Tested by Fire - He sought revenge ... He found forgiveness (Medic 7 Series - Book 1)

by Pat Patterson

  The radio crackled. Jim turned up the volume to catch the dispatcher in mid-sentence:

  “...still in the water. Repeating, engine-four and medic-seven, respond to report of a drowning at the Triple-S Pier. Victim is still in the water. PD en route. Medic-seven respond code-three.”

  “Triple-S? That’s out on the island. Why are they dispatching us?”

  “Atlantic Beach must be out of trucks.”

  “Great!” Sharon grabbed her Coke from the cashier and said, “Hold our order. We’ll be back.” Then she shifted the gear lever to drive and hit the gas. “There goes another hot meal.”

  Jim switched on the flashers and strobes while Sharon flipped the truck around and keyed the mike.

  “Medic-seven.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “En route from The Commons. What’s our OPS channel?”

  “OPS-3. OPS-3.”

  Sharon replaced the mike.

  “Since it never hurts to ask,” she said grabbing a pair of gloves and tossing them to Jim, “how about praying McDonalds is still open when we clear up.”

  Jim grinned, pulled on the gloves and reached for his stethoscope, but before he had a chance to get it around his neck the dispatcher came on the air with an update. “Be advised,” she stated, “the victim has left the scene. All units can 10-22 the call.”

  “Left the scene?” Jim tossed his stethoscope onto the dash. “I thought he drowned.”

  “At least my food will still be hot.”

  Jim suddenly felt his hip begin to vibrate. He grabbed his phone and looked at the caller ID. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t seen Rico since they’d left the ER. He pushed the SEND button.

  “Rico? How are you doing, man? Are you all right?”

  “I’m oka…ust’ve gotten a call…when I came out…” Rico’s voice sounded hollow as if he were talking from inside a canyon. Choppy. Uneven. Jim heard the metallic sound of school lockers being closed. Background chatter. Lots of static. “Jim, I’ve g…of static on thi…you there?”

  “Rico? You sound like you’re in a dungeon.”

  “I’m at headquar…ang on a mi…”

  Jim waited a few seconds. Rico’s voice came back stronger. Clearer. “Is this better?”

  “Much. Look, Rico, I’m sorry we had to leave you, man, but we had a call. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Now, Jim, look, I wanted to give you a heads-up on something. You know those bikers you tangled with? They call themselves The Posse. That was their meth lab we raided tonight.”

  Jim felt his chest tighten. “And?”

  “J-Rock was there.”

  “J-Rock?”

  “He killed Lance.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “Ran out the back door firing an automatic weapon.”

  “J-Rock? Rico, I tried to tell them! You know I did, I tried to tell them about J-Rock but they wouldn’t—”

  “Yeah, I know, I know. But they’ll believe you this time. This time we have an eyewitness. Me.”

  “You find him, Rico!”

  “Oh, I will. I’ll find him. And I swear to you, Jim, when I do, I’ll make everything right. William “J-Rock” Jackson’s days are numbered, I can promise you that. But I’m concerned he might find you first, and if he does—”

  “Me? Why me?”

  “Jim, are you serious? After what you just did to the Posse? If he finds out about that—”

  “What does J-Rock have to do with the Posse?”

  “He’s in business with them. Their primary buyer of methamphetamine and crack, and you just rocked their world.”

  “How? All I did was get in a fight with a bunch of greasers.”

  “You exposed them. Narcotics Division knew they existed, but nobody knew they’d set up shop in East Beach. And if not for you, we still wouldn’t. Now look, I want you to be careful. You hear me?”

  “I’m on the truck, Rico. I don’t even know where I’ll be tonight. How can I be careful?”

  “By requesting police backup on every call, even the simple ones. You hear? No chances tonight, bud. I’ll keep my radio on scan, and I’ll drop in on every call that I can, but you…you keep your eyes open.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Jim glanced at his partner. “We will.”

  “One more thing, Jim. I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate what you and Sharon did tonight. For Lance I mean. I know ya’ll did everything you could.”

  “Thanks, Rico.”

  Jim flipped the phone shut and glanced at Sharon.

  “He said to tell you thanks.”

  “How is he?”

