Page 11 of Resuscitation

Chapter Nine

After suffering another finger prick and Alyssa calling med control with Thomas’s labs and getting a treatment plan, they loaded Thomas onto the carry chair and began down the steps.

Blake was glad Alyssa had decided to wait until they were in the ambulance before starting an IV.

Thomas was a difficult stick, and he’d hate to have an IV jostled out by the steep steps.

“And how’s you, son?” Thomas asked Blake as they rounded the first landing. “Still out there trying to save the world, like always?”

Blake chuckled lightly. “Sometimes it feels like I’m putting one fire out just for four more to ignite.”

“Can’t fix everything on your own. You’re not a superhero.”

Blake raised his eyebrow and dipped his mouth with mock disappointment. “Whaddaya mean, I’m no superhero? C’mon, Blake-man would make a great comic book character.”

“You mean comedy character,” Alyssa corrected.

Thomas laughed, which morphed into a hacking cough. When he had finished, he rasped in a deep breath. “Er, jeez, sorry. Swallowed wrong.”

“Take it easy there.” Alyssa reached for his pulse as they took another pause at the next landing.

“My bad,” Blake said. They resumed climbing down the steps. “I should know better. Especially giving away my secret identity.”

Thomas looked toward Alyssa while pointing at Blake. “When are you getting this one put away? Hope it’s soon.”

“I’m on it,” she replied, smirking.

“Seriously, though,” Blake said, changing the topic away from his personal life. “It’s tough seeing people struggle and knowing I can’t do more for them.”

“True, true.” Thomas shifted slightly in the chair. It wasn’t the most comfortable mode of transportation no matter how careful Blake and Alyssa were. “But instead of chasing every problem, focus on the small victories. Like the time you saved that kid with the asthma attack. That was a big deal.”

“Yeah, it was. Just…” He exhaled slowly. “I still feel like I could’ve done more, you know?” Jeez, what was it about Thomas that had him sharing shit he didn’t even admit to himself?

Thomas’s tone was serious but gentle. “Take it from someone who’s been around the block a few times. You can drive yourself mad worrying about what you can’t control.”

It was true. And mirrored what every therapist and group Blake had ever been to said. He couldn’t help it. He needed everything in its right place, the right box. All memories boxed up, a routine to take care of today, worries about tomorrow safely locked away.

“Yeah, I’ve been working on that.”

When they reached the ground floor, Blake wheeled Thomas to the doors as Alyssa held them open, a gear bag slung over each of her shoulders. The snow had gotten heavier even though it actually felt a little warmer, maybe because the wind had shifted direction.

Once Thomas was strapped onto the ambulance’s gurney and their gear was stowed, Blake hopped into the driver’s seat and turned them around to head to the hospital in Potsdam.

In the back, Alyssa began an IV. First stick, Blake noted with approval. Not easy to do on Thomas.

“There you go, all set,” she said, adjusting the IV fluids.

“So, who won the bet?” Thomas asked, cracking a grin.

Alyssa laughed. “Well, neither, actually. Dr. Sara went for high sugar and Blake here was counting on your kidneys to win him those M&M’s.”

In the rearview, Blake saw Thomas gesture for Alyssa to lean closer to him. “Say, Blake and Dr. Sara. Any progress?”

“I heard that,” Blake interjected.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Thomas told him. “Life is short. Ask the girl out. Otherwise, you’ll end up just like me. All alone.”

“Hey, you’ve got us,” Alyssa protested. “And you got lucky, married the love of your life. Am I right?”

Thomas nodded with a rueful smile as his eyes drifted off to previous memories. “That I did, that I did. Bless her soul.”

Blake brought the ambulance to a stop at the red light at the intersection with Route 37, ready to turn onto the main highway to Potsdam. It would have been tempting to run the red, sirens blasting, but Blake resisted. While he waited for the light to turn, he peered into the back.

Thomas was talking to Alyssa in a low voice, his face animated. She laughed, and Blake had the feeling Thomas was sharing one of his R-rated anecdotes from when he’d been in the Navy.

“Looks like you’re feeling better,” he told the older man.

Alyssa straightened up, assuming a professional expression. “Yep, we’re all good. Vitals stable, blood sugar normal.”

“Roads look like they’re getting nasty,” Thomas said. “You guys can just take me home, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not getting off that easy,” Alyssa chided him. “Dialysis, remember? Not to mention you’ll need an IV tonight, keep your sugar stable.”

“Ugh.” Thomas’s face twisted in an exaggerated pout, worse than any toddler, making Blake smile. “They never let me get any sleep. All the noise and the nurses checking me every half an hour. And worse thing is, nowadays seems like half of them are men!”

“Ah, but still pretty, right?” Alyssa joked.

The light changed to green, but as Blake put his foot on the gas to cross, his peripheral vision caught the flashing lights of a speeding law enforcement SUV heading straight for the driver’s side of the ambulance.

He hit the brakes, sending the ambulance into a skid just as the SUV swerved to make an abrupt left turn.

