Saving the Dead (7 page)

They pulled onto Berry Street and a few blocks down they approached a side road into a large forested area.  Beside the road a sign read: Welcome to Lovecraft Park.

Drifts turned it in. “Wow.  You think you know a guy.”

“That is also why I wasn’t anxious to have this conversation.”

Justin asked. “We’re going in there?”

Drifts shot him a withering look. “No, I thought we would just park outside and honk the horn until the guy who fell crawls out to us.  Honestly,” he muttered, “there has to be an entrance exam to weed out the stupid in these classes.”

“Is that why you haven’t taken the paramedic course yet?” Justin asked with a smirk.

Ramirez snorted.

Drifts looked at the student. “Just because you have the balls to say something doesn’t mean you should let them do your talking, kid.”  He smiled at him. “Fucker.”

Ramirez rolled down his window. “Sam, kill the siren will you.  I want to be able to hear if anyone calls out for us.”

Drifts flipped off the siren and turned on the outside spotlights of the rig.  He said in a high-pitch voice, “Someone come and save me!  Help me!  Help me!  I need a big strong hero to pick my fat ass up in in his massive motherfucking arms!  I need Leonardo Emmanuel Jesus Sampson. Hercules Ramirez III!”

Justin asked, “Is that your real name?”

It was Drifts’s turn to snort.

Ramirez gave him a clipped, “No.”

“No, his is longer!” Drifts burst out laughing.

“You know I’m really considering telling Tracy that you have crabs,” said Ramirez.

“Only because you fucking shared them with me, big boy.”

They wound their way down the park’s woodland road, pulling up to shelter area eleven.  The space had a large picnic out-building, a playground, and several barbeque pits.  In the parking lot was a minivan and an SUV.  Two men approached them waving.  Ramirez shined a light on them and they shielded their eyes.

Drifts called on the radio, “Triple-Three on scene.”

“You want me to bring the stretcher?” asked Drifts.

Ramirez shook his head. “Let’s see what we have first.”  He stepped out and headed toward the waving men.  Justin caught up to him with a medical bag.

“Man, am I glad to see you guys,” said the first man with blond hair.

“What’s going on gentlemen?” Ramirez asked.

The other guy with a shaved head said, “There’s some guy off in the woods.  He kept stumbling towards us.  We flashed a light on him, I think he’s bleeding.  My . . . uh . . . friend here wanted to check him out, but I didn’t think it was safe.”

Ramirez and Drifts looked at each other significantly.  They both pulled out their flashlights.

“Where did you see him, sir?” asked Ramirez.

“He was somewhere over there.”

Ramirez nodded. “Stay here,” he told the men, “Call for us if you see anything unusual.  I will take point.”

Drifts said, “Aye, aye, mi Capitan, sir.”

“Justin, take up the rear.”

“Okay.”

The three of them walked into the woods, shining their lights around.

Drifts griped, “How the hell did they see anything in this shit!  Full moon or not, it’s plenty fucking dark in here!”

“What were those two guys doing out here so late, anyway?” asked Justin.

Drifts looked back at him. “You’re kidding, right?”  Justin looked at him blankly. 

“Fuck, you’re really not kidding?  Geez, you really were sheltered.  I don’t know.  Hey, Leo, what do you think two married guys are doing in a deserted park at night?  You know, somehow I don’t think that they’re stargazing, because I sure as shit don’t remember seeing a fucking telescope.”

Justin stared at the EMT with a slack jaw. “You don’t mean that they were . . . you know?”

“Smoking each other’s pipes?  No.  I’m sure they had a perfectly reasonable explanation for their presence out here.”

“Focus, guys.  Sam, this isn’t the time for that,” said Ramirez.

Drifts nodded.

“Hello!” called Ramirez.

“Hello,” Drifts answered.  Justin snorted.

Ramirez spared them both a withering look. 

Drifts smirked at his partner. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

“Try to.”

The three of them searched around for a few minutes to no avail.

