by Lyra Marlowe
The driver began to crank the long handle and the trailer creaked in protest. If the frame was cracked in the crash, John realized, the whole thing could buckle and collapse onto the car again. He didn’t think Doug and Shelly would be lucky enough to survive twice. He held his breath as the trailer began to move slowly. The metal continued to creak in protest, but nothing broke.
Yet.
There was a pause. John looked toward the truck driver. He had stepped away from the handle and was rubbing his left biceps. Probably bruised from the shoulder belt, John thought. The cop with him stepped in to turn the crank.
John bent and looked under the trailer. There was an inch of space between the bottom of the trailer and the top of the car. Then two inches, then three. “Hang in there, Doug,” he called.
“Fuck you!” Doug yelled back.
In the gap, John saw something moving in the backseat. It looked like a blonde. “Shelly, stay where you are!” he warned. “We’ll have you out in a minute, just stay put.”
“The dumb bitch never listens,” Doug shouted.
From the far side, John heard Nolan say, “Shelly, honey, you have to keep your head down. Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of there, but you need to stay calm.”
There was eight inches of clearance, then ten, then twelve.
Then there was an inhuman yelp.
“Shelly,” Doug bellowed, “damn it, stay down!”
The yelp repeated, louder and longer, like a terrified animal in pain…
“Damn,” John said under his breath. “Doug! Is Shelly a dog?”
“Fucking genius, of course she’s a dog!”
Shelly stuck her head between the trailer and the top of the car. She was on the far side, Nolan’s side, and from behind she still looked like a blonde woman. John moved under the trailer again, carefully staying beneath the level of the car. Of course, if the trailer folded, it would drop and crush the car and then crush him too. He tried not to think about that. “Shelly, good girl, stay. Shelly, stay!”
Closer, he could see that she was some kind of long-haired breed, large, with gold fur. Maybe a retriever. She continued to yelp and howl as if she were being tortured. She had her head clear of the car, and got one front paw out.
He heard Nolan again, much closer. “All right, Shelly, it’s all right, girl. It’s all right.”
“Nolan, keep your head down.”
“I know.”
Shelly got her other paw out and tried to scramble over the top of the door. She stopped howling for an instant then she got her whole front end out. Then she stopped, hanging by her belly over the car’s frame, and howled again with frightening urgency.
Across the wreckage, John saw Nolan move closer, heard his voice murmuring to the dog.
“Doug, can you see what’s going on?”
“She’s stuck on something. I think she’d tangled in the seatbelt.”
“Can you reach her?”
“Hell no, I can’t reach her.”
“I got her,” Nolan said.
John saw the dog lurch forward as his partner pulled on her. Her howls became weaker. She was hanging by her abdomen, running out of air. She moved about three inches closer to freedom, then got stuck again.
“Leave her,” John said. “We’ll get her when we get the door open.”
“She won’t survive,” Nolan answered. “She’s getting crushed by her own weight.”
“Nolan, don’t…”
It was too late. He’d known it would be. Nolan stood up—as far as he could under the trailer—and snaked his arm over the top of the car. The dog wriggled and yelped frantically.
“Nolan, get down! If this trailer falls you’re going to lose an arm.” Or your head, John thought. It will crush your head like a grape.
“Almost got her.”
“Damn it!” John had a horrific vision of himself cradling Nolan’s bloody body in his arms, dragging him from beneath this trailer and knowing there was nothing he could do…it hurt so much he couldn’t breathe. “Nolan!”
“Got her!”
Nolan pulled his arm back and ducked down below the level of the car again. Shelly squirmed free and ran off, her tail so far between her legs it was tucked against her belly. She didn’t seem to be hurt.
“Somebody grab that dog!” John yelled.
“Got her,” Waldron called. He added, “Damn it, Crane, get out here so I can kick your ass.”
“Busy right now, Chief,” Nolan called back.
His voice sounded just a little shaky.
“Great, you saved my dog,” Doug called. “Now get me the fuck out of here.”
“Oh shut up,” Krulak snapped. “We’re working on it.” He crept around to the driver’s door and yanked on it. It didn’t budge. Yeah, we saved your dog, you ungrateful bastard. My partner could have lost his arm, could have died here, and you don’t even give a fuck. He tugged on the door again. Asshole. I don’t care that you’re stuck and scared. You’re still an ungrateful asshole. He yanked on the door a third time, with all the force of his anger behind him.
The door creaked open six inches. He scooted closer and looked at Doug’s feet and ankles. The man was, as expected, flat on the seat, with his head toward the passenger door. John reached through and touched his leg. “Doug? I’m right here.”
“Fuck, man. Don’t leave me, okay?”
For the first time he sounded scared. John’s anger vanished. He squeezed Doug’s ankle. “I’m right here,” he repeated. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He left his hand where it was, turned and yelled over his shoulder for the Jaws.
*
It took much longer than John expected to get Doug out of his car. The driver’s side door opened the rest of the way with ease. Doug’s arm, however, had slipped between the seat and the seat back and was firmly pinned there. They couldn’t get enough traction or space to free him. Finally they got two crow bars and managed to clear just enough space to pull his arm out.
