In Case of Emergency by Courtney Moreno Read Free Book Online

Normandie Avenue and borders a nightclub. The club’s unlit neon sign, hanging over the entrance, reads DYNASTY , but everyone at A & O Ambulance calls the joint “Dy- nasty .” Ruth is inside the station, having her monthly meeting with the district supervisor, and as we soap up the rigwalls I think about the girl at Sustainable Living, imagining the day when she will choke on a piece of gum or a speared slice of honey crisp apple, and I will rush to save her—I will do perfectly executed abdominal thrusts—and she will collapse into my arms and stare soulfully into my eyes.
    “Ruth and I have a bet going about you,” Carl says, interrupting my reverie. “About whether you’re going to be a badge bunny.” He cocks his head and studies me. “Personally, I don’t think so. Not sure what it is about you, but I just don’t see it.”
    “What does Ruth think?” I’m careful to keep my voice casual, as if the answer won’t matter to me.
    “Ruth hates other girl EMTs. Most of them are husband-hunting or looking for uniforms to hook up with.”
    I wiggle my toes, feeling the hard plate in my steel-toed boots, and try to fight off my disappointment. Here I’ve had so much respect for her, and she’s making bets with her partner about how many firefighters I’ll sleep with.
    Carl gazes at the suds-filled bucket. “I can’t wait to be FD. I’m going to collect badge bunnies like baseball cards.”
    As I hose down the rig, Carl lectures me on how to endear myself to my training officer. When he tells me to steer clear of lady killer Vick, I grunt in frustration, but then he tells me that the real way to kiss ass is to start calling Ruth “ma’am.”
    “That’s ridiculous. I’m older than her!”
    “Not in EMS you’re not.”
    “I’m not calling her ma’am.”
    “Fine, don’t take my advice. But keep talking back like you have been, and you’re going to get yourself spanked.”
    We hang the wet towels on the low brick wall to dry them in the sun. I pour out the soapy water and we watch it spread, coating the parking lot, seeping into its cracks and potholes, pooling around the weeds.
    “Want to see something?” Carl asks. I wonder if he ever doesn’t havethat smirk on his face, the lopsided one that makes his right ear and right eyebrow lift higher than the other side. It’s impossible to hate him.
    He pulls out his phone and shows me a picture from a call he had last year. On the little screen, a dead woman lies on her side on a couch. At first glance it looks like she just slumped over and never sat back up, but then I notice that half of her face is gone. So much skin and muscle have been removed that one eye looks normal while the other stares out from the orbital of her skull. Perched above her, sitting on the couch’s backrest, is a small, fluffy white dog whose black eyes and pink tongue turn up toward the person taking the picture. But the cute face thrusts forward guiltily; the flat-eared expression belongs to an animal expecting punishment.
    I look up with a growing feeling of horror. “Did the dog…?”
    He nods, gleeful. “Her neighbors hadn’t seen her for a week, so someone called 911. We broke apart the door with an ax and went in there. She’d been down a while. Little Fluffy must have gotten hungry at some point.”
    I look back down at the phone. The woman looks withered and crumpled, a small pile of bones folded into a flower-patterned dress. Carl shouldn’t have this on his phone. Health care professionals aren’t supposed to share any information about patients, much less take pictures of them. “That’s a HIPAA violation,” I say. “You’re not allowed to do that.”
    Carl nods, his face mocking. “See, I knew I’d win that bet. You’re a pretty big nerd, Piper Gallagher.”
    The man reaches for me, lets his arm collapse back onto the gurney. I look around for Ruth; she’s near the front of the ambulance, craning her head to talk to Carl as he drives.
    “Baby