Drifts finally said, “Level with me, Leo.  Do you think those two actually saw anything?”

Ramirez shrugged. “I’m not sure.  Maybe.”

“And maybe I will shit out rainbows next time I go to the john, but it’s not fucking likely.  If you ask me . . .”

“And you’ll tell us whether we do or not,” interjected Ramirez.

Drifts shot him a look, but continued on, “Truthfully, I think those two heard a deer moving out here while they were getting frisky.  They shined a light on it saw the red reflected, and low and behold, they found a guy bleeding in the woods.”

He continued, “Think about it.  If it was a deadhead, the damn thing would have sought us or them out.  If it was a runner, those two would have been long gone in their vehicles or joined it on its dead crusade.”

Ramirez nodded, “You’re probably right.  Let’s go back, and ask them some more questions and maybe call in PD.”

Justin heard what they said and turned back the way they came.  His flashlight beam fell directly on the face of a gaunt bloody man as he came around a tree with his hand outstretched towards him.

“Ahh!” screamed the paramedic student, as he swung his bag like a medieval flail. It smacked against the side of the encroaching man’s face, causing him to stagger back and trip over a root with a grunt.  Fully in the lion’s teeth of his moment, Justin’s fear changed to rage as he rushed forward with the bag over his head to smash the dead thing from existence.

Two pairs of hands latched onto his arms and his waist and hauled him back. 

“There’s more of them!” he cried out. He thrashed against their grips.

Drifts stepped in front of his line of sight. “Whoa!  Whoa!  Easy Tex!  Chill the fuck out, kid!”

It was Drifts hands holding his arms.  Justin realized that Ramirez had him around the waist.

“Lookout, it’s a zombie!” cried Justin.

Ramirez released his grip and shined his light on the fallen man. “Relax, Justin.  It’s not a zombie.”  He squinted. “Roger?  Is that you?”

The fallen man looked up at him squinting in the bright beam. “What the fuck, man!  Motherfucker hit me.”

“Aw shit!” snapped Drifts. “Not him!”

“You know him?” asked Justin.

Drifts sighed. “Yeah, we know him, unfortunately.  This exemplary example of existence is Roger Greenwood.  He’s an urban outdoorsman and a daily connoisseur of alcoholic beverages.  Are paths have crossed with his on many occasions.”

Both Roger and Justin looked at Drifts and said, “Huh?”  Off to the side Ramirez smirked.

Drifts looked at his partner. “Honestly, this is why I cuss all the fucking time.  When I try to display a little fucking culture, no one knows what the fuck I’m saying.”

Ramirez smiled. “You can lead a horse to water, buddy.”

“Yeah, no fucking kidding,” Drifts said. “What I mean is, Roger here is a drunk homeless man who is a frequent flyer.”

“Frequent flyer?” Justin looked at him perplexed.

“Dammit, kid.  Do I have to spell everything out?” He took a deep breath. “Don’t answer that!  It was a rhetorical question.  We transport Roger, a frequent flyer, multiple times a week.  If it’s not daily, it’s damn near that much.  Hell, I’ve heard of days when he was transported more than once.”

“I’m sorry I hit him.  I thought he was a zombie!”

“Zombie!  I ain’t no motherfucking zombie!” Roger said with speech slurred, “I’m talking!  Are you a stupid son of a bitch or something?  Zombies can’t talk!  Here me talking motherfucker?”

“Watch your mouth, Roger!” snapped Drifts. “We don’t want to repeat what happened by the river.”

Roger tried to push himself up, but the effort required more coordination than he was currently capable of.  “Are you-” He fell to his knees.  He tried to pull himself up with a nearby sapling, but the little tree bent under his weight and he fell back on his backside.  He gave up and glared at Drifts again. “Are you threatening me, motherfucker?”

“You’re just lucky it was our student that you surprised and not me,” Drifts said, holding up his flashlight. 

“Fuck you!”

Justin gawked at the EMT with his almost-perpetual I-can’t-believe-you-just-said-that expression.

