for us? So we’ll have an idea how many ambulances to send?”
Her whole body quaking with a mixture of adrenaline and nerves, Shelley strapped Austin in his seat, got back in the car, and did as required. Emergency lights flashing the entire way, she drove slowly through the field to the scene of the accident. The SUV that had taken the hit had flipped and was still on its side in a nearby field. It had a New York license plate and two passengers inside.
The sedan that had caused the crash bore Texas plates. The man who’d been driving was sitting behind a deployed airbag that looked like it had deflated. He was shouting belligerently in a slurred voice.
Shelley got back on the line and told the operator what she knew.
Fortunately, by the time she had finished, several other motorists were on the scene. One immediately set out flares to stop oncoming traffic. Another went over to the SUV. Everyone left their own vehicles’ lights on to better illuminate the scene.
Moments later, Shelley couldn’t help noticing that Austin, who normally chattered nonstop while they were in the car, was still ominously silent. She pivoted around in her seat to face him. Her toddler was staring at the scene uncomprehendingly. “Austin?” she asked, aware she was trapped now by all the vehicles, too. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t respond. Just continued to stare in that same dazed, emotionless way.
Panicked, Shelley shut down her ignition and jumped out of the car. She reached in to release Austin from his safety harness. He had seemed fine a moment ago, but was it possible he’d somehow gotten hurt without her knowledge? Shelley checked her son over but found nothing—no cuts, bruises or any outward sign of injury.
A Laramie County Sheriff’s Department car drove up, siren blaring, lights flashing. The officer parked horizontally across the road, further blocking off the scene. Deputy Colt McCabe stepped out wearing a tan uniform.
As he strode toward her, Shelley had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.
Handsome brow furrowed in concern, he asked, “Were you involved?”
She nodded. “I was run off the road by that white sedan, just before those two vehicles crashed.”
A siren blared in the distance.
“Is Austin okay?”
“I’m not sure. I—” Austin rested limply in her arms, and he looked awfully pale in the bright yellow headlights. He still wasn’t reacting much. She’d half expected him to be crying by now; there was so much chaos and confusion. The fact he wasn’t alarmed her.
“He might be going into shock.” Colt went back to his squad car, got a blanket out of the trunk. He brought it back to her. “Here. Put this around him. Keep him warm. We’ll get him to the E.R., too.”
The siren grew louder, then fell silent as another squad car arrived and parked horizontally to block off the opposite direction. Deputy Rio Vasquez stepped out. And still no paramedics, ambulances or fire trucks, Shelley noted in frustration, although to her relief she hadn’t yet noticed smoke or leaking gasoline.
“It’s going to be okay,” Colt told Shelley firmly, wrapping a reassuring arm around her.
Rio headed for the sedan to assess injuries. Colt took the SUV. While they did their jobs, Shelley paced, Austin cradled in her arms, turning him so he could no longer see the crash site. In the background she heard the blur of angry voices, apportioning blame. All the airbags had gone off, and had since deflated, but there were still possible injuries, so everyone was advised to stay put until the paramedics arrived. Unfortunately, the driver of the sedan got out of his car anyway. He pushed past Rio and the people trying to help him and wove toward Shelley drunkenly.
“What the heck is going on here?” he slurred, a cut streaming blood from his scalp.
Colt moved to assist. “Mr. Zellecky?”
The elderly man lurched unsteadily. “No need for alarm. Everything’s fine.”
“What’s the ETA on the paramedics?” Colt asked into the radio on his shoulder.
“Another five minutes.”
That was a lifetime! Shelley thought in despair.
Colt turned to Rio. “I’m getting Mr. Zellecky to the hospital.”
Colt took another look at her subdued, pale son and told Shelley, “You and Austin should come, too.”
Seconds later, they were all strapped in and on their way.
He drove them to Laramie Community Hospital. Shelley sat in back with Austin. Mr. Zellecky rode shotgun. He seemed roaring drunk when they started out. By the time they’d gone two miles, he was slumped over in his seat, unconscious.
Colt was on the speakerphone with the E.R. “Got a shocky two-year-old and a seventy-something diabetic coming in. Terrence Zellecky.”
A pause. “Mr. Zellecky whose wife just had a stroke?”
“That’s him,” Colt confirmed. “He was apparently driving erratically and got in a car accident. He was belligerent at the scene, but is now unconscious in the front seat of my squad car.”
“We’ll greet you at the door.”
And a crew did.
Faster than Shelley could have imagined possible, they had loaded the diabetic on a stretcher and were rushing him into the E.R.
Colt followed with Shelley. When her legs proved too wobbly to move quickly, he took Austin from her and led her through the pneumatic doors. From there a triage nurse took over. The next thing Shelley knew she was in a treatment room with Austin.
An oxygen mask was placed on Austin’s face, while he sat on her lap, blanket still wrapped around him, keeping him warm. The triage nurse took his vitals. A pediatrician entered soon after and checked for injuries. To Shelley’s relief, none were found. His stunned demeanor had been due to the shock of being in an accident, and the resulting rush of cortisol and adrenaline flooding his tiny system.
“We’ll continue to keep him warm, make sure he’s breathing well, give him some juice to drink and he’ll feel better in no time,” the pediatrician pronounced, looking as happy as Shelley that Austin was going to be just fine.
The doctor and nurse slipped out, and Shelley concentrated on soothing Austin. As her baby boy breathed in the oxygen rich air, his color returned—and so did his usual high spirits. Eventually, he had recovered enough to try to pull off his mask and say, “Sirens, Momma, sirens! Police car!”
“Yes,” Shelley acknowledged softly, replacing the mask, “we saw sirens and a police car.”
“Eeeee!” Austin reenacted the screeching and squealing, then gasped the way Shelley had gasped. He flailed his arms. “Boom!”
“Like I said—” Colt appeared in the doorway to the exam room, still resplendent in his tan uniform, his hat slanted across his brow “—a lot to take in for a little guy.” He smiled over at Austin. “Everything okay here?” he asked gently.
Shelley
