NECESSARY MEASURES

by Alexander, Hannah

  “Chesh...urts.”

  Grant suppressed alarm as he guided William into the nearest exam room and onto the bed, removed his tie, and unbuttoned his shirt.

  Lauren McCaffrey joined them seconds after she was called. If Will’s appearance shocked her she didn’t betray it. “Mr. Butler, have you been eating onion rings again?” She nudged him with her elbow. Her blond hair tumbled over her shoulder as she started placing electrodes on his chest in preparation for the monitor. “Told you they’d give you indigestion.”

  Grant reached for the oxygen, still watching Will closely. “You sound a little slurred. Do you feel pressure or weakness anywhere else? Numbness?”

  For the first time since Grant came to work here in May, the unruffled tough-guy image had slipped from Will’s demeanor. “Left shide numb.”

  “You lie back and take it easy.”

  “Hard to do.

  “Always is.” Grant completed his work. What he saw meant heart trouble until proven otherwise. “Lauren, IV and blood. I want an immediate bedside glucose test.” He stepped to the door and leaned out to request more help.

  Almost before he finished, Lauren had an IV established. As an LPN joined them in the room, Lauren drew blood and attached a bag of saline. She called results as she got them.

  As always, Lauren had read Grant’s mind.

  Soon the room bustled with activity as hospital staff prodded and stuck and turned their administrator for testing.

  “You picked a good shift to get sick,” The respiratory tech, Gina Drake, told their patient. “You couldn’t have gotten a better doc.”

  William showed signs of lessening tension as Gina set up her respiratory equipment beside his bed. The administrator had taken the young single mother and her two little boys under his protective grandfatherly wing after her near-death experience this spring.

  While Gina connected her equipment, she and the handsome sandy-haired LPN, Todd Lennard, kept Will entertained with lighthearted stories about shows they’d seen on television, books they’d read, anything but hospital news. Todd was in the middle of a story about slipping on autumn leaves when the EKG machine gave the results Grant needed.

  Todd glanced at the printout and nodded. “Dr. Sheldon? Looks good doesn’t it?”

  Grant watched the printout a moment longer. “Let’s just say I’m cautiously optimistic.”

  “Not cardiac?” Gina asked.

  Grant looked at Will and held the man’s iron gaze. “We’ll see.” If he released Will with a clean bill of health the man would go right back to work without following up.

  While Gina and Todd stayed to watch their patient, Grant returned to the central desk. “Vivian, have you pulled Mr. Butler’s earlier test numbers up yet?

  “Just about to.” The middle-aged secretary gestured toward the ambulance radio. “Another patient should arrive in about six minutes. Two just came in for triage.” She glanced around and lowered her voice. “One guy stinks like the dump and he’s panicking because he’s having trouble breathing. Nobody around him can breathe either, if you know what I mean.” She waved her hand in front of her face and wrinkled her nose.

  Grant shook his head. Even in this isolated town there were problems. “Who’s with him now?”

  “Lauren’s getting him to a bed.”

  “Thanks. I’ll need a stat breathing treatment started on him.”

  ***

  “Beau, you drive slower than Grandma.” Brooke’s voice reverberated through the car from the backseat. “Evan could bleed to death and you’re driving slower than I could walk.”

  “He wasn’t even bleeding by the time we reached the car.” Beau knew better than to let his sister distract him; the streets were congested with after-school cruisers.

  Something did distract him, though: A dirty tan 4X4 pickup followed too closely to his rear bumper.

  “Got your seat belts on?” Of course they didn’t.

  “Who needs a seat belt at three miles an hour?” Brooke snapped.

  “I can’t control the traffic. Put them on.” He used his most commanding voice. “Now.”

  “We’ll be at the hospital in five minutes even at your speed,” Brooke said.

  Beau’s hands gripped the steering wheel more firmly. “Do it or I’ll pull over.” The dirty truck was inching closer again. Five feet. Four feet. The windshield reflected too much light and Beau couldn’t see the driver.

  “Fine,” Brooke said. “Evan, we’d better do it.”

