High Country- Pigeon 12 by Nevada Barr Read Free Book Online
Authors: Nevada Barr
was both comforting and exhilarating. Maybe because he ran interference for her when Wither was on a rampage. Maybe because of the sheer unremitting maleness of him.
"Hey! Get a move on," the chief ranger called again, and Anna was rescued from having to think about it.
"Ranger Knight, Nicky's having a little respiratory distress as well," she said to keep the girl near her.
"Bring her." Lorraine left the dining room.
Anna and Nicky looked to Tiny. Lorraine might be chief ranger but Tiny Bigalo was empress of the dining hall.
In the second miracle of the evening, she said: "Go, then." Anna thought Tiny would have expected employees to die on the job out of loyalty to the company.
"Respiratory problems," Lorraine said to the waiting EMTs. One of the rangers dropped back to look at Nicky. "We'll put you in the ambulance. Do you . . . ?" Before she could ask any of the diagnostic questions, Nicky was backing away.
"No. No. I'll come in my own car. I'm okay. I just. . . I might . . . I might need to see a doctor."
"You want me to come with you?" Anna asked, remembering the panic in the Nicky's eyes.
"No. You go. Please. Please. I'll get my car. I'll be right behind you." This last was delivered over her shoulder as she hurried from the dining room.
Since the busgirl wasn't to be carried out feet first after all, Anna thought Tiny might make her finish out her shift, but the headwaitress had already retreated into the kitchen, no doubt calling back the shift that had just clocked out. Anna glanced at her watch. The wedding party was late. Tiny hated that. Anna was glad she wasn't going to be around to collect the fallout.
"She going to be okay?" the EMT asked of Nicky.
Anna had seen no signs of difficulty breathing, disorientation, sweating or any other symptoms. "I guess so," she said. "I think she's mostly scared. Still, she'll need to be checked out."
"Yeah. They do that at the clinic."
Anna heard the huff in the ranger's voice and wondered at it till she realized she'd spoken not like a middle-aged, divorced, down-and-out waitress but as if she were the woman's district ranger. America's caste system was not immutable or state-sanctioned, but one did exist. Waitresses were frowned upon if they spoke with force or confidence regarding anything but the daily special. Inadvertently Anna had behaved as an equal, and the ranger was offended.
"Let's go," Lorraine ordered. "It'll be tight in the ambulance. You ride with me," she said to Anna. This time conscious of her place in the pecking order, Anna humbly followed the chief ranger, walking a half step behind as befitted her reduced circumstances. There was some satisfaction in knowing she'd earned this lesson in humility. Unthinkingly, she'd perpetrated the same subtle form of snobbery more times than she was comfortable remembering.
The clinic was small but well equipped. The staff was comprised of men and women who'd chosen this remote outpost in which to practice medicine not because they couldn't compete for jobs in the open market, but because they preferred the glories of Yosemite to the monetary rewards of the cities. Cricket was put on oxygen and the doctor was called from his home. By the time he arrived, Cricket was resting more easily and seemed out of immediate danger.
The rangers who'd responded to the 911 call told the doctor what they could of the incident. Anna once again chafed on the sidelines. When she could stand it no more, she bulled her way into the conversation to tell them she believed Cricket had been using an inhalant, probably marijuana or crack, and had suffered an adverse reaction either to the drug or to some additive of the drug. Her news was listened to politely but only taken seriously by Lorraine Knight.
Because of the life-threatening nature of any ailment that compromised breathing, it was decided Cricket would be transported to the hospital in Merced, an
"Hey! Get a move on," the chief ranger called again, and Anna was rescued from having to think about it.
"Ranger Knight, Nicky's having a little respiratory distress as well," she said to keep the girl near her.
"Bring her." Lorraine left the dining room.
Anna and Nicky looked to Tiny. Lorraine might be chief ranger but Tiny Bigalo was empress of the dining hall.
In the second miracle of the evening, she said: "Go, then." Anna thought Tiny would have expected employees to die on the job out of loyalty to the company.
"Respiratory problems," Lorraine said to the waiting EMTs. One of the rangers dropped back to look at Nicky. "We'll put you in the ambulance. Do you . . . ?" Before she could ask any of the diagnostic questions, Nicky was backing away.
"No. No. I'll come in my own car. I'm okay. I just. . . I might . . . I might need to see a doctor."
"You want me to come with you?" Anna asked, remembering the panic in the Nicky's eyes.
"No. You go. Please. Please. I'll get my car. I'll be right behind you." This last was delivered over her shoulder as she hurried from the dining room.
Since the busgirl wasn't to be carried out feet first after all, Anna thought Tiny might make her finish out her shift, but the headwaitress had already retreated into the kitchen, no doubt calling back the shift that had just clocked out. Anna glanced at her watch. The wedding party was late. Tiny hated that. Anna was glad she wasn't going to be around to collect the fallout.
"She going to be okay?" the EMT asked of Nicky.
Anna had seen no signs of difficulty breathing, disorientation, sweating or any other symptoms. "I guess so," she said. "I think she's mostly scared. Still, she'll need to be checked out."
"Yeah. They do that at the clinic."
Anna heard the huff in the ranger's voice and wondered at it till she realized she'd spoken not like a middle-aged, divorced, down-and-out waitress but as if she were the woman's district ranger. America's caste system was not immutable or state-sanctioned, but one did exist. Waitresses were frowned upon if they spoke with force or confidence regarding anything but the daily special. Inadvertently Anna had behaved as an equal, and the ranger was offended.
"Let's go," Lorraine ordered. "It'll be tight in the ambulance. You ride with me," she said to Anna. This time conscious of her place in the pecking order, Anna humbly followed the chief ranger, walking a half step behind as befitted her reduced circumstances. There was some satisfaction in knowing she'd earned this lesson in humility. Unthinkingly, she'd perpetrated the same subtle form of snobbery more times than she was comfortable remembering.
The clinic was small but well equipped. The staff was comprised of men and women who'd chosen this remote outpost in which to practice medicine not because they couldn't compete for jobs in the open market, but because they preferred the glories of Yosemite to the monetary rewards of the cities. Cricket was put on oxygen and the doctor was called from his home. By the time he arrived, Cricket was resting more easily and seemed out of immediate danger.
The rangers who'd responded to the 911 call told the doctor what they could of the incident. Anna once again chafed on the sidelines. When she could stand it no more, she bulled her way into the conversation to tell them she believed Cricket had been using an inhalant, probably marijuana or crack, and had suffered an adverse reaction either to the drug or to some additive of the drug. Her news was listened to politely but only taken seriously by Lorraine Knight.
Because of the life-threatening nature of any ailment that compromised breathing, it was decided Cricket would be transported to the hospital in Merced, an
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