Brad nodded. “Give us a few minutes, then we’ll go.”
“Take your time.” Archer headed back to the house.
Then a voice came over Brad’s radio. “Air One is down in the Bow River. EMS and fire department responding.”
Brad parked Annie’s car near the nurse’s residence, about two-hundred yards from the emergency entrance. That was as close as he could get. Ambulances and police cruisers occupied every available parking spot anywhere near the emergency entrance.
Annie was out of the car and dashing to the entrance. Brad sprinted to catch up. Dozens of cops stood outside emergency. That happens when a cop is shot.
Annie forced the automatic doors open and rushed to the triage desk. “Where is Charlie Zerr?”
“Are you family?”
“No. Yes. I’m his fiancée.”
Brad swung his head to Annie and raised an eyebrow. Fiancée?
“I’ll have a nurse come to talk to you.” The triage nurse went back to her paperwork. “Please have a seat.”
“No, I need to see him this instant.”
The triage nurse pursed her lips and glared over her glasses. “I’m sorry, but we’re swamped. Wait and—”
“I’m not—”
Brad grabbed her arm and pulled her away. She struggled to break free, but Brad held firm.
“Let me go,” she shouted.
“Trust me,” Brad whispered.
Annie stopped fighting and allowed Brad to hustle them down the hall away from triage, then turned right. The sign said X-ray.
“Is he getting X-rays?”
“Quiet.”
They passed a door labeled X-ray on the left. Past a door on the right, then stopped by the second door on the right.
“Is he here? Let’s go in.”
Brad held out his hand. “Whoa. He’s here, but they lock the door.”
“I’ll pound on the door.”
“Just wait.”
Annie fidgeted as she stared at the door.
“You need to calm down. You’re not gonna help Charlie, and you’re not helping anybody here if you rush in and raise a stink. Follow me, keep your mouth shut, and I’ll find out what’s going on. Do you understand?”
Annie nodded.
Then the door burst open and an orderly raced past. Brad grabbed the door before it closed, and they slipped into the hall outside the trauma rooms.
Briscoe occupied the third trauma bed. The closest two were empty.
Annie put her hand to her mouth and choked. “Oh, no.”
Brad put his arm around her. “Let me find out. Charlie might not be here yet.”
Brad spotted Griffin across from Briscoe. “How is he?”
“He’ll be okay. The bullet missed his vest but hit his stomach.”
“Most likely helped that he had some extra padding there.”
Griffin glanced at Brad. “What about you? Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a change.” Griffin’s lips quirked.
“Older, wiser.” Brad snorted. “What’s the word on the helicopter crash?”
“Paramedics are still on scene. The rescue boat from downtown was out at your thing. They had to bring a rescue boat from the south, and that took time.”
“Any word on injuries?”
Griffin shook his head. “But dispatch sent two ambulances.”
“Ah, shit.” A cold chill passed through him. He could not lose anyone else. Charlie was like a brother. “There were just two on board.”
Griffin nodded.
“Thanks for the update.” He headed back to Annie and told her what Griffin said.
“Oh my god.” Her legs collapsed. Brad caught her and eased her into a chair.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. He is alive. He’s getting great care by paramedics. They will be here soon. We wait.”
“I can’t wait.”
Brad shook his head. “You don’t have a choice. When you’re ready, let’s go talk to Briscoe.”
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Firefighters carried the spine board to the rescue boat. Thompson and Dixon jogged behind, carrying equipment. They jumped into the boat. As soon as they had the spine board strapped in place, Thompson said, “Let’s go.”
The water bubbled and roiled as the powerful boat backed away from the island—a firefighter on shore assisted by giving the vessel a push. The transmission clunked, and the boat lurched forward.
“Easy,” Thompson said.
In less than a minute, they were across the river to the north bank. Another group of firefighters were waiting and carried the board to the back of the ambulance where they set the spine board on the stretcher. Thompson jumped in. “I need one of you in the back with me and another to drive.”
