Body Parts (Rye & Claire 1) (11 page)
Read Body Parts (Rye & Claire 1) Online
Authors: Kit Crumb
Once on the interstate, it
was another eight miles to the scene of the accident, but within a mile,
traffic was at a stand still and Rye had to take the last seven miles
on the shoulder of the road.
“Look,” Rye said, pointing.
Claire looked up from her
clipboard and counted three separate swirls of black smoke. “Think I
should alert the hospital to possible burn victims?” Claire said.
“Let’s wait and see what we’ve got.”
It was a good call; when they
rounded the final curve on the interstate, it was evident that the fire
trucks had the vehicle fires under control.
“Pull up there,” Claire said
pointing at a fireman who was flagging them down. The ambulance had
barley stopped before they jumped out.
“Got two real bad ones,
through the windshield,” Fireman Jake Bradshaw said, pointing toward a
crumpled pile of steel that had once been the Chevy Nova.
Running to the rear of the ambulance, Rye popped the massive double doors and grabbed his jump kit. “Where again?”
“Far shoulder, crumpled but not rolled, no fire,” Jake said.
“Thanks!”
While Rye zigzagged his way
around the wrecks en route to the Chevy, Claire stayed back, getting an
overall evaluation from Jake.
“One trapped, jaws-of-life are on the way, couple in the SUV look pretty bad, she wasn’t belted.”
“What about the driver of the big rig?” Claire asked.
“Harnessed in, rode out the
accident and is…” Jake looked at the big fire truck and at the reclining
figure, “…there, being treated for shock,” he said, pointing. “Driver
of the Chevy is pinned behind the wheel, conscious, but not lucid, fire
chief is with him now, figured we’d let you guys deal with extraction.”
Rye took one look at the two women lying at the base of the BMW and spun around.
“Claire,” Rye yelled back across the interstate. “Through the windshield, facial, head and neck.”
“Thanks Jake, got to dash,” Claire said, as she turned to run back to the ambulance for the backboard.
As she pulled the wooden
board with handles from its place in the back, Claire flashed on how
times had changed. Ten years ago, passing through a windshield would
have meant cuts and lacerations; now windshields were a sheet of glass
between two sheets of plastic. Human impact now meant punching a hole,
with the trapped glass forming teeth like shards that shred and rip.
When she first got sight of the sisters and the Chevy Nova she realized how lucky they were. “How they doing?” she asked.
“Not bad, really. Apparently
when the Chevy stopped they kept moving. The older of the two,” Rye
indicated the young woman directly in front of the crumpled grill of the
Chevy, “struck the windshield lengthwise instead of head first, popping
out the entire sheet of plastic and glass. Looks like the speed of her
body was slowed by the impact so that she came down on the hood.”
Claire picked up the
narrative as she moved to the young woman who lay crumpled at the foot
of the BMW. “Not so lucky, her younger companion here. She looks to have
sailed through the space once occupied by the windshield doing nearly
sixty I’d say, until the BMW stopped her.”
Claire knelt over the young
woman and began the process of locating injury, slicing away clothes as
she found various breaks and fractures.
Twenty minutes later the
second ambulance arrived and was transporting the sisters as the fire
and rescue team applied the jaws-of-life to the driver’s door of the
Chevy Nova.
They moved on to the SUV,
lying on its side. Rye climbed up and extended a hand for Claire, opened
the driver’s side door like a hatch and propped it open with his jump
kit.
The driver was conscious, though hardly moving, and seemed to be straining at the seatbelt.
“Sir, my partner and I are
here to help you, please hold still. I’ll get you out,” Rye said,
lowering himself down so he was just behind the driver’s seat. Claire
lowered herself down, hanging for a minute by her arms then dropping
less then a foot. “Can you tell me your name, sir?” Rye said.
“George Shepard. Marge, where’s Marge?”
“Is that your wife, sir?”
George didn’t reply. “Sir,
your belt release is jammed so I’m going to cut the belt to get you out,
OK? Is that OK?” Rye said, getting the retractable razor from his
holster. Still there was no reply. Rye looked over at Claire. “What do
you think?”
“I think he’s in shock.
