In Sheets Of Rain - Nicola Claire Page 0,15

first half of our shift in the heart of the city.

We called in the helicopter for that one. Back pain with neurological deficit.

Surfing and sharp rocks don’t mix.

We picked up a hospital transfer from Waitakere to take back into the city. The patient slept. We didn’t.

Rush hour started at four.

We didn’t stop until seven.

I walked into Ted’s office before I left the station and asked for a secondment to Comms.

He took one look at me and nodded.

I had four days off and then I would be safe, I thought.

I didn’t know how wrong I could be.

9

Full Ashtrays And Empty Beer Bottles

I downed the shot glass and tipped it wrong side up onto the bench.

“Howzat!” Cathy yelled, matching me shot for shot.

Mark kissed her on the cheek and said, “Well done, honey. You can drink anyone under the table.”

“You say the sweetest things to me, fireman,” she told him and they started pashing.

I shook my head, stood up and swayed, and then stumbled out onto the deck finding solace in the stars. I stared out over the back garden and into someone’s else’s yard.

Sean was working.

I was not.

I’d just finished a dayshift in Comms.

And I was drunk.

Tayla came out and handed me a beer.

“Hair of the dog,” she said.

“I don’t think that’s what this is,” I told her.

She shrugged.

We stared at the neighbour’s cat.

“Were you on North Comm?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“Rough day.”

“Yeah.”

“He’ll be alright.”

Would he? I wanted to ask.

“Priority call from A 5-6.”

“Shit,” Gregg muttered.

I reached forward and pressed the button to activate my mic and cut off any other ambulances from talking.

“A 5-6. Priority call. Go ahead.”

“R4-7-7.”

“Kylee. One more round!”

I stumbled into Cathy and Mark’s and collapsed on the couch, accepting the shot glass with a grimace.

“I think I might puke,” I told her.

“Pussy,” she said.

I downed the shot glass to raucous laughter.

“Location, A 5-6?”

“On scene. R4-7-7.”

“Nature of emergency, Ky,” Gregg pressed, standing at my shoulder, watching my screen like a hawk.

There were more people in the room. Delta 10 for one. The medical director for another.

Everyone was silent.

“Ambulance. A 5-6,” I said. “Nature of R4-7-7?”

“Patient has a machete. R25.”

“On it,” Gregg said, stepping back to his desk to call the cops.

“Injuries?” Delta 10 asked.

“Ambulance. A 5-6,” I said, feeling sweat trickle down my spine. “Are you hurt?”

There was no reply.

The good thing was, I told myself as I wiped my mouth and stood up from the toilet bowl, that I’d just puked out most of what I’d recently drunk.

I washed my mouth out with water from the tap and swerved my way down the hall to the lounge.

Mark met me as I entered.

“You OK, Ky?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, because it was expected.

But Mark was a fireman not an ambo.

“Come have a ciggie out on the deck,” he suggested.

I followed behind him feeling lost.

“This is Ambulance Communications,” Gregg said into his headset. “One of our trucks is in danger at a job in Devonport. We’re requesting urgent police backup.”

“Ambulance calls A 5-6,” I said over the radio. No other ambulances were making a sound.

No one was talking out there.

Not even A 5-6.

“I’m going to head in that direction,” Delta 10 advised.

“I’ll drop the job on your pager,” I said.

“Machete,” Gregg told the cops. “Two man crew. Uncertain of injuries.”

“Ambulance calls A 5-6,” I repeated and got nothing.

Mark inhaled and blew out a ring of smoke.

“Tough day, huh?” he said.

I said nothing, just shrugged.

“You wanna talk about it?”

I shook my head.

“He’ll be alright, Ky. You got him help before it went too far.”

“The patient had a machete,” I said.

“Shit,” was all the support Mark could give me.

“R25 is responding,” Gregg told me. “ETA four minutes.”

I nodded.

“Ambulance. A 5-6. R25 responding; ETA four minutes.”

Nothing.

“Do we have any other ambulances nearby?” Gregg asked.

“LSU 4-2 clearing North Shore Hospital.”

“Send them to a staging point at the corner of Fleet Street and Victoria.”

“Ambulance calls LSU 4-2.”

“LSU42. North Shore Hospital. Clear.”

“Priority One, LSU 4-2. Corner of Fleet and Victoria Streets, Devonport. Details on your pager.”

“LSU 4-2 copies. Are we backing up 5-6?”

“Affirmative. Details to follow.”

“Responding.”

The room spun lazily. Cathy was curled up in Mark’s arms. Tayla had left for home hours ago. The TV was on but muted.

My cell phone buzzed.

I pulled it out and had to blink to clear my vision; Sean’s text too small for my blurry eyes to manage.

Hey, hon. Just heard from Delta 10. Kevin is gonna be alright. They saved his arm.

I lowered the cell phone, turning the screen upside down, and stared at nothing.

“Was that Sean?” Mark asked in a