Firefighters slid the stretcher in and closed the back door.
A firefighter climbed in the side door, removed his coat and sat at the head of the stretcher. The ambulance pulled forward, and the siren sounded.
Thompson handed him the bag-valve-mask device. “You know how to use this?”
“You bet.” The firefighter began ventilating the patient.
Thompson strapped the patient to the stretcher while Dixon hung two IV bags on the stretcher pole. Dixon applied tourniquets to each arm and started the large bore IVs.
Thompson checked the splints on the legs. He’d done the best he could on the island, but he was worried. When the helicopter crashed, his patient’s side had taken the full force of the impact. Thompson was sure both legs were broken in multiple places, and the pelvis was crushed.
The ambulance swung left and Thompson was tossed against the wall and landed on the bench seat. “Easy.”
The ambulance braked hard, then the back doors opened. A line of paramedics and cops scrambled to assist.
Annie brushed her eyes with the back of her hand and stood. “Let’s go see the old man.”
Brad followed Annie to Briscoe’s bed. The heart monitor beeped a steady hundred and ten beats. An IV pump clicked, infusing fluid into his veins. An oxygen mask covered his face.
Brad took one side of the bed, Annie the other. She put her hand on Briscoe’s. “Hey, old man. You too slow to dodge bullets?”
“No sass. Respect your elders.”
“How are you?” she asked.
“Just a flesh wound. The doc said I have add-di-post tissue.”
“It’s called adipose,” Annie said.
“The bullet made a mess of my six-pack abs.”
“I was thinking more like a keg,” Brad said.
Briscoe glared at Brad and focused on Annie. “Why did you bring this asshole?”
“He’s my chauffeur.”
“You need one with a better attitude.”
“I know. But he’s all I can afford.”
“Griffin says you’re going to surgery soon,” Brad said.
“Yeah. They’re waiting for the surgical team to get here.”
Brad nodded. “They’ll patch you up good as new.”
“Better,” Briscoe said. “I told him they could take out all that extra padding while they were there.”
Brad grinned. “Good thinking.”
“Jerry!” a voice shouted from down the hall.
Elaine Briscoe raced to her husband. Brad stepped back and made room.
“Oh, Jerry, are you okay?” She glared at Brad. “Are you to blame for this?”
“Well, I—” Brad stammered.
Briscoe coughed. “This time, it wasn’t the rookie’s fault. All mine. Too old and slow.”
“We’ll leave you,” Brad said.
Elaine gave Brad a hug. “Thank you for being with him. And thank you for sending a cruiser to get me.”
As they left Briscoe, the emergency doors swung open.
Paramedics and firefighters rushed a stretcher down the hall to trauma bed three. Cops followed, blocking Brad and Annie from the room. They pushed as close as they could. The trauma team lifted the spine bo
ard onto the hospital bed. The patient was immobilized entirely, his neck encased in a plastic neck brace, and his face covered by lacerations. He was unrecognizable.
They heard Thompson giving a report. “Unconscious on our arrival. The firefighters, my partner and I had to cross the river to get to the helicopter.”
“Do you have a name?” a nurse asked.
“No,” Thompson said. Then, quieter, “Too many lacerations. I can’t identify him.”
Annie gasped.
“We were able to lift him out of the chopper: bilateral upper and lower leg fractures and suspected pelvic fractures. Breath sounds are decreased on the left. Left pupil is fixed and dilated.”
While Thompson gave a report, other members of the trauma team performed their assigned duties. A central line was placed and blood infused. A chest tube was inserted. The portable X-ray machine stood by. A resident stepped to the head of the patient and prepared to intubate. Before he could insert the tube into the trachea, blood gushed from the patient’s mouth. Bright-red blood flowed into the chest tube, then slowed to a trickle.