“OK, George, on the count of
three I’m going to cut the seat belt that’s holding you in place, I’ll
keep you from falling. All you have to do is relax.”
Still no response.
Claire reached up and grabbed
the edge of the passenger door. “I’m going to climb out and see if I
can spot Jake and get him to open the back hatch.”
Rye gave Claire a thumbs-up.
Looking around from her
vantage point on the side of the overturned SUV, Claire spotted Jake
interviewing the driver of the big rig.
“Jake!” Claire yelled, waving so he could spot her. “Need some assist with a shock victim, bring a friend.”
Jake and another firefighter jogged over, peeled off their heavy jackets and climbed up next to her.
“Looks like you’ve got a
pretty big boy down there,” Jake said. Rye looked up at the beefy fire
and rescue team leader. “Driver here is deep in shock, his wife is
curled up in the back. I’d like to go for her first.”
“Sounds good. Let’s leave him
be, and clear the way to the rear hatch. You and Claire work on the
wife, we’ll get the hatch open.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Rye said, as he watched Claire gracefully come back down into the van.
The crumpled form of Marge
Shepard lay behind the front passenger seat; the rear seats apparently
laid flat for the trip. Because the SUV had rolled, objects had become
projectiles. Rye gingerly stepped around water bottles and books to
crouch next to Marge’s body. Claire was watching from the front of the
van. He looked back at her, understanding her reluctance to join him.
“Mrs. Shepard, can you hear me? Marge?” No response.
He placed two fingers high up
on the side of her neck and found a strong pulse, then looked over at
Claire and yelled, “She’s got a healthy pulse and I don’t see any
blood.” The entire SUV shook as the two firemen tugged on the rear
hatch. Marge Shepard rolled from her side onto her back. Rye danced out
of the way just in time. When he looked back at Claire she was still up
front and pale as a ghost. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah fine,” Claire said. “It’s just a little tight down here.”
Looking back at Marge’s
stretched out body, he figured she must have weighed at least 400
pounds. While one breast was draped on her side, the other was standing
up like a high school boys’ dream. Something metallic was poking out of
the top. Rye sliced away the dress, then Marge’s bra. The nipple of her
left breast was pierced, about an inch of metal sticking out. Rye
couldn’t figure out what he was looking at.
“Claire I need you over here.”
She took a deep breath then duck-walked next to him.
The muffled voice of Jake came through the back hatch.
“We’re going to need you to push.”
Rye got up and stepped over to the hatch, leaning against it with his shoulder.
“I’m at the hatch, let’s do this together.”
“On the count of three, we’ll pry and you push,” Jake said. “One, two, three.”
Without a sound, the rear
hatch on the SUV popped open, but as it did, the huge vehicle lost its
square shape, sagging as if about to flatten out. Rye whirled around at
the sound of a gasp.
Claire was down on her knees
with her hands over her head. He could hear her rapid breathing. He
turned back to Jake who was already jogging back toward the big rig,
returning to his interview with the trucker. He moved quickly to
Claire’s side.
“I’m going to need your help. You alright?”
“I think so, with the side door and hatch open I should be fine.”
When he knelt down next to
Claire, he took her by the arm. “Just watch your breathing.” He removed a
cloth from his breast pocket and wiped the sweat from her forehead.
“Ready?”
Claire smiled and nodded.
Rye pointed at Marge’s erect breast. “What’s that?”
Claire had been in too much
of a panic to note Marge’s condition. She bent down for a close-up of
the protrusion from the nipple.
The object was metal, round
with a rounded end and light colored. She didn’t answer at first, but
straightened up and began looking around the inside of the SUV for
anything that might give her a hint. Then she spotted Marge’s crocheting
and the tangled skein of yarn.
“I think it’s a knitting
needle,” Claire said. “There isn’t much blood. Judging from the size of
her breast, I doubt that the needle reached the muscle, but I think that
there’s a hook at the end. Extraction?” Claire said, and looked up at
Rye.
“I think so. If it gets
bumped in transit, aside from tearing up her breast it could pierce the
chest muscle. But if you don’t mind, I’d like you to stabilize her
breast and I’ll do the extraction.”