  “He sounded all right, but—”

  Jim felt the cell phone vibrate again. The LCD display lit up, indicating ‘1 Message.’ He pushed the OK button and read the text.

  “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  “This is strange. It’s a message from Zee. He wants us to meet him at the revival tent?”

  “Zee?” Sharon said. “Who’s Zee?”

  “He’s the troubled kid I was telling you about. I’ll explain later. Right now I need you to take me by the tent.”

  “Now? No way!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s nighttime, Jim. And people carry guns over on Core Street. And they like to shoot people. You, of all people, should know that.”

  “C’mon, Sharon.”

  “Unh uh. I’m not driving down there, not without backup.”

  “Then switch places with me. I’ll drive.”

  “Look, if you expect me to go over to Core Street with you right now, you’re crazy. Whoever this Zee is, he’ll just have to wait. Besides, I’m starving and I’ve got food waiting for me at McDonald’s.”

  “Swing by real quick, Sharon. C’mon, it’ll only take a minute.”

  Rico couldn’t get the idea out of his mind that J-Rock would be out for blood. He pictured the Core Street Crew on Jim’s tail and it infuriated him.

  “Jimmy,” he said turning back toward the locker room. “I’ll be back in a while. I’m gonna go see if I can get a bead on J-Rock.”

  Little looked up from the pile of weapons. “Want me to tag along?”

  “No, I’ll call you if I need you.” Rico picked up one of the hand grenades seized from the Posse lab. “I wish I could take along a couple of these just in case.”

  “What are you planning on doing, sarge? Starting a war?”

  “Don’t have to,” Rico said. He grabbed his 12-gauge and gave the slide a quick pull. “This war’s already been started.”

  Chapter 34

  “It’s too dark. I’m switching on the side lights.”

  “No, Sharon, no lights. I don’t want to announce our presence. In fact kill the headlights too. And pull up some, I can’t see anything.”

  “Jim, I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I don’t think we should be here.”

  “Sharon, will you relax? This is important. Zee could be in trouble.”

  “You relax. This is, like, the most dangerous dead end in all of East Beach. How do you expect me to relax?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes I do. Let’s get out of here.”

  Sharon grunted and took her foot off the brake. “You can be such a jerk.” The truck crept forward. Jim heard his partner breathing. He could sense her fear. He had to admit the place did look creepy. The sodium vapor street lamp that normally burned at the end of Core Street was out—most likely shot out he figured—leaving Jonas’s revival tent shrouded in darkness. He tried to make out details beneath the canvas, but it wasn’t possible. A small yellow light burned on the podium at the front of the tent but it did little to fill in the shadows. Jim stared into the darkness trying his best to see. He couldn’t.

  “I don’t see him.”

  “Good.” Sharon said stepping on the gas. “Let’s go.”

  “No wait, there he is! I see him! On the back row.”

 
; “Jim, please. Let’s just get out of here.”

  “No, wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  Jim grabbed his Mag-Lite and opened the door.

  “Jim!”

  “Sharon, relax.” Jim climbed out of the truck and looked up and down the street. He saw no sign of danger, just the inert silhouette of someone sitting on a chair at the back of the tent. “Zee?” he called. “Is that you?” The figure didn’t move. “Zee?” Jim stepped over the curb onto the grassy lot beside the tent. Something was wrong. One by one the hairs began to rise on the back of his neck. He turned on his Mag-Lite and focused the beam. The face of a young black male materialized, ash gray against the blackness, head slumped to one side, bulging eyes frozen in a fixed stare. “No!” Jim ran into the tent, dropped his flashlight and grabbed Zee by the arms. Carefully he lowered him to the ground.

  “Oh no, no, no, please, Zee, no. Not you!”

  Jim picked the flashlight up and played it over the boy’s face as if gazing upon a nightmare. A stream of dark red blood oozed from a dime-sized wound on Zee’s right temple, spilling over the collar of his jacket and dripping into a pool on the straw covered floor. “Oh, wow!” With a shaky hand Jim reached down and felt for a pulse. The skin beneath his fingertips felt cool and dry. There was no sign of life, not the lightest throb to offer him hope.

  “Jim,” Sharon called from the truck. “What is it?”

