Kit Crumb: Body Parts

He noticed her expression. “You can’t save them all, you know.” He then turned his back on her and guided the gurney down the path. She hesitated, wanting to find out who he was and why a doctor would perform a task normally carried out by staffers. She watched him until he took the next turn, restrained only by Medford General’s no interference policy between EMTs and hospital employees. Sighing, she turned and walked back to the ambulance.

“That didn’t take long,” Rye said, looking up from his notes. “Why the frown?”

He knew that losing an accident victim wasn’t supposed to affect an EMT until hours after the event, though Claire often took such losses personally.

She climbed in, instinctively fastening her harness. “Have you ever turned a DOA over to a doctor before?”

Rye slid the clipboard with his notes into its slot at the base of the driver’s seat. “No, why?”

“I just did, and when I introduced myself he didn’t say who he was.”

“He have a name tag?”

“No.”

Rye watched as she settled into her seat, tightening her harness, staring at her feet, deep in thought. The thrum of the engine starting startled her. She looked over at him, “I just don’t feel good about this.”

He paused then shut off the engine. They looked out of place in their jumpsuits, as they passed into the foyer of Medford General and up to the information counter.

A cheerful receptionist looked up as they approached.

“Well hey you two, nice to see you walking for a change.”

Claire smiled and leaned on the counter. “Hey, Casey. I was wondering if you can solve a mystery for me?”

“Shoot.”

Claire looked up at Rye then back at the receptionist. “I just delivered a DOA to a doctor instead of two Mutt and Jeff’s up from the morgue, definitely not procedure.”

Casey held up one hand to stop Claire’s inquiry. “Hold on a second.” She walked to the end of the counter, grabbed a clipboard and read over it as she walked back.

She ran a finger along a line. “No one brought into the hospital in the past hour or through the morgue in the past two hours.” She set the clipboard down and looked up. “Anything else I can help you with?”

Claire picked up the clipboard to see for herself. “Any new doctors on staff?”

Before Casey could answer, the headlights and horn of their ambulance went off, indicating a call.

Claire reluctantly put down the clipboard. “Gotta go,” she said, turning to run back to the ambulance. Rye was already ahead of her.

He guided the ambulance out of the hospital parking lot while she tuned in the 911-call center. “Unit 88, disregard.”

She looked over at Rye. “Good let’s go back and find that doctor.”

Rye changed lanes so he could make a U-turn but stopped when the scanner crackled back to life. “Unit 88, code 1111, house fire, 415 Silverado Avenue.”

Claire grabbed the microphone, then looked over at Rye. “What do you think? Let the fire department handle it?”

He was already reaching up clicking toggle switches for lights and siren. “I don’t think so, you heard the code, could be more than one structure.”

She slammed the mic back onto its mount on the dashboard. “What about Rusty and that phony doctor?

“C’mon Claire, I’m sure Rusty found his way to the morgue, as for the doctor, no name tag and receiving a DOA, he’s probably new, unfamiliar with procedures. Just get me to Silverado Avenue. Alright?”

She picked up the map, giving Rye a dirty look. “I hope you’re right, if we lose a body the county will yank our license.”

He ignored her as he scanned the street ahead. “Are you sure of this route?”

Claire glanced up from her map ready to snap at the question but one look at the burned out neighborhood, derelict cars, and she bit her tongue.

A mixture of fire engine and police sirens filled the air as Rye slowed the ambulance, surveying the mayhem that blocked the street ahead.

“To late to turn back now,” Claire said, and dialed in the 911 dispatch. “Emergency dispatch, this is unit 88. What’s the 1020 on Silverado, over?” She looked over at Rye. “Any guesses?” Before he could answer, dispatch came back on. “Meth fire. Multiple homes involved. Proceed with caution. Out.”

Rye pulled up behind a Medford police cruiser, and looked on in horror as Claire’s door was yanked open, and she was pulled out by the hair.

“Claire!”

Rye reached behind his seat for the billy club as he shot out the drivers’ door, driven into a frenzied sprint by Claire’s chilling shriek.

Her attacker towered over her by a foot, his hand firmly against her head, fingers interlaced with her hair. She dropped to one knee placing both hands on her attacker’s hand, pinning it to the top of her head, touching her chin to her knee, crimping his wrist in the process.

“You bitch!

She suddenly straightened up, holding the attacker’s hand in place, stretching his arm, snapping a kick to his exposed right side. The man staggered back in a furious struggle to regain his balance.

“You’re fucking dead, bitch.” He charged her but suddenly collapsed into a heap at her feet.

Rye dropped the club to his side and leaping over the unconscious form, grabbed Claire by the arm. “Get in,” he said, half lifting her into the ambulance.

She scrambled in, slamming and locking the door at the same time, barely before Rye whipped the ambulance into a U-turn.

“Oh shit! hang on.” The ambulance rocked as it clipped the rusting burned out hulk of a Chevy van and bounced onto a lawn mower. Rye then guided the two-ton rig off what used to be somebody’s front yard and into the street.

“We’re outta here,” Rye said, as he snatched up the mic. “Emergency dispatch this is unit 88 calling in a 1044-out of service.”

He slammed the mic onto its hook, and accelerated down Silverado and out of the neighborhood.

“You alright?”

Claire slumped against the door, “Yeah, I guess so. You know, I’m always surprised at the shit we put up with. I mean what was that all about? What did that guy expect to get by attacking me?”

She never got an answer.

Rye suddenly sat up straight shifting the ambulance into neutral and revved the engine.

Momentarily forgetting the attack, Claire turned in her seat. “I hear it, too.”

“It’s not the engine or the drive train,” he said.

She powered down her window. “Kill the scanner, it sounds like something’s scraping.”

Rye rolled his window down as he turned the scanner off. He heard the strange noise again. “I’m pulling over.”

He flipped on a couple flashers and eased the Beast onto the shoulder. Claire jumped out.

“Ouch.”

Rye was around the front of the ambulance and at Claire’s side. She had her hand on her neck.

“What is it?”

“I think that jerk gave me a whiplash when he grabbed my hair.”

“Why don’t you get back in, I’ll check this out.”

He watched Claire’s stiff movements as she stepped up into the cab. Rye shut the door and leaned in the window. “I’m filing a report on this, and you’re seeing a chiropractor tomorrow morning.”

She gave him a weak smile and leaned back into the seat. He reached in and patted her arm. “Hand me the flashlight.”

Rye dropped to his stomach and scanned the undercarriage, holding the light on what was left of a lawn mower jammed between the chassis and the exhaust system.

Scrunching under the ambulance, he grabbed one of the blades and pulled. Nothing. He wiggled his way back out and stood up, met by Claire’s worried look. “What is it?”

“I ran over a lawn mower when I hung the U-turn, we need a tow.”