only one person in the room,” she reported. “He’s down and it looks like he’s unconscious. Hold on a sec.” Making a fist she rapped on the glass. The victim didn’t stir. “Yup. He’s out cold. I can’t tell if he’s breathing.”
“You’re positive he’s alone?”
“In this room, yes. Can’t tell about the rest of the house.”
She felt herself being lowered and jumped clear. “Let’s go.”
Vince was saying, “I’ll check on the ETA of the police,” as Kaitlin powered around the building. She never slowed going up the porch steps. A screen door hung off to the side like the broken wing of a bird. One swift kick with her boot and the front door popped open.
She had enough good sense to fall back until she’d double-checked the scene. That took mere moments. The unconscious, injured man was as rugged-looking as her partners had reported but not a bit frightening or off-putting the way they’d said. Avoiding the red pool staining the bare floor, she dropped to her knees by the victim’s head, pushed back the collar of his plaid flannel shirt and felt for a carotid pulse.
Smiling and gulping in breaths, she looked up and proudly announced, “He’s alive! We’re in time.”
* * *
Daniel wanted to speak, to warn his erstwhile rescuers that the shooter might still be out there, watching and waiting. His will was strong. His capabilities were not.
Was that a woman’s voice? Letty? he wondered. No. This person sounded empathetic as well as professional. First responders must have understood his jumbled 911 call and found him. Given the remoteness of the homestead and the fact that he’d done his best to shun everyone since he’d arrived there, that was pretty amazing. Only once, after a passing hunter had reported an armed trespasser acting mentally unstable, had anybody from Paradise checked on him. After that mistaken diagnosis was corrected and the medics turned away, Daniel hadn’t been bothered again. Until today.
His eyelids refused to rise. Male voices were issuing orders. Somebody was sticking a needle in his arm and taping it down while someone else slit the leg of his jeans to expose the injury site. A stethoscope touched his chest. He felt the leads of a defibrillator being stuck to his skin to record his heartbeats. His mind kept shouting, “Get me out of here!” yet his lips never moved. This felt like the kind of nightmare where you want to scream a warning but are unable to speak, no matter how hard you try.
“I think we should stabilize and transport ASAP,” one of the men said. “He’s lost a lot of blood in spite of the tourniquet he made with his belt.”
Yes! Do it! Take me away from here!
“I don’t know. What’s the sheriff’s ETA?” another asked.
What had happened to the woman? Daniel wondered. She hadn’t said a thing since confirming he was alive.
“Finish packing that wound and let’s roll. Doctor’s orders,” the first man said. “The cops are lost somewhere out here and we can’t wait for them to find us.”
Daniel wished he could cheer. Tired. So tired. It was getting hard to make out the conversation going on around him. He felt his body being rolled, moved, lifted. Someone reached into his pocket and tugged on his wallet.
Finally he heard the woman’s voice again. “Back off. You’re making the bleeding worse.”
“Okay,” one of the men replied. “We’ll let the docs in ER confirm identity.”
“From the looks of him he was probably using an alias, anyway,” the other man said. “Rookie, get the gurney and let’s go.”
* * *
Kaitlin and the other two worked as a team, securing and loading their patient flawlessly. She followed the gurney and supported the IV bag, then hung it and grabbed a seat as Josh climbed in with her and Vince slammed the doors. The engine revved. Tires spun, then caught. The man on the gurney moaned.
Kaitlin touched his forehead, noted that he was clammy and covered him with a blanket, leaving his leg exposed so she and her partner could monitor the injury.
“You’re going to be okay, sir,” she said. Her fingers brushed back his thick, dark hair. His lips trembled and parted as if he were trying to talk.
Kaitlin shushed him. “Take it easy. Save your strength. You can tell the doctors everything after we get you to the hospital.”
His “No” was faint but unmistakable.
Astonished, she leaned closer and spoke softly. “It will be all right. I promise. My name is Kaitlin. And this is Josh. We’ll take good care of you.”
Josh tapped her shoulder. “Knock it off.”
“Why?”
“Because his pulse is spiking. What you said was apparently not what he wanted to hear.”
“I just told him my name.”
“No. Before that. I get the feeling our hermit is not fond of hospitals.”
“Ah, I see.” She gently patted the patient’s shoulder. He seemed to be unconscious again but she explained, anyway. “If we don’t get you to a medical facility that’s equipped to take proper care of you, you’ll be in far worse trouble than you already are. So chill, okay? We’ve given you a little something for the pain and you should feel better soon. You need to trust us. We’re the good guys. It says so on our uniforms.”
Again his lips parted. Kaitlin leaned as close as possible, allowing for the pitching of the vehicle. Whatever he was trying to say didn’t come through.
“Vitals are starting to normalize,” Josh reported.
Kaitlin was more than glad; she was thankful. Every shift, every call, began with a fervent prayer for support and wisdom from God. That she’d survived her wild youth was a wonder she didn’t take for granted. Making the most of the life that had come after was her deepest desire. It didn’t matter that her parents thought she was a failure because she hadn’t finished school to become a doctor. She knew she didn’t need an MD degree to help people. This job was just as important. Just as fulfilling.
Laying a cool cloth on the patient’s forehead she silently prayed for him and blessed him. His arm twitched beneath the blanket. Kaitlin uncovered his hand to check the IV and saw his fingers moving.
She took his hand. He grasped hers as if she were an old friend. If the contact gave him comfort she was fine with it. Truth to tell, something about this patient seemed familiar enough that she, too, was comforted. Losing a patient was the worst part of her profession, by far, and it looked as if this one was going to make it. That alone was such a relief it brought unshed tears.
She averted her gaze to keep Josh from teasing her about being such a softy. Her reputation on the job was pretty good, if you didn’t count the scoldings Vince had given her for being too impulsive. The fact that he was right didn’t help. She knew she had to get a better grip on her enthusiasm and do things more by the book if she intended to survive her probationary period and be hired as a paramedic when she was fully certified.
The