  “Now!” Beau gunned the engine as the truck’s front bumper seemed ready to chomp a bite out of their taillight. He swerved and turned onto a side street.

  “Ow!” It was Evan.

  “Beau!” It was Brooke.

  “Sorry.”

  “Are you crazy?” Brooke cried. “He’s hit his head again. He’s buckling up, okay?”

  Beau checked the rearview mirror. To his relief, a school bus now followed at a discreet distance. He’d never been so happy to see that bright yellow monstrosity in his life. He couldn’t see behind it, though.

  “Evan, what did you do to make Kent so mad this time?” he asked. Though the truck wasn’t Kent Eckard’s, the muscle-bound bully had friends. They were the kind who looked for payback.

  “It doesn’t take much with Kent these days,” Evan said. “You know that editorial I wrote last week?”

  “How could anyone forget?” Brooke’s voice feigned weariness. “Miss Bolton won’t let us.”

  “I do think the mercury poisoning in Honey Creek was only the warning smoke from a smoldering volcano,” Evan said. “That was a dump site for meth cooks.”

  “You could be right but nobody’s going to attack you for some wordy article in the school paper,” Brooke said. “Not even Kent Eckard.”

  “Wordy?”

  Beau shot his sister a glare in the rearview mirror. “Brooke doesn’t know good writing. Maybe it did tick somebody off.” He scanned the road around them.

  “Evan,” Brooke said, “just before Kent smashed your face he asked what you heard in the boy’s locker room yesterday.”

  Evan’s only response was heartfelt sigh

  Beau knew their friend’s unspoken language by now. “You saw something.”

  The bus behind them flashed its lights and stopped. Whoever was behind it would have to wait.

  “A transaction.”

  “What?” Brooke snapped. “You saw a drug deal and didn’t tell me?”

  “Why drag you into it?”

  “Because I’m the one who’s been tromping with you all over school and up and down alleys and—”

  “I’ll show you later.”

  “No,” Beau said. “Show it to the police. Don’t drag Brooke into it.” Another movement in the mirror caught his attention. In spite of the flashing red lights on the bus, the truck passed it, tires squealing as the bus driver blared his horn. The truck raced in front of a little boy who’d started to walk across the street.

  Brooke and Evan remained blithely unaware as they continued sniping at each other in the backseat. Surely the bus driver would call the police.

  Beau braced himself as the truck roared up behind them. He still couldn’t see the driver but this time he realized the windshield was intentionally reflective. Wasn’t that illegal?

  In another desperate attempt to lose the pickup, he made a sudden left turn into the middle of Dogwood Springs traffic.

  There was a soft thump, a grunt. “Ow!”

  “Beau!” Brooke flipped him on the shoulder. “Don’t you ever complain about my driving again.” She gasped. “Evan’s head’s started bleeding again. Now look what you’ve done.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Evan said. “But you’re acting a little freaked. What’s up, Beau?”

  Now wasn’t a good time to tell them about their stalker.

  “Beau, you need to be back here,” Brooke said.

  “Keep pressure on it. We can’t do anything about that right
now anyway.”

  “Uh,” Evan said, “didn’t we just pass the turnoff to the hospital?”

  “See?” Brooke slapped Beau’s seatback in obvious frustration. “I told you I should have driven.”

  Beau glanced in the rearview mirror again and saw a different vehicle. His grip on the steering wheel eased a little. He turned around to look for the blood Brooke insisted had appeared on Evan’s scalp and found Brooke holding the poor guy in a headlock.

  “Don’t block his air supply Brooke, just put pressure on the—”

  “I know what I’m—”

  “Look out!” Evan cried.

  Beau turned back in time to see the blurred image of a stop sign. He slammed the brakes and winced at the squeal of tires on blacktop.

  “You’re going to kill us all before we even reach the hospital.” Brooke’s voice was reaching panic status. “If you and Dad hadn’t insisted on buying this monster car that won’t go faster than a paddle boat—”

  “This paddle boat is safe. We need safe.”

  “Obviously with your driving.”