“What the hell!” Alyssa shouted from the back.

As fast as it had appeared, the vehicle disappeared into the blizzard. But why was a county sheriff’s unit speeding toward Eastfork?

“You okay back there?” When Blake looked in the direction the SUV had come from, he spotted more familiar red and blue lights glinting through the snowfall. None of them moving.

“Yeah, all good.” Alyssa replied. She checked on Thomas once more, but he waved her away. She climbed up front to join Blake. “What’s going on?”

Blake tried the radio, but it gave him nothing but crackles and pops. “Call dispatch,” he told Alyssa who was already sliding her cell free. “If that was an injured cop, they were heading in the wrong direction.”

“Any officers around here know not to go to Eastfork,” she said as the call connected. “Wayne? You hear anything about police casualties or any major trauma event?”

She put it on speaker and held it between them. Wayne, the EMS dispatcher, answered, “There was chatter earlier about state troopers in pursuit of possible robbery suspects, and the county guys were coming to back them up, but then everything went quiet.”

“Maybe they changed channels,” Blake said. Something usually reserved for critical incidents requiring private communications.

Alyssa met Blake’s gaze with a frown, then told Wayne, “Seems like one of the deputies is heading to Eastfork, maybe with a casualty. You might want to warn Sara.”

Blake leaned toward the phone. “I can see several more units on 37, near the bridge—but they’re not moving, looks from here like they’re across the whole road, blocking it.”

“You’re our only unit available,” Wayne said.

He didn’t spell it out, but it was clear he was leaving it up to them to decide: follow protocol and leave with Thomas, prioritizing their patient’s need to get to Potsdam…

or possibly enter an unsecured scene to rescue potential injured law enforcement officers.

Blake and Alyssa had an entire argument with a few looks, shakes of the head, raised eyebrows, jerks of the chin back toward Thomas, and assorted scowls.

“Thomas is our responsibility,” Alyssa finally said, pulling rank.

From the rear, Thomas raised his voice. “If you leave hurt policemen lying in the snow just to get me to a hospital bed I don’t even want, I swear to god not only won’t I ever speak to either of you again, when I die, I’m gonna come back and haunt you for the rest of your lives!”

Good enough for Blake. He checked the intersection and turned in the direction of the police vehicles.

Alyssa sighed and spoke into the phone, “Wayne, let the cops know we’re approaching the scene to assess. Have their dispatcher call the units involved, tell them our radio is out so they’ll need to go through you for comms. I’ll keep the line open.” Then to Blake, “Slow, maintain a safe distance.”

Clearly Alyssa had never been in a gun battle. They were already past a “safe” distance. But Blake’s gut told him this scenario was all wrong. Best he hoped for was that they’d find cops living but hurt, because the other option…

“Remember the first rule of EMS,” Alyssa reminded him.

“Don’t become a victim yourself,” he answered grimly.

As they approached, they identified a dark shape in the snowy ground, far from any vehicle.

Blake hit the high beams and the exterior spotlight, aiming it past the motionless form to the ground near the two cruisers ahead of them.

Four more bodies that they could see. There could be more on the other side of the vehicles. He stopped the ambulance.

“Shit.” Alyssa’s grip on the phone tightened. “Wayne, we’ve got multiple officers down.”

Blake admired the way her voice remained steady.

For once, he wasn’t as able to compartmentalize, a flash of memory overwhelming him.

The snow-dusted asphalt became the sandy dust of that highway from hell in Afghanistan.

The bodies of the officers were his comrades: Rodriquez, O’Leary, Miller writhing in pain…

Not Miller. An officer on the ground, clad in black SWAT gear, waving his arms.

Blake rolled his window down and stuck his head out. “Sir! Can you show your hands and identify yourself?”

“Officer Lopez. I’ve been shot in the leg.”

“Is the gunman still on scene?”

“No, they’re all dead. Damnit, I’m bleeding out!”

Blake held his hand up to Alyssa, who was still on the phone, indicting for her to stay put. Before she could protest, he grabbed the trauma bag, opened the driver’s door, and jumped out.

His boots crunched through the slushy snow as he approached the first body and quickly checked it for any signs of life: her eyes were open, a blood trail ran down her chin and neck while her skin was turning blue.

Blake had seen enough dead bodies to know he was staring at one. He approached a second officer, sprawled face down, handgun still gripped by icy fingers. Blake carefully moved the gun away, rolled the man over, felt for a pulse. Nothing.

“Hey, bud, hurry!” the wounded officer pleaded. But if he was able to scream like that, he wasn’t as critically injured as an officer unable to call for help might be.

Blake began to move toward the man, but something he’d seen set alarm bells going in his brain. He glanced back, and his eyes fell on the dead officer’s name badge: Lopez.

He turned to see the wounded “cop” rolling over to reveal an automatic rifle aimed right at him.

Blake slowly raised his hands.

“Don’t move a muscle!” the man demanded as he struggled to his feet, leaving behind a large patch of blood in the snow where he had been lying.