There was a noise somewhere in front of me. One that seemed unrelated to wind or rain.
I scrambled forward.
Then I heard him.
“I need a little help here, Brooke.”
A familiar voice, but oddly calm.
For an instant, I flashed back to a time he’d been teaching me and his daughter how to make fried chicken. He’d gotten distracted, bumped the heavy iron skillet and drenched his hand with hot grease. I knew that it hurt. But he’d just smiled, told us it was no big deal. And managed not to frighten two little girls.
I was frightened now.
Ignoring the pain lancing through my back, I began shifting rubble. Throwing aside chunks of shattered roof and wall intermixed with merchandise from the automotive section. Cases of oil. Gallon jugs of coolant and wiper fluid, some intact, many popped like balloons. Smaller bottles of brake and transmission fluid. Finally I spotted the sleeve of a Hawaiian shirt beneath a raggedly torn piece of steel shelving. Shelving that had probably saved his life. I grasped it by one edge, dragged it away from him. Exposing a dirt-encrusted profile and kinky hair clotted with debris. A sky-blue shirt with monkeys and banana trees. Brown Bermuda shorts. And blood.
Too much blood. A crimson pool around his legs.
“Don’t move,” I said.
He either didn’t hear me or simply ignored me. Rolled onto his back as I was kneeling down beside him.
The change in position sent blood spurting upward from a deep gash on his leg. Spurting in rhythm with his heart.
I clamped my hands just above the wound, pressed down.
The flow of blood slowed.
By now, the sky had lightened and it was merely drizzling. That made it easier to see as I ran my eyes along Ed’s body, looking for other injuries. I found nothing obvious, but wasn’t particularly reassured by the cursory exam.
It was the best I could do.
My search ended at Ed’s face.
The rain was carving dark paths through his dusty mask. He was blinking, clearing it from his eyes as he turned his head slightly, taking in the devastation all around him.
He managed a smile just wide enough to expose a sliver of gold tooth.
“Like I said, we shoulda closed that front door.”
I forced myself to smile back.
“Yep, you were sure right about that,” I said.
Then I looked down at the wound again, at the amount of blood still welling up and spilling over Ed’s leg.
If I didn’t get us help soon, he was going to bleed to death.
With one of my hands still applying pressure to his leg, I stripped off my uniform shirt, exposing the vest and white T-shirt beneath it. After yanking my badge and nameplate from the uniform’s breast pocket, I used both of my hands to roll the shirt and bind it around Ed’s leg. Two spurts of blood later, and I had the ends of the shirt twisted together. Tightened them until the pressure slowed the bleeding to a trickle.
Arterial blood flows slower when it has to work its way uphill. With that in mind and my hands now free, I grabbed a board that had once been part of the counter, slid it beneath Ed’s injured leg and used a case of motor oil to create an incline.
“I’m going to get us some help,” I said. “I’ll just be a minute or two.”
I couldn’t have moved any faster than I did when I scrambled out of what had once been a building. As I forced my way through the rubble, the radio in my SUV periodically crackled to life. Broadcasting the dispatcher’s familiar voice demanding that I report in.
The storm had sent a two-by-four through my rear window and—though there were no trees in Ed’s lot—a heavy branch had taken out my Mars lights on its way to crushing my hood.
I leaned in on the passenger side, grabbed the microphone and called for immediate medical assistance. Gave dispatch the address.
Then I went back to Ed’s side.
Chad was the first on the scene.
Briefly, I wondered if the priority he’d placed on this particular emergency call was personal or professional. And then I realized I didn’t care. What I cared about was that he was here. Ready to help me as he always was.
He pulled his dark blue squad car in next to mine.
“Brooke!” he shouted.
His voice bordered on frantic.
“In here,” I yelled back.
I almost lifted a very bloody hand to wave to him.