  “Make up your mind. I’m either driving too slowly or I’m reckless.”

  “Somehow you’ve managed both. Congratulations.”

  “Would you two stop fighting?” Evan said. “You’re making my head hurt.”

  Beau’s hands tightened once more on the steering wheel. He waited for a car to cross in front of him before he pressed the accelerator. A little red Mazda Miata buzzed impatiently behind them.

  Things would settle down. Everything would be okay.

  Chapter 3

  Lauren McCaffrey angled her patient onto the exam bed, wishing she’d grabbed a mask to block some of the smell.

  “Throat’s on fire.” The man’s unshaven face contorted.

  Lauren’s eyes smarted from the aroma. “Mr. Proctor, we’re going to help you with your breathing but I need to check your oxygen level first.”

  “Just hurry.”

  This was ridiculous. Lauren worked with bad smells all the time but this man stunk of something besides simple body odor.

  She reached for the package of plastic tubing and ripped it open. “Did you say this is a flare-up of your asthma?” She attached the oxygen nasal cannula, making an educated guess about what visit was really all about. Not asthma.

  Gil Proctor nodded and slumped over in the bed. Sweat beaded his forehead and tears dripped down his face from irritated eyes. She’d seen this when she worked in Knolls after a meth lab mistake.

  She checked his oxygen and connected him to the BP cuff over his long-sleeved shirt. Someone with asthma would be sitting up straight to concentrate on getting the highest airflow they could manage. She maintained her professional mask despite her suspicions.

  “Where’s the doctor?” he snapped. “My lungs—”

  “Dr. Sheldon will be here in a moment.”

  He coughed again and the sudden jerk dislodged the tube. She readjusted.

  He grunted and tugged at it.

  She stepped to the entryway and peered out to find Grant at the central workstation. He noticed her and smiled. Something about that calmed her. Too bad all docs were not as considerate at work as they were anywhere else. He excused himself from two other staff members and came toward her. Gina Drake, the respiratory therapist and Lauren’s friend, carried a nebulizer unit as she followed Grant.

  From the time Grant Sheldon had come to work as ER director in May, he seemed to move with an aura of calm when on duty. He still needed a few lessons to be able to cast a fishing line into the water with any success but here at the hospital his presence soothed overstressed staff and patients alike. When he stepped into the exam room, a barely discernible frown framed his eyes.

  Gina’s reaction to the smell was much more obvious. Her copper-colored eyes widened, her nose twitched, and she looked hard at Lauren.

  Grant studied the notes on the patient chart. “Mr. Proctor, I understand you’re having trouble with your asthma today.”

  “Guess so.”

  “Did you bring your medication with you?”

  “Ran out.”

  “You ran out of all of your meds at once?”

  The man nodded. “Can I get a little help here? Lungs are killing me.”

  Grant placed the chart aside and gave Gina her orders.

  “Ready to load,” she said.

  He turned to Lauren. “I need a blood draw and an—”

  “No you don’t.” Proctor tugged at his long sleeves, gaze darting from Grant to Lauren. “I’m not giving no blood. I hate needles.”

  Lauren studied an infected track mark he’d been unable to cover on his wrist while Grant explained why they needed to test him.

  “No needles,” the man snapped. “Just get me breathing better.” He grabbed at his sleeve and tugged it at last over the infected wound.

  For someone who hated needles it appeared he wasn’t afraid to use them on himself.

  “What’re you looking at?” He glared at Lauren.

  Grant stepped in front of her and placed the bell of his stethoscope against the patient’s chest. “Mr. Proctor, our nurse is following protocol. In an emergency department we’re trained to look for any injuries our patients might have received.”

  The patient coughed. “You mean you have to go sticking your nose where it don’t belong. I need to breathe. Butt out.”

  The ER secretary knocked at the doorway. “Dr. Sheldon, we have another ambulance arriving outside and I have the file you wanted.”

  Grant nodded, studying the patient’s face. “Gina’s going to give you a breathing treatment and—”

  “Yeah yeah,” the man said. “Take a hike.”

