Breaking Protocol (Firehouse Fourteen Book 3)
Read Breaking Protocol (Firehouse Fourteen Book 3) Online
Authors: Lisa B. Kamps
Copyright © 2016 by Elizabeth Belbot Kamps
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names, living or dead. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any individual, place, business, or event is purely coincidental.
Artwork by Jay Aheer of Simply Defined Art
Contents
For Candice Davidson, Shawn-Leigh Wood, and Shelly Barca. Our paths may have changed but the connection remains the same! Can't wait to see you guys again on my next trip to SD!
THE BALTIMORE BANNERS
Crossing the Line
, Book 1
Game Over
, Book 2
Blue Ribbon Summer
, Book 3
Body Check
, Book 4
Break Away
, Book 5
Playmaker,
A Baltimore Banners Intermission Nove
lla
Seduced By The Game
Cancer Charity Collection
Delay of Game
, Book 6
Shoot Out
, Book 7
The Baltimore Banners: 1st Period Trilogy
Books 1-3 Boxed set
On Thin Ice, Book 8
Coming Soon
FIREHOUSE FOURTEEN
Once Burned
, Book 1
Playing With Fire
, Book 2
Breaking Protocol
, Book 3
Into The Flames, Book 4
Coming Soon
STAND-ALONE TITLES
Emeralds and Gold: A Treasury of Irish Short Stories
(anthology)
Dangerous Heat
Coming Soon
Engines rumbled in the background, echoing off the hills surrounding them, bouncing back and destroying the silence of an otherwise still night. Spotlights illuminated the scene, casting everything in a harsh, unforgiving light.
Dave Warren adjusted his grip on the bag mask, walking backward as the engine crew carried the stokes basket down the hill. His foot tripped over a loose branch and he nearly slipped in the mud but somebody grabbed him by the belt and held him upright.
"Chopper's here waiting." Pete Miller shouted in his ear and Dave nodded before tossing a glance behind him. They had reached the stretcher and were transferring the patient onto it. The patient would be onboard the medevac in a matter of minutes, then on his way to Shock Trauma.
Dave didn't think it would really matter and was surprised they had even agreed to fly the patient out. Protocol stressed ten minutes on scene then gone, and the ETA for the chopper was rarely less than fifteen minutes.
But they had already been on scene for well over thirty minutes, trying to reach the remote area of the ATV accident in the dark, off a muddy, washed-out and little-used fire trail. It was anybody's guess how long the patient had been waiting before his friends had finally managed to get out and call 911.
Dave looked down at the patient again, at the misshapen skull and avulsed face, and realized again that it probably didn't matter what they did. It was just a matter of time before the teen died.
He looked up and surveyed the chaos around them, paying little attention to the flashing lights of the engines and medic, the harsh spotlights that turned night to day. His eyes searched for the source of the other noise he heard, a noise so familiar to him he still heard it in his sleep: the whirring motor and high-pitched wail of a waiting helicopter. A figure walked through the crowd, its silhouette dark and undefined until it moved closer.
Dave instructed his partner, Jimmy Hughes, to take over then straightened, waiting for the Flight Medic to get closer.
Then blinked as the silhouette moved closer and revealed itself.
The medic was small, petite, the top of her head just reaching his chest. And there was no doubt she was a she, not even under all the gear she was wearing: bulky flight suit, helmet, utility belt. Shoulder holster.
Dave blinked again, pushing his second-long observations to the back of his mind as the medic stopped next to him and looked up.
"What do you have?" Her voice was loud and clear, each word enunciated to be heard over the chaos around them, filled with authority despite the casual, slightly accented words.
"Nineteen-year old male, ATV accident. Looks like he flew head-first into a tree. No helmet. Unresponsive." Dave rattled off the list of other injuries with the detachment of someone reading a grocery list. The medic took notes, nodding to indicate she heard.
"Tubed?"
"Getting there."
"Alright, let's get him loaded, we can do it onboard." She tucked the pad into a bulky pocket on the side of her leg then turned back to Dave. "You the paramedic?"
"Yeah."
"Okay Big Guy, you're with me. We're flying an old one tonight. Let's go." She motioned toward the waiting helicopter then turned to the engine crew and issued instructions in her clear voice.
The patient was quickly loaded and Dave was ready to climb into the waiting chopper when a strong hand stopped him. He turned to look down, surprised at the strength in the small woman's hand.
"Have you flown before?" She shouted the question to be heard above the whirl of the blades overhead. Dave tried not to look insulted.
"Yeah, I've flown before."
"Didn't meant to upset you, Big Guy, just had to ask. We don't do this much anymore." She motioned for him to climb in, then jumped in after him and handed him a headset. He dropped it over his ears and pulled the mike in front of his mouth, his attention focused solely on the patient in front of him as the helicopter engine whirred to full life and lifted off, leaving the chaos beneath them.