The arm was scraped raw on both sides, and Doug’s forearm was broken. When they finally got him out, he complained that his right shoulder, knee and ankle hurt.
All things considered, John thought, Doug was lucky as hell.
One of the police officers got a bungee cord out of his cruiser and walked Shelly along the shoulder until she calmed down. She didn’t seem to be hurt at all.
The second squad had transported the driver of the black SUV. Hensley didn’t think he had any serious injuries.
When Griffin finally got the semi driver to sit down, he didn’t have any obvious injuries, but his blood pressure was through the roof. They sent him in to the ER in an ambulance.
They got Doug on a backboard, in a neck brace, and got him stabilized. He stopped swearing long enough to ask about his dog. After that he cursed a blue streak. John didn’t mind a bit. He and Nolan rolled the cart to the back of the squad and loaded him. Emma Hensley climbed in to ride with him. Griffin went to gather up the rest of their gear.
The cops called in tow trucks to start clearing the wreck. The firemen stood by in case of fire, but they were relaxed, calm.
The traffic, one of the cops reported, was backed up for ten miles. Even with the injured removed, the lookey-loos didn’t speed up any.
John rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms over his head. It had been a long, hard day. Crawling around under the trailer had just been the icing on the cake in terms of exhausting his body. But they’d done good work. Everybody got out alive.
Even the damn dog.
Which reminded him that he wanted to smack the hell out of Nolan for risking his life to save the dog. But then he couldn’t have expected his partner to act in any other way.
He remembered the terror he’d felt when he was sure the trailer would fall and kill him. It made him shiver all over again.
“Crane,” he called, “let’s get the hell out of here.”
“I hear that.” Nolan was helping Griffin carry the rest of
the gear back to the squad.
“Glad you came along,” Griffin said. “We sure needed the help.”
“Always glad to suck up the overtime,” Nolan answered. He threw the extra gear into his trunk.
“Hey,” Emma called from the back of the squad, “can Doug see the dog for a minute?”
“Stupid dog,” John muttered. He gestured for the cop who was walking her, and he came over. “Our patient needs a little smooch before he goes.”
He brought the dog over and let her climb into the squad. She nuzzled up under Doug’s hand and he rubbed her ears. “Good girl. Good girl.”
Nolan said, “She’s a nice dog.”
“Not worth dying over, dumb-ass,” John snarled.
His partner grinned. “Hey, I’m still right here.”
“Yeah. But you might not have been. Dumb-ass.”
“Aww, quit it,” Griffin said. “You know how us kids hate it when you fight.”
“Yeah, you’re a dumb-ass too,” John snarled.
“All right,” Emma said. “Let’s get this mutt out of here and get this show on the road.”
Griffin reached to take the dog’s bungee leash. “Come on, girl.” He pulled her out of the squad and led her toward the squad cars that formed the road block. John knew what he was thinking. Let them take her to the police station, where there was always someone to watch her. The paramedic shed was empty most of the time, and even the firehouse was frequently vacant. She needed a nice police dispatcher to look after her.
It was nearly nine o’clock, getting dark.
One of the tow truck drivers yelled, just a normal shout, and the crank on the winch started up. John and Nolan turned to watch. Metal screeched in protest as they pulled Doug Smith’s sports car out from under the semi trailer.
There was another shout then, louder, panicked. The winch stopped. The metal continued to creak, louder, and then there was a sharp snap.
The frame of the trailer snapped just where the sports car had come to a stop. The bottom of the trailer broke in two and the back half crashed down, smashing the car to within a foot of the ground.
John felt suddenly cold, as if his blood had turned to ice water. He was dizzy, sick. It would have killed Doug and Shelly.
It would have killed Nolan.
Would have killed Nolan.
“God,” he murmured. It was as close to a prayer as he could summon. “Oh God.”
In his mind he could see his partner there, under the trailer, cut in half on the top of the truck, bleeding, probably dead, but no way to save him, no way to get him loose, even if he was alive. He could see himself crawling on the ground, desperately trying to get closer, trying to reach him, comfort him, not being able to fit between the highway and the wreckage, not able to touch him…
Nolan grabbed his shoulder hard. “Hey.”
John turned and grasped Nolan’s forearm. “Shit,” he whispered. He was lightheaded. It was hard to breathe.
“I’m right here,” Nolan reminded him. “There’s nobody under that trailer.”
“Yeah.” John pulled away sharply. “But there could have been.” He turned and stalked toward Nolan’s car. He was scared. And being scared always made him angry.
He heard Griffin say, “He okay?”
“Claustrophobic,” Nolan answered. “Being under the truck kinda freaked him out.”
John stood beside the car and waited. He tried to breathe normally. He looked away from the traffic, toward the little green space beside the highway. There were trees and shrubs, grass, weeds. Not a lot of space, but enough for deer to live there. Every fall and spring they had car-vs.-deer accidents along this stretch. And of course, Nolan Crane was much more likely to die hitting a deer with his car, or being shot by a junkie, or being hit by a car at an accident scene, than he was to have a semitrailer fall and crush him. It was a hazardous job. He knew that better than anyone.
