MacGregor looked up from the patient she was checking in on, a young girl who’d broken her arm on the soccer field that afternoon. She’d brought the girl in earlier, and they’d bonded as she set the arm. Now it was her partner, Eric Mendoza, who was rushing toward the double doors that led to the ambulance bay at the hospital. She quickly said goodbye to the girl and followed Eric out the door.
“We just got back. Where are Rosen and Bailey?” They had another unit on duty tonight who should have been on this call.
Eric jumped behind the wheel as she clicked her seatbelt. “They’re too far out, we’re closer. It’s a call-in from some guy driving home, saw a motorcycle smashed against a light post just off Route 5 near the reservation.”
Susan made a bitter face. “It’s about time. I knew one of those guys who thinks he’s a badass would eventually bite it. Serves them right for drinking and driving. Or riding, or whatever they call it.”
Eric slid a meaningful look at her. “Get it under control, MacGregor. He’s still a patient, and we have to treat him like everyone else. Besides, you don’t know that he’s been drinking.”
“That’s all they do,” she scoffed. “They throw their weight around, intimide everyone into doing whatever they want, treat women like property, and get drunk. When was the last time any of those bikers donated to charity? I bet the list of them with felony records is as long as my arm.” She shook her head in disgust as she tied her long, blond hair back from her face. “How bad do you think it is?”
Her partner shrugged. “I didn’t hear anything about pools of blood or body parts on the road. I guess we’ll see soon enough.” He rounded the curves of the winding road from Olympia toward the accident, and Susan guessed they were about five minutes out. She called it in, making sure the dispatcher knew their position, and grabbed the first aid kit, ready to jump out of the truck as soon as it pulled to a stop.
Mendoza was right. Biker asshole or not, whoever had been the lucky lottery winner was still her responsibility, and in five years on the job, she hadn’t lost anyone yet. She wasn’t about to start now.
***
Searing pain swept through Jim’s body. He squeezed his eyes to keep them shut against bright lights that flashed around him, but they bled through his eyelids, making his head throb with each blink from blue to red. As he tried to roll away from them, he felt something stabbing into his side and vaguely remembered where he was.
The road by the reservation… the slick spot… the crash. Dammit. The last time he’d seen those lights flashing up close had been a year ago, when he’d called 9-1-1 and they’d come to try to revive his old lady. He took a self-assessment as voices gathered around him. He needed to tell them what hurt and what didn’t.
Jim blinked several times and squinted, his vision slightly blurred, the lights blinding. Then someone dropped to their knees beside him and blocked some of the offending emergency beacons. “Sir, are you awake? Can you hear me, sir?” The voice was male, with a slight Latino accent. “Can you tell me your name?”
One question at a time would have been fine. Jim tried to nod and winced at the pain in his head. “Jim Wade,” he grunted.
“Mr. Wade, can you feel all your limbs?” This time, a female, a raspy quality and harsh tone. “We need to assess your injuries-”
“Hell, yes, I can feel them, and they hurt like a motherfucker,” he cut her off, not caring how surly he sounded. “I don’t think it’s bad, just bruises and scrapes, but my head’s pounding like a desperate man in a three-dollar hooker.” Apparently, his vision wasn’t as poor as he’d thought, because he saw the sour expression on the woman’s face.
Then again, he must’ve suffered a head injury because his next thought was, That expression
“We just got back. Where are Rosen and Bailey?” They had another unit on duty tonight who should have been on this call.
Eric jumped behind the wheel as she clicked her seatbelt. “They’re too far out, we’re closer. It’s a call-in from some guy driving home, saw a motorcycle smashed against a light post just off Route 5 near the reservation.”
Susan made a bitter face. “It’s about time. I knew one of those guys who thinks he’s a badass would eventually bite it. Serves them right for drinking and driving. Or riding, or whatever they call it.”
Eric slid a meaningful look at her. “Get it under control, MacGregor. He’s still a patient, and we have to treat him like everyone else. Besides, you don’t know that he’s been drinking.”
“That’s all they do,” she scoffed. “They throw their weight around, intimide everyone into doing whatever they want, treat women like property, and get drunk. When was the last time any of those bikers donated to charity? I bet the list of them with felony records is as long as my arm.” She shook her head in disgust as she tied her long, blond hair back from her face. “How bad do you think it is?”
Her partner shrugged. “I didn’t hear anything about pools of blood or body parts on the road. I guess we’ll see soon enough.” He rounded the curves of the winding road from Olympia toward the accident, and Susan guessed they were about five minutes out. She called it in, making sure the dispatcher knew their position, and grabbed the first aid kit, ready to jump out of the truck as soon as it pulled to a stop.
Mendoza was right. Biker asshole or not, whoever had been the lucky lottery winner was still her responsibility, and in five years on the job, she hadn’t lost anyone yet. She wasn’t about to start now.
***
Searing pain swept through Jim’s body. He squeezed his eyes to keep them shut against bright lights that flashed around him, but they bled through his eyelids, making his head throb with each blink from blue to red. As he tried to roll away from them, he felt something stabbing into his side and vaguely remembered where he was.
The road by the reservation… the slick spot… the crash. Dammit. The last time he’d seen those lights flashing up close had been a year ago, when he’d called 9-1-1 and they’d come to try to revive his old lady. He took a self-assessment as voices gathered around him. He needed to tell them what hurt and what didn’t.
Jim blinked several times and squinted, his vision slightly blurred, the lights blinding. Then someone dropped to their knees beside him and blocked some of the offending emergency beacons. “Sir, are you awake? Can you hear me, sir?” The voice was male, with a slight Latino accent. “Can you tell me your name?”
One question at a time would have been fine. Jim tried to nod and winced at the pain in his head. “Jim Wade,” he grunted.
“Mr. Wade, can you feel all your limbs?” This time, a female, a raspy quality and harsh tone. “We need to assess your injuries-”
“Hell, yes, I can feel them, and they hurt like a motherfucker,” he cut her off, not caring how surly he sounded. “I don’t think it’s bad, just bruises and scrapes, but my head’s pounding like a desperate man in a three-dollar hooker.” Apparently, his vision wasn’t as poor as he’d thought, because he saw the sour expression on the woman’s face.
Then again, he must’ve suffered a head injury because his next thought was, That expression
Similar Books