They had the patient intubated and fluids running, doing what they could to keep the kid with them by the time the helicopter landed at Shock Trauma fifteen minutes later. A trauma team was already waiting for them and Dave was pushed out of the way as someone in pink scrubs took over the patient's breathing. He followed the team inside and down the hallway, into a waiting trauma room.
He peeled off his bloody gloves and tossed them into the biohazard waste can, then stood off to the side and watched as the team of trauma specialists took over, each move synchronized, as if it had been rehearsed and carefully choreographed.
"We're losing him. Someone crack his chest. CC, get up here and squeeze."
Dave watched as a line was cut down the patient's breastbone, as his ribs were spread apart, opening his insides to the world. The Flight Medic jumped on a small step stool and reached in with one small hand, a look of concentration on her face as she squeezed the patient's heart with her hand.
Twenty minutes elapsed before the lead surgeon shook his head and called it, pronouncing time of death at zero one thirty-two. A momentary hush settled over the room, then the team began the process of cleaning up so the body could be moved to the morgue.
Dave stepped out of the way, his mind already focused on finding a quiet spot so he could call the EMS Supervisor and make sure he had a ride back to the station. The Flight Medic turned, her expression displaying her surprise to find him still standing there.
"Hey Big Guy, didn't realize you were still here." She stopped next to him and removed her gloves with a snap before tossing them into the bio-waste can. She nudged him out of the way then washed her hands at the sink, her movements concise and economical.
"Dave."
"What's that?" She wadded up the paper towels she had used to dry her hands and tossed them into the trash can, her clear hazel eyes never leaving his.
"My name is Dave Warren. Not Big Guy."
She raised one finely arched blonde brow in his direction then finally nodded, the motion barely perceptible. Dave had the distinct impression that she didn't give a rat's ass what his name was.
The thought didn't amuse him, and he didn't know why.
"And your name would be?"
She looked up at him again, her full mouth tilted at one corner. "Are you asking for you, or your report?"
Dave narrowed his eyes. "My report."
"In that case, it's Covey. C. Covey."
He nodded, still studying her. "And if it wasn't for my report?"
"Then it's CC."
"And that's spelled—?"
She laughed, the sound clear and refreshing, completely incongruous in the bloody mayhem surrounding them. "Capital C. Capital C. CC."
He frowned at her, wondering if stress and lack of sleep had finally addled his brain to the point where he was having trouble understanding simple English. She laughed again, then turned and started walking away. She paused, then looked back over her shoulder at him.
"I'm getting a coffee. Would you like some?"
Dave paused, surprised at the invitation. Surprised even more that he wanted to say yes. So he merely nodded then followed the petite woman down the hallway to the small break room.
"To answer the question you think is too impolite to ask, they're my initials. CC. Carolann Covey." She laughed at his expression, the sound almost music to his tired ears. She poured coffee, black, into a small Styrofoam cup then grabbed one of the small mismatched plastic chairs and turned it around. She swung her leg over one side and sat, straddling the chair backwards as she smiled at him. "Yes, I'm from down South, and no, my momma and daddy didn't want me to be a stripper, despite the name."
Dave poured his own black coffee and leaned against the counter, wondering if the thick drawl was deliberate, then wondering why she would bother. He didn't say anything, didn't even know how to respond to her comment. She laughed again and gave him a small wink.
"And aren't you the polite one, not saying a word about it."
"No. I, uh—"
"Don't worry about it." She waved him off with a small motion of her hand, then took a sip of the coffee. Dave was surprised that she didn't even grimace at the bitterness. "So tell me, Mr. Paramedic Dave Warren, was that your first cracked chest?"
Whatever Dave had been expecting for conversation, if he even had been, it wasn't that. He fixed the small woman looking up at him with a steady gaze, then shook his head. "No. I've seen it done before, once or twice."
She nodded and took another sip of the coffee. "Hm. Why am I thinking that you've seen a lot more, and that it wasn't here?" She kept studying him with those clear eyes that seemed to see deep below the surface. He looked away, suddenly uncomfortable, afraid she would see too much.
And find him falling short.
But she said nothing, just murmured another noncommittal "Hm" and drank her coffee.
Dave's phone vibrated against his belt and he unclipped it to see a text message from the EMS Supervisor on the screen, letting him know to meet downstairs in five minutes. Dave clipped the phone back to his belt and drained the coffee. He looked up and noticed that the medic—that CC—was already tossing her crushed cup into the trashcan and was heading out the door. She paused in the doorway and turned back to him, a smile on her full lips.
"See? We already have two things in common."
He blinked, not sure he understood. "Pardon?"
"We both drink black coffee. And I'm pretty sure we both spent some time playing in the sandbox. See you around, Big Guy." She gave him another playful wink then disappeared down the hallway, leaving him to wonder what had just happened.
It wasn't until he was halfway back to the station that her parting words finally clicked, and he understood just what she had meant.
Then he wondered what she had seen that made her realize he had spent time in hell.