Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
“They’re glory hounds,” Damian said angrily. He wasn’t wrong. Anyone taking video or pictures of the burning house and the unfolding scene out front wasn’t doing it for anything but social media likes. They weren’t part of the press, and Kent was certain the family hadn’t asked their neighbors from blocks over to come record everything. It was rare that an onlooker’s video actually captured anything important, but it had happened. The fire marshal had learned a long time ago to make public pleas for content whenever he had to look for arsonists. This could be why people did what they did—they wanted to help. Still, it bothered Kent.
Their radio crackled, and Damian flicked the lights and sirens on before Kent could tell dispatch their ETA. “Unit 81 responding, sixty seconds. Someone needs to clear the barricade.”
“Roger, Unit 81.”
Damian drove to the end of the street. Thankfully, people moved out of their way and also covered their ears with the piercing scream the sirens made. Kent was out of the truck before Damian came to a full stop, and he slipped his hands into his latex gloves. He came around the rig and saw a firefighter carrying a body out of the house. This spurred Kent into action. He opened the back of the truck and yanked the stretcher out with one powerful tug.
“What do you have?” Kent asked as the firefighter approached.
“Found him on the second floor, in the bathtub. Smoke inhalation. Other injuries are unknown. He’s young.” The firefighter laid the young boy on the gurney and walked off, but Kent stepped in front of his colleague.
“Are you okay?” Kent looked for any signs of injuries.
“I’m good,” he said as he patted Kent on the shoulder. They both knew he wouldn’t admit to having any issues, but Kent had to ask, regardless. Kent went to the stretcher. Damian had turned the boy onto his side and strapped him in for transport. He and Damian slid the stretcher back into the bus, and Kent climbed in.
“Hey there, I’m Kent,” he said as the doors closed. “I’m going to put this around your nose and mouth. It’s going to give you some oxygen to help you breathe. You can move it when you need to talk. I’m also starting an IV. You’re going to feel a little poke, but it only hurts for a second. Can you tell if anything hurts?”
“My chest,” the young voice croaked.
“Are you dizzy?”
“Tired,” he said.
“We’re almost there. What’s your name?”
“Clark.”
Kent laughed. “Clark! I’m Kent. That makes us Superman. Do you know what this means?”
The little boy shook his head.
“It means the two of us are stronger than one.”
“Is my mom okay?” he asked.
Kent hadn’t heard if the first victims had succumbed to their injuries or not. It wasn’t his place to tell the boy, but he also didn’t want him to worry. Too much stress could cause issues for the young man. He also didn’t have an easy way to answer his question. Kent tried, though. “I only know she went to the hospital. They don’t tell us anything after that.”
“Oh,” he said, and closed his eyes.
“Just hang tight, Clark. My buddy Damian is pulling into the parking lot now.” Kent radioed the nurses’ station and asked where they should take their patient. They rushed him into the ED triage unit and met with the head RN. It was a madhouse, which was normal when a massive incident had occurred.
Damian and Kent ran the stretcher down the hall, and Kent rattled off the information he had stored in his brain. Smoke inhalation, chest pains, and irregular breathing. As soon as they got into the room, the nursing staff and ER doctor took over. Every transport was different. Sometimes they would linger with the patient a bit longer if the staff was busy, or, like now, they rushed out of the room to give the staff the space they needed to work. Damian scribbled on the paperwork and handed their call sheet off to the desk nurse, and they made their way back to their rig.
“I hate fires,” Kent said before he radioed to dispatch that they were back in service. They were told to stage at the hospital for transport to Saint Francis.
“Fuck,” Kent muttered. He never asked questions but assumed one of the fire victims needed to go to the burn center.
Damian threw his clipboard on to the dashboard and sighed. Kent got out of the truck and went to the back. He pulled the stretcher out of the rig and moved it inside the private ambulance entrance. Whoever they were about to transport would come out on a stretcher. No one was dying on his watch. Not tonight. Not ever.
SIX
It was after dinner when the hospital staff moved Palmer into a room. She hoped it would be Victor who moved her, but it was two nurses who chatted aimlessly about the weather, the food, and how they’d bring her a menu, and they asked her if she had called her family. Palmer told them they were aware of where she was, even though she hadn’t. She hated the lie just as much as she hated the question. Not everyone had family or even close friends. It was a hard notion for some to believe, but those people usually had a support group, a network of friends and family who would do anything for them. Palmer suspected Frank was her network, or even Celine, but she refused to be a burden to anyone.