get you out of here.” She said something I didn’t understand.

I glanced around the vehicle and noted the fishing rods down the centre. The boot was so compressed; the rear seat had pushed the rods up against the front window. They’d been on a fishing trip. Going to the beach or coming from one.

The woman continued to wail, the young man in the front of the car started screaming, and the driver groaned.

We’d been there no more than three minutes.

Then the fireman moved on the backseat, and I saw a child behind him.

The world shifted. My heart leapt into my throat. The child was silent.

Three minutes can mean a lifetime.

The woman wailed. The young man screamed. The driver moaned.

And the child was silent.

“John!” I yelled, reaching past the fireman to the kid in its car seat. “Status one! I need you.”

I’d missed it. I’d missed the damn kid. I hadn’t asked the fireman how many people were in the car. And he’d been distracted by the non-life threatening gash to the old lady’s cheek.

I’d missed it.

The woman wailed. The young man continued to scream. The driver groaned.

And the child remained silent.