Monitor alarms sounded. The emergency physician gave curt, direct orders. Those outside the trauma room were silent, knowing the clock was ticking on a life. Fifteen minutes later, the emergency physician glanced at the defeated faces of the team. “Time of death, 0025 hours.”
Annie grabbed Brad’s arm and shook uncontrollably.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Sharma and Cook had transferred Briscoe to the emergency staff when they got the call for the helicopter crash. They’d raced down the hill in time to see an ambulance heading to the hospital.
They parked close to the river. Firefighters met them and helped with equipment. They took the rescue boat to the downed chopper. On the way over, a firefighter shouted over the noise of the boat engines. “The helicopter landed on its side. We were able to lift the first patient out. It’s difficult with this guy. The cockpit collapsed around him. We have guys cutting the chopper. By the time we arrive, they should be done.”
The boat swung next to the shore. Cook was out of the boat and racing to the chopper. She rounded the front, her boots crunching on broken glass. A gas engine roared as the firefighters used the Hurst Tool to cut the cockpit door.
She waited until a firefighter gave her a nod, then she climbed into the cockpit, her fingers going to the patient’s neck. She felt a fast but weak pulse.
Sharma leaned over her shoulder. “Weak,” she said.
She slipped her hands around the head, down the neck to the chest, abdomen, and pelvis. She glanced over her shoulder. “No obvious fractures or bleeding. From here, I can’t check his legs.”
“I’ve got it,” Sharma said.
Cook took out her stethoscope and listened to the patient’s chest. Breath sounds were hard to hear and shallow. She called to the firefighters. “Full spinal immobilization. Let’s get him out of here.” She asked Sharma, “How are the lower extremities?”
“Left leg is okay. I’m not sure about the right leg. Possible lower tibia-fibula fracture or ankle fracture. Or all of the above.”
She nodded. “He’s got a broken right arm.”
Within minutes, the patient was out of the chopper, immobilized, and on his way to the boat.
Once in the ambulance, Cook applied oxygen then started one IV in the patient’s left arm.
Sharma immobilized both legs.
The ambulance pulled into the hospital and the back doors were thrown open before the ambulance had stopped. Then the patient started talking.
The emergency doors flew open, and another stretcher surrounded by cops and firefighters rolled into the emergency department. Sharma saw Brad. “It’s Zerr.”
“What?”
“Charlie Zerr. He just woke up.”
Annie pushed away from Brad and fought like a bobcat to the stretcher. “Charlie, Charlie. Are you okay?” She grabbed his hand and held tight as the stretcher rolled to trauma bed one.
“I’m sore. It’s been a while since I was in a helicopter crash.”
“What? You crashed before?”
“Just once.”
“Do you hurt?”
“Everywhere.”
She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “Why are you strapped to this board?”
“Makes the paramedic feel like they did something. Gives the firefighters someone to carry. Works out for everyone.”
Cook gave her report to the trauma team while they worked on Zerr.
When she’d completed, Brad pulled Cook aside.
“How is he?”
Cook grimaced. “They landed hard. I’m worried about a compressed spine. Maybe spinal fracture. He’s in a lot of pain and has some numbness and tingling. Likely a right lower leg and right arm fracture. We can’t rule out a concussion, either. We’ll have a better diagnosis after we do X-rays and a CAT scan.”
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Brad found Griffin and Steele in the coffee room. Steele’s jaw was clenched, and his neck muscles were taut.
Brad flopped into a chair. “It’s finally over.”
“Not soon enough.” Steele stood by the coffeepot, stirring his coffee vigorously.
“He’s pissed because his girlfriend got hurt,” Brad said.
Griffin sipped a coffee. “Yeah. It seems they got some kind of bromance going.”
“Screw you two. Those bastards shot at my best friend in the helicopter and it crashed.”
“He’s gonna be okay,” Brad said.
Steele glowered at Brad. “How do you know? The docs don’t even know.”
Brad shrugged. “I just know.”
“Well, aren’t you telepathetic.” Steele’s spittle sprayed. “Maybe Saint Coulter can lay his hands on Charlie’s head and cast out the demons.”