Claire kept her thumbs against the nipple, hands wrapped around the girth while Rye began to manipulate the crocheting needle.
“I’m going to bring the
needle up the same path it made in penetration, and snag as little
tissue as possible with the hook.” He managed to remove the needle
without much problem, and then stem the blood flow.
“I think she’s bigger than
George. Slide in the backboard and see if you can get Jake back here
with another person to help move her out,” Rye said.
Forty minutes and three beefy
firemen later, with Rye and Claire doing the directing, George and
Marge Shepard were transported. Although neither had suffered any life
threatening injuries, Claire figured Marge’s excessive weight had
probably been responsible for numerous muscle tears.
She had gone back to the
ambulance to restock the jump kit, leaving Rye to work on Brad Meyers
after they’d pulled him from his crumpled BMW.
Somebody grabbed Rye’s wrist . He whipped around to see a young blonde kneeling down beside and slightly behind him.
“Please help me, my name is Crystal.”
She appeared nervous,
constantly looking over her shoulder. Quickly taking in the young woman
as not having any obvious injuries, Rye assumed that she might be
suffering from shock.
“Are you injured?” Rye said.
“Please.”
“If you could wait until my
partner gets here…” Rye never got to finish his sentence. The girl
abruptly got up and walked over to a red Dodge Caravan on the shoulder
of the road.
A few moments later Claire
arrived and finished suturing up the numerous cuts and punctures Brad
had received from everything from flying coins and pencils to CDs that
acted like flying razors.
“Guy’s a mess, Claire. Lost a
lot of blood, no arteries cut but a lot of punctures that need
irrigating.” He took a minute to point out some areas of concern. “I’m
headed over to that Dodge on the shoulder of the road. I think there’s a
girl there that might be in shock. Holler when he’s ready to be moved.”
Chapter Nineteen
The girl was sitting
in
the opening made by the sliding side door of the Dodge Caravan. Rye
noticed that she watched his progress closely as he made his way to
where the vehicle was parked on the shoulder.
“Hi. My name’s Rye. You’re Crystal, isn’t that what you said?”
Crystal didn’t say a word.
Rye knew that most non-injury
shock cases are unable to understand the carnage that they see at an
accident scene. They often feel so helpless that they shut down.
“You know, most of the people
involved in this accident came through OK,” Rye said, watching the
young woman for a reaction. “As a matter of fact, the driver of that SUV
wasn’t hurt at all.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Crystal said.
It was obvious from the tone
of her voice that she wasn’t concerned in the least about the accident
victim’s injuries, wasn’t in shock and had no apparent injury.
“You asked for help, but you look fine. What do you need?”
Rye had carried his jump kit
with him, setting it down next to Crystal. The sliding side door of the
van was open enough to allow him a view inside where he spotted the
cardboard box filled with videotapes. “Excuse me, can I help you?” a
deep male voice said, startling Rye.
“Oh, sorry,” Rye said, turning his back on Crystal to get a look at the source of the booming voice.
“I see that you two have met. I’m Sherman Van Drake,” Hubble said, extending a hand.
“Rye Anderson, pleased to
meet you and thanks for your help with the flares. It’s not everyone who
comes across an auto accident and cares enough to help out.”
Crystal slipped Hubble an “I told you so” look without Rye seeing.
“Not a problem.” Hubble
walked around Rye to join her. “Just glad to have been able to help.”
Turning to her he said, “Why don’t you get in the van, we need to be on
our way.”
That was it, no small talk about the accident, no curiosity about injuries.
Claire was just finishing up with the driver of the BMW when Rye returned, jump kit in hand.
“Good timing, he’s stable and ready to transport,” she said.
The ride back to headquarters
was the usual rehash of what had happened, what they saw, what they had
done. The object was to keep details of the accident fresh in mind
until they were able to fill out the reports.
“You run in and start your report, it’s my turn to restock and do maintenance.” Rye said.
Claire stayed in the cab
until he had backed the ambulance into the garage. “We need to talk,”
she said, and then hopped out and headed for the side door that opened
into the kitchen.
Rye watched her leave,
knowing she was still upset about their demotion. Walking to the front
of the aging ambulance, he wondered what was on her mind.