In a while, he thought, I’ll be all rational and understanding about this. Right now I’m going to be pissed some more.
He heard the motorcycle, heard the dog bark. None of it meant anything to him. Then he heard the squeal of tires, a shout, a thump. He turned.
Tim Griffin was in the air, flying backward, five feet off the ground. He struck the edge of the open squad door and dropped. He slid to the ground and did not move.
The motorcycle skidded sideways, lay down and slid, throwing sparks. It barely missed the fallen man before it scraped to a halt beside him. The rider shoved the bike away, staggered to his feet and tried to run away.
John heard the cops yelling, saw them grab him. He didn’t care. He and Nolan converged on their falling comrade.
He could tell by the look in Nolan’s eyes that he was thinking the same thing John felt. The man was almost certainly dead or dying.
They went to work anyhow.
Chapter Ten
Griffin wasn’t dead. He might be dying. John dismissed that thought at once. He wasn’t dead yet. He wasn’t going to die while Krulak had anything to say about it. The first commandment of the squad—get him to the ER alive.
Griffin had a young wife and a newborn baby at home.
It could just as easily be Nolan there on the ground.
John shook his head once, firmly. No emotions. Nothing personal. He became The Paramedic, the professional, and only that.
There were times when a paramedic team could do a lot for a patient at the scene. There were other times when all they could do was load him up and drive like hell. This was the second situation. John turned and screamed instructions at the nearest cop. “Get another squad or an ambulance, right now!”
“Ambulance is almost here. They were going to stand by during the cleanup.”
“Tell them to step on it.” But he could already see the flashers out of the corner of his eye. Good. Good.
They transferred Doug Smith to the ambulance and sent him off in the EMT’s care. They took the ambulance’s cart, all but threw Griffin onto it and shoved it into the squad. “You drive,” John snapped at Nolan. “You’re faster than any of us.”
He and Emma climbed into the squad with their patient. They did what they could en route, but it wasn’t much. It was a short trip anyhow. John was deeply glad for Crane’s crazy-fast driving—but he was also glad he couldn’t see the speedometer from the back of the squad.
Griffin was still alive when they got to the emergency room.
That was the best they could do.
*
The ER was crammed with the usual crowd and the extra patients from the wreck, but it seemed oddly quiet. The staff swept Griffin out of their hands at the door. Emma went with them into the bay. John and Nolan turned to help with the other victims: Krulak reported on Doug Smith while Crane helped with the truck driver. Both of them kept an anxious eye on Griffin’s bay.
He wasn’t there long. Within twenty minutes of his arrival, the ER staff rushed the injured paramedic up to surgery.
John looked expectantly at one of the doctors who’d been working on Griffin. “Liver,” he said briskly, “other internals. Lot of bleeding. Lot of bleeding. But he’s not gone yet.”
John nodded. The paramedics had gotten him to the ER alive. The ER had gotten him to the OR alive. That was the best they could do too.
He finished with his patient and went to find Nolan.
Eventually, all of the first responders who were still on-shift went back to work. The day shift paramedics from the west side station came in and took over Griffin and Hensley’s squad. Emma sat in the surgery waiting room, silent. Crane and Krulak sat down on either side of her.
“Fucking moron,” she finally muttered.
“On the motorcycle?” Nolan asked.
“Wanted to get around all the backed-up traffic. Too cool to wait. In a big hurry. For what? His next beer?” She shook with rage. “Flares and police lights and he’s in too big a hurry to go around.”
John nodded. Emma Hensley treated her younger partner a lot
like her son. She looked after him, gave him advice. She’d been his infant son’s one and only babysitter. They were tight. And she was furious that someone’s carelessness had hurt him. He understood completely.
I could have lost Nolan, he thought again, and shuddered.
A police woman came in, escorting Griffin’s wife Julia. She had her baby in her arms and a cheerful diaper bag over her shoulder. She was dead pale.
“Right,” Hensley breathed. She stood and went over to the wife, gave her a hug and a reassuring smile.
There was nothing, John knew, to be reassuring her about. Tim Griffin was very badly injured. He’d seen men survive worse injuries, but not very often. If he had to give odds on Griffin’s survival, they wouldn’t have been any better than one in ten.
He gave Julia his own comforting smile and nod.
He glanced over at Nolan. His partner was balancing a clipboard on his knee, filling out their report. He would probably leave out the part where he’d risked being crushed by a semitrailer to rescue a dog. John shook his head. Damn, Nolan could be a bonehead sometimes. He had come so damn close to dying out there too.
Nolan looked at him. He gave him a small apologetic smile, as if he knew what John was thinking. Damn fool, John thought. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.
Chief Waldron came in, and Nolan gave him a quick status report. He nodded grimly and went to sit beside Griffin’s wife. Nolan sat down next to John again. “You should go,” he said. “I’ll let you know if anything happens here.”
“Go?”
“You have a date, remember?”
“I’m not leaving.”
Nolan nodded, unsurprised. “You should call her, at least.”
“We should both call her,” John countered. “So she doesn’t think—you know.”
“I know.” They went outside quietly, and Nolan called her cell and put her on speaker.
“Nolan?” Lucy said after the first ring. “Are you okay?”