Ramirez looked at his partner and gestured him to calm down.

Drifts shrugged.

Ramirez stepped into Roger’s view. “Hey, Roger.  It’s me, Leo.”

Roger squinted his eyes as he looked at the older medic. “Oh, hey, Leo.  You still have that asshole for a partner?”

“Hey!” shouted Drifts.

Ramirez nodded. “He is my cross to bear.”

“Hey!”

Roger nodded sympathetically.

Ramirez continued. “Listen Roger, you’re pretty drunk.  How much have you had to drink?”

Roger thought it over and said. “I don’t know, Leo.  Maybe two beers.”

“Just how fucking big were those beers?” chimed in Drifts, holding his hands over two feet high.

“Fuck you!”

“Roger, focus on me,” said Ramirez.  He glared back at his partner.

Drifts smiled back with and held his hands up in surrender. Ramirez glare lost its heat as he rolled his eyes.  He focused back on his patient.

“You have a big gash on your head, Roger.” 

“I do?” He touched his head and looked at the oozing blood in the limited light. “I’ll be damned.”

“Do you remember when that happened?”

“Maybe when that man over there hit me,” he pointed at Justin.

“Hey!  You were bleeding when we found you!” Justin was indignant. “That’s why I thought he was zombie!”

“I ain’t no fucking zombie!” snarled the drunken man.

“I know.” Ramirez said simply. “Otherwise we would have already drilled you in the head.”

Roger froze.  He looked at Ramirez with genuine fear. “You’re going to drill me?”

Ramirez held his gaze and said, “No.  Because you, Roger Greenwood, are alive.  We only use the hot-drill on zombies.  But we do need to take you to the hospital.”

Roger’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because that cut on your head needs stitches, and you’re too drunk to stand up,” Ramirez said simply.

“I don’t want to go to the fucking hospital!”

Ramirez sighed. “You need to, Roger.”

“No!  Just leave me the fuck alone!”

“Roger, you need a doctor.  I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter.” 

“I don’t need a fucking doctor!  If you motherfuckers try to touch me, I will kick your asses!”

“Roger, don’t threaten us.  That’s not a wise route to take,” Ramirez warned.

“Fuck you!”

“If you don’t cooperate, I’m afraid we’ll have to take you against your will.”

“Fuck you!”

“We can do that?” murmured Justin.

Drifts cracked his knuckles. “Oh yeah!”

“The hell you will!” Roger raised up his balled fists.

Ramirez sighed, “I thought not.”  He looked back at his partner. “Sam?”

Drifts cocked his neck and it made a rapid fire of pops.  He smiled darkly. “I thought you would never ask.”

“Let me go!  Help!  Help!

Roger struggled to free himself from Ramirez’s and Drifts’s grips.  Flanking him on both sides, they half-carried half-dragged the inebriated man out of the forest by his arms.  Justin pulled up the rear carrying Roger’s backpack and their medical bag. 

As they came out into the clearing the two same men approached them wide-eyed.  The blonde man demanded, “What are you doing to that man?”

The crew ignored them as they struggled to control Roger’s thrashing.  Ramirez called back, “Justin, run ahead and unload the stretcher and bring it here, will you?  Oh, and bring a couple of gauze rolls too.”

“That’s the gauze in a spool right?” asked the student.

“Yes.”  

Justin dropped the medical bag by them ran ahead. He climbed inside the box for the items.

The blonde man asked again, “Excuse me!  What are you doing to that man?”

Drifts’s glare should have burned him to a crisp. “Our job!”

“Well, I hardly think that all of this is necessary!”

Ramirez readjusted his grip, “Sir, we appreciate your concern, but we need to see this man to the hospital.  Please step back.”

Justin pulled the stretcher next to them, and with some difficulty, he lowered it down with the center latch.

“Let go of me, motherfuckers!”

Drifts and Ramirez nodded to each other.  They moved simultaneously as they yanked Roger off the ground and planted him onto the stretcher.