CHAPTER ONE
Adrenaline spiked through Brodie “Dice”Spelling as he sat in the back of the rig headed toward the accident site.
“You can’t wait to get out there, can you?” commented Chris.
“Yep. Anxious to save lives, man,” he responded.
“Look alive, everyone, we’re almost there,” Alana’s voice boomed around the cab. For a small woman she had a voice that commanded respect in an instant. He guessed it was from her former military career where she’d obviously honed her don’t fuck with me tone and attitude.
“Roger that,” he responded and reached down to check that his boots were tied, so he wouldn’t trip over them like he’d done the first fire he’d worked with the crew.
“Make sure those laces are done tight,” Chris joked.
“They are,” he huffed out. If his crew hadn’t already given him the nickname “Dice,” due to his habit of rolling a pair of dice in his hands all the time, he was sure they’d have called him “trip” or something else weird.
“Fuck, this is one wrecked situation.” Dean said as he slowed the rig.
“Shit, you’re not wrong,” responded Alana. “This is going to be a long night, guys.”
That didn’t sound good. Brodie had seen some bad accidents during his three-year stint as a paramedic. Not to mention some very tragic scenes as well.
The rig pulled to a stop and they all got out. The other truck with two more members of the Hunt VFD pulled up.
The flashing lights from all the first responder vehicles gave the scene a scary movie vibe.
Brodie got his first look at what they’d be dealing with and cringed. The road was strewn with rubber, glass, twisted pieces of metal, and clothes thrown from suitcases. He could see four cars in all sorts of disarray spanning the width of the road and spread across almost a quarter mile.
“What the fuck happened here?” he asked as he grabbed the medical bag out of the side of the rig.
“Your guess is as good as ours, son. But we’ve got victims that need tending to.” The gruff voice of Bandera County’s sheriff, Richard Searle, sounded behind him.
“Yes, sir.” Immediately, Brodie straightened. The sheriff had a countenance about him that commanded a healthy amount of respect. There was also a mysterious aura about the man that Brodie had yet to figure out. But he’d seen the sheriff relax with some of his deputies at Buck’s Roadhouse.
“Let’s go help some people.” He directed his comment to Chris, they tended to work together at most scenes. As former military, Chris was cool under pressure, and in a situation as drastic as the one they’d landed in, cool heads were needed to calm hysterical victims or family members who wanted to get close to their hurt loved ones.
“Got your back, Dice.”
They found Alana at the front of the rig talking to Richard as well as one of his other deputies.
“Where do you need us, Alana?”
“Sheriff says there’s two fatalities and at least six seriously injured and one critical patient. Hill Country Medical Center recently got a life flight helicopter so he’s radioed them to come help. They’re about ten minutes out. If you head over there”—she pointed to what was once a mid-sized SUV, but now resembled more of a squashed tuna can—“that’s where the critically injured victim is. We’ll need your paramedic skills there. We’ve got another couple of volunteers coming in their own vehicles. Eric is on his way, so he’ll be able to provide some valuable assistance as well.”
“Roger that.” Brodie hitched the heavy medical bag over his shoulder and strode toward the vehicle, pulling out a set of latex medical gloves from his pocket and putting them on. He was glad Eric was helping out. Not only was he a member of the HVFD, he was also a nurse, so having another set of experienced medical hands in such an intense situation was always welcome.
Next he placed a mask over his mouth and nose. He was getting in the zone, and Alana’s voice faded as she continued to issue instructions. He needed to block out everything around him so that he could concentrate fully on doing his examination and ensuring that he didn’t fail the injured patient.
As he got closer to the car he winced when he heard the moaning, a good sign the person wasn’t unconscious. A conscious patient made things easier for him because they could tell him where and what was hurting. He looked in through the smashed driver’s side. The blank eyes of death greeted him. Here was one of the fatalities. Reaching in, he gently closed the man’s eyes and said a silent prayer for him and his family.
He didn’t think he’d ever get used to seeing death so stark and in your face, like at some accident scenes.
“Dice, you all right, man?” Chris’s voice pulled him back to the moment. Later, when he was alone, he would process the loss of life.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s do this.” Striding around the front of the car, he peered into the passenger side of the vehicle. “Ma’am, my name’s Brodie and I’m with the Hunt Volunteer Fire Department. Can you tell me where it hurts?”
“Everywhere,” she whispered. “Hurts. Everywhere.” Her head lolled to the side and Brodie immediately dropped the bag and placed his fingers against her neck. He found a pulse but it was weak and thready. Considering the amount of blood covering her, he was surprised she’d remained conscious for as long as she had.
The steady thumping of helicopter rotors rent the air. “Hey Chris, go over there and meet the bird as it lands. Tell Alana we need whoever is on board over here ASAP. Let them know the patient is hanging by a thread.”