“You’re the one possessed by demons.” Brad held out his hand. “I’d enjoy slapping the demons out. We did what needed to be done. We stopped the snipers.”
“He’s pissed he didn’t kill the guy who shot at him,” Griffin said.
Brad shook his head. “You don’t need another demon in your head, Sam. Trust me. Go see Charlie. Maybe he’s back from the scans.”
Steele stomped from the room.
Brad sighed. “They’re like brothers.”
“Sure, if you say so.” Griffin grinned.
“Close brothers,” Brad said.
Griffin jutted his chin and nodded. “The take-a-bullet kind.”
“Something like that.” Brad poured a coffee.
“How’s Annie?” Griffin asked.
“She’s upset, but the shooting hasn’t hit her yet. She’s focused on Charlie. When she knows he’s okay, then it’ll hit her.”
“Like a ton of bricks.”
“Yup.”
“You’ll be there for her?” Griffin asked.
“For as long as it takes.” Brad sipped his coffee, they made a face. “This is terrible.”
“She’s had a tough go of it.” Griffin stared at his hands.
“Yeah, but it makes her who she is. She’s come a long way in four years.”
“She had a decent role model,” Griffin said.
“She loved Maggie.” Brad leaned back, head on the top of the chair.
“I don’t mean Maggie.”
“Not me. “ Brad frowned and shook his head. “I wasn’t there when she needed me.”
“No, but she was there for you—made her stronger.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe. She’ll get through this and she’ll be unstoppable. Then you’ll have a genuine problem on your hands.”
Not my problem, Brad thought. Did she really mean she was Charlie’s fiancée, or was she bullshitting the nurse like she knew I’d do?
The way they were headed today, or later, he was fine with that. Except he wasn’t ready to share, not yet. But that wasn’t his choice.
“You should go. Get some sleep,” Brad said.
“I’m waiting until B
riscoe goes to surgery. He kind of grows on you.”
“Like a bad rash,” Brad said.
“We’ve got an interview to do.” Griffin crumpled his coffee cup and tossed tin the garbage.
“I’ve got it.” Brad refilled his coffee.
“You sure about the interview?” Griffin asked.
Brad slid back into the chair. “No problem. I need a few minutes to decompress, then I’ll head to HQ.”
“Okay.” Griffin stood. “Page me if you need help. I’m worried about Briscoe. I’m going to check on him.”
Brad sat alone in the coffee room. Every hospital staff member was working on the traumas or the usual mix of ailments and injuries. He closed his eyes and his other senses took over. Hospitals had a unique odor. Floor disinfectant and bleach mingled with blood mixed with a pinch of vomit and shit. The smell of blood was strong.
The night replayed like a movie. The race to the helicopter, the gunshots, the foot pursuit, the ping of lead hitting the helicopter. Briscoe shot, the panic for Annie’s safety, the blood on the wall and a missing face.
How many times had he and Maggie sat in a hospital coffee room? The awkward, “Hey, so you’re a paramedic,” and her sarcastic reply. Briscoe making sure they found each other after they had separated when Maggie went to Banff and Brad to leading a TSU team. Back together, they grew close and had plans.
The problem was Jeter Wolfe had different plans. Maggie was rushed to the hospital first. Brad wanted to wait until she was out of surgery before he had his leg repaired. However, the doctor said Brad couldn’t wait. He never got to say goodbye to her. He never got to give her the ring he carried in his pocket.
No one knew it, but he’d planned to ask her to marry him as soon as they had Wolfe. Even though Brad couldn’t attend her funeral, Sam made sure she was wearing the ring.
He hoped he made Maggie proud today.
Brad stepped out of the coffee room and headed to the exit. He started to mentally prepare for the interview with Logan Hirsch. It would be a long process. The automatic doors opened, and he was blinded in the glow of bright lights.
13 Days of Terror Page 27