  “Sharon,” he yelled. “Stay there!” Jim stood up and keyed his radio mike. “Medic-seven to dispatch…” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sharon climb down out of the truck and start across the street toward him. He stood up and waved her off. “Sharon, get back!”

  “Medic-seven,” the dispatcher responded. “Go ahead with your traffic.”

  “I need a police officer at the corner of Core and—”

  Jim felt something like a hammer slam into his right arm, halting him in mid-sentence and knocking him off his feet. Crippling pain shot through his chest. The burning sensation of a million pieces of red-hot shrapnel tore into his lower back. His legs went limp and numb. He fell face first onto the weed-infested lot. His vision blurred. He found it hard to breathe. A strong spasm gripped his belly. A river of foamy vomit spewed from his mouth.

  Jim struggled to hang on to reason. He heard Sharon scream. He saw her running across the parking lot toward him. Then two black shadows appeared. The first one tackled her. The second pounced upon her prostrate body. Sharon screamed and grunted. Jim heard panting, and garbled cries for help. He struggled to stand but his legs wouldn’t respond. He heard the sound of ripping cloth. More screams. Blunt blows.

  “Jim! Help!”

  “Sharon!”

  Jim reached out and tried to grab the leg of the closest attacker. The foot recoiled and kicked him hard against the side of the face. His eyes went blurry. Sharon’s attackers became dark fuzzy shapes. They tore at her clothes. They laughed. They joked. Jim desperately wanted to fight. He tried to reach out again but found no grip. He was completely helpless.

  “No,” he shouted. “Noooo!”

  BOOM!

  Jim felt a powerful shock wave roll over him. His body jerked. He gazed at the scene and saw the two black shadows jump up and run. Another shadow moved in slowly from the street, crouching low in the glow of a distant pair of headlights, holding what had to be a shotgun.

  “Help,” Sharon screamed. “Rico!”

  “Sharon? Is that you?”

  “Rico, get Jim!” Her voice broke off in an uncontrolled sob. “He’s been shot, Rico. He’s been shot.”

  “Where?”

  “Rico,” Jim whispered raising his hand.

  “Oh, God almighty!” Rico keyed his lapel mike. “Two twenty-two to dispatch. Shots fired! Shots fired! Send me some backup. Corner of Core and Club. A paramedic is down. I repeat…a paramedic is down.”

  Rico dropped to one knee and set the shotgun by Jim’s side. Jim smelled cordite. He tasted his own blood. He heard the dispatcher reply and proceed with an emergency dispatch for the closest unit. The EMS frequency became alive with activity. Medic-3 called en route from the other side of town. Bill Bagwell called en route from EMS base.

  “Oh, bud, what in the world have you gone and done?”

  “Rico, get Sharon out of here!”

  Jim felt Rico’s hands tugging against his shirt. Buttons popped off. Another tug and he felt his tee shirt rip apart.

  “Rico! Get Sharon—”

  “Where’re you hit?”

  “My arm…my side…”

  The night air bit at Jim’s bare skin. He felt Rico’s hands groping around, touching his sides, up, down, lower, beneath the ribcage, onto his belly, and that’s where all sensation stopped.

  “Rico, I can’t feel that. I can’t feel you touching my legs.”

  “Your legs?” A flashlight beam appeared. Jim heard Rico gasp. “Uh oh. We’ve got a problem, bud.”

  Rico held his hand in front of the light. Blood dripped from his fingers.

  “Is that mine?”

  “Sharon,” Rico said his voice urgent. “Help me. I don’t know what to do.”

  Out of the corner of his eye Jim could see Sharon lying in the fetal position on the ground crying. Sobbing. She rose slowly and moved his way, whimpering, unsteady. He felt her trembling hands touch his skin.

  “Rico,” she said her voice weak, her hands probing. “He’s bleeding. Go to the truck and get the trauma box. Hurry.”

  “I’m not leaving you, not ‘til backup gets here.”

  “I need bandages.”

  “But the shooters might come back.”

  “Don’t argue with me, Rico. Do it!” Rico hesitated, then jumped and ran toward the truck. Sharon raised Jim’s arm and wrapped both hands around his injured bicep. “Hon, you’re bleeding like a sieve.”

  “I can’t move my legs, Sharon! I can’t move my legs!”