  Grant gestured to Lauren and she followed him out of the room, relieved by the sweet smell of the air in the hallway.

  He leaned close as they neared the central hub. “Call Sergeant Tony Dalton and tell him about our patient. This is a police matter.”

  “Meth lab?”

  He nodded. “Most likely caught some caustic fumes.” They reached the counter. “Better yet, let our secretary call Tony. I could use you with William. Fill Vivian in.”

  As he walked away Lauren allowed herself a moment to admire the view.

  “Guy’s a single hunk, my dear,” Vivian said as she stepped toward the counter. “What on earth are you waiting for?”

  “Married to my job right now.” With a chuckle Lauren gave the “hunk” one last glance before changing the subject.

  ***

  “‘Will our children all be dead by the time we wake up?’ Hold it, no, make that ‘awaken and see the battle around us? Will it be too late for this generation to survive? There’s a war going on, my friends. The stakes are high. The enemy is blinding our souls.’”

  “Evan, what are you doing?” Brooke snapped. “Give me that thing.” Beau heard a scuffle. “Put the phone away.”

  “I’m recording my next—”

  “I thought you were hurt.”

  “A writer doesn’t let a little thing like blood stop the flow of the story.” Evan’s voice cracked with the intensity of his passion.

  Brooke groaned.

  “We’re almost there.” Beau checked the mirror once again. No truck. Maybe they’d lost it for good this time.

  “We would already be there if you’d turned when you were supposed to.” Brooke’s voice held an obnoxious whine today. “But my brother has suddenly transformed into a social animal who wants to go cruising with the rest of the kids after school.”

  “I’m not cruising.” He just hadn’t wanted to get caught on a deserted street with that truck munching on their bumper. He wanted witnesses. But maybe he was imagining a threat that didn’t exist.

  “Dogwood Springs is a town of survivors.” It was Evan’s “writing” voice again. “When the encroaching evil of drug lords and demonic forces attempted to poison this fair city with—”

  Brooke growled. “Why are we even bothering to take you to
the hospital?”

  “I told you I didn’t think I needed to go.”

  “You were scared enough a few minutes ago.”

  “I thought Beau was going to kill us.”

  “At least find a new angle. And watch your purple prose.”

  Beau covered his mouth to stifle a soft chuckle. They would soon be at the hospital. Evan was obviously not wounded as seriously as they’d feared.

  “Beau!” Brooke screamed. “Brake it!”

  A truck raced toward them from a side street. Beau stomped the brake too late. He steered hard to the left to the sound of squealing tires and screaming passengers. The pickup lurched over a curb and rammed their right front fender with a raucous metal collision as the world tilted sideways.

  Beau’s seatbelt caught him hard and something exploded against his face. The roar of the monster grew louder. The truck reversed with another squeal of tires on asphalt. Their stalker was getting away.

  “Beau!” Brooke screamed. There was a metal snap and a whisper of material and then his sister’s hands touched his face. “What’s all this powder?”

  The explosion. The airbag. He closed his eyes and gave in to the pain.

  ***

  Lauren sat at the central desk listening to Christy and Bill grumble to each other as they completed their report on their latest ambulance run.

  “We’ve been on calls nonstop all day and these clowns decide their little girl needs an ambulance because she lost a tooth,” Christy muttered. “Our time means nothing of course.”

  Vivian turned and shushed them. “They might hear you.”

  “I don’t really care. They had a car. They were in it. Why couldn’t they have driven here themselves?”

  The five-year-old in exam room six had been brought in with blood on her face and shirt but the only evidence of injury was in her mouth. She had been riding in the backseat with her head and upper torso leaning out the window when a piece of rock had flown at her from a passing car. She’d lost a tooth.

  While Grant reminded the parents about the illegality of allowing a child to ride in a car unrestrained, Lauren had called a dentist. Protocol suggested that in such cases a physician might want to consider calling child protective services. Lauren remembered the last time he’d done so and she guessed he’d be reluctant to repeat the experience. Willful abuse, yes, but these parents seemed to have learned their lesson.