  “Hush now. We’ll get you out of here.”

  A flicker touched the corner of Jim’s eye. It seemed out of place, unreal against the dark insanity of the night, but it was there, and real. He turned his head and saw a small orange flame erupt behind the ambulance. It grew, engulfing what looked like a small limp rag, then as if flung by an invisible hand the fire flew into the back of the truck and erupted. Jim heard a loud swoosh. Flames engulfed the interior and poured from the back of the ambulance. EB-7 suddenly became a roaring inferno.

  Oh, my God! What’s happening?

  Even from the distance Jim could feel the heat against his face. He heard crackling, the popping of the fire. He heard Sharon scream. Saw Rico pick himself up off the ground and begin shouting into his radio. Distant shouts echoed from all around him. Dark shadows ran from behind the tent.

  It was more than Jim could take. The urge to stand up and fight was overwhelming, to lash out and right whatever wrong had assailed them, but the dark shroud of unconsciousness was upon him. It swept low and began to pull up over his face. He pushed it back and forced open his eyes. He heard shouting. Distant sirens. Dogs barking. The night was alive with fright.

  Jim suddenly realized he felt no sensation at all. No pain. There was no pain at all. It scared him to feel no pain. He felt fear he’d never known, fear of the darkness, of death. Then a voice…it began as a breeze, as soft and warm as a whisper but as cold and hard as tempered steel. “Fear not, I’m not finished with you yet. Walk through this fire with me and you will not be burned.”

  Jim reached out to the unseen voice. He wanted to see, he wanted to understand, but the darkness soon overwhelmed him. He finally gave up and allowed the blanket of sleep to cover his eyes. Then his mind. The lights went out. Night began.

  Chapter 35

  “East Beach, where’s my backup!”

  Tongues of flame leapt from the back of the ambulance so intense that Rico felt as if he were being blown by a hot wind. He raised his arm to shield his face and backed away from the inferno, coughing away the heavy black smoke that filled his nasal
passages and burned his eyes. He keyed his mike and shouted into the portable radio, doing his best to help the confused dispatcher understand what was happening.

  “Listen to me, I’m all alone out here. I need help! A paramedic’s been shot. Their ambulance just blew up, and this place is crawling with guns. I need fire, EMS, and cops now!”

  “Rico,” Sharon screamed. “Hurry!”

  “Tell them to hurry,” he continued. “And I do mean hurry.” Rico picked up the shotgun and ran back across the lot to Sharon’s side. “Help’s on the way. I hope.”

  “Rico, I can’t stop this bleeding.”

  Rico glanced down and saw a rivulet of blood flowing from beneath Sharon’s hands. Against the shadows of the night it looked like a stream of thick black fluid running down Jim’s arm, highlighted in bright orange by the intensely burning fire.

  “Come on, Sharon. Can’t you wrap something around it?”

  “What? Everything I need was on the truck!”

  Rico unfastened his belt and pulled it through the loops of his pants. Sharon nodded as if she understood. She grabbed the leather strap and wrapped it around Jim’s arm. Rico stood up and swept the perimeter with his shotgun held low, his finger touching the trigger. The shouts he heard echoing across the projects came from unseen bodies, the sirens from unseen emergency vehicles somewhere in the distance. He gazed into the dark interior of the tent and saw movement. A warning chill crept up his back.

  “Sharon, we need to go.”

  “Not yet.”

  Sharon jerked the makeshift tourniquet tight about Jim’s arm and then looked around as if trying to locate a lost child. Rico noticed her hands shaking. Her face looked pale, her eyes wide with fright. “He needs to be immobilized. I need a spine board and C-collar. What are we going to use?”

  “We’re not.”

  “But, Rico, he may be paralyzed.”

  “He’ll be a lot worse off than that if we don’t get him out of here.”

  “But, Rico—”

  “Sharon, move!”

  Sharon stood up and stumbled about for a moment then took off across the lot toward the car. Rico grabbed Jim by the arms and hefted him over his shoulder. “Run,” he shouted sprinting up the hill and quickly gaining on her. “I’m trying,” Sharon screamed. Rico could hear her crying, breathing heavily as she ran, whimpering like a little girl as he passed her. “Rico,” she cried. “Wait.”