Spotted Cats by William G. Tapply Read Free Book Online Page B

body. Lily patted it smooth and tucked the edges around him.
    ‘Any change?’ I said.
    She shook her head. ‘He’s breathing. Real slow. He—he doesn’t move. Brady, the blood…’
    ‘The ambulance is on its way.’
    At that moment we heard the siren, and a minute later the emergency vehicle slammed up to the gate, its high beams flashing. Its siren growled, then stopped. Three men leaped out. One was black and skinny. One was beefy and blond. The third could have been the second’s brother after a rigorous diet. All seemed very young. They wore white short-sleeved shirts with patches on the left shoulders. I went to the gate. It was ajar. The three men came in. The black one said, ‘Where is he?’
    I nodded backward. ‘There.’
    The thinner of the two blond men slid a wooden plank from the back of the van. It was about six and a half feet long and three feet wide, narrowed down to a foot at one end. The three of them hurried over to where Jeff lay. Lily, who was still crouched beside Jeff, stood up and backed out of their way. I moved beside her and hugged her against me. She put her arm around my waist.
    The EMTs squatted beside Jeff. The black guy, who seemed to be in charge, shone a penlight into Jeff’s eyes while one of the others strapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm. The way they had clustered around him, it was difficult to see clearly all that they did, and I couldn’t make out what they were saying to each other.
    After a minute or two the black man stood up. I could see that Jeff had been strapped on to the wooden board. His neck was immobilized in a rigid collar, and a strap around his forehead kept his head from moving. A green oxygen mask, with a white plastic inflated bag beneath it, covered his mouth and nose. They had put a gauze dressing on Jeff’s head. Dark blood stained it.
    The black EMT jogged back to the van. I hurried along behind him.
    ‘How is he?’ I said.
    Without turning around, he said, ‘He’s alive.’ I deduced he wasn’t interested in a conversation.
    He reached into the front of the van and pulled out the radio. ‘This is Orleans Car Nine,’ he said.
    ‘This is Cape Cod Hospital,’ came a fuzzy voice from inside the van. ‘The time is oh seven thirty-six. Go ahead, Orleans.’
    ‘We have a white male, sixty—He glanced at me, his eyebrows raised.
    ‘Fifty,’ I said.
    ‘Fifty,’ he said. ‘Head trauma. He’s comatose. Vital signs as follows: BP 180 over 110. Respirations twelve and shallow. Pulse ninety. Physical examination shows major depressed skull fracture, left temporal area, with bony fragments. Pupils dilated, gaze fixed to the left.’
    I glanced back to where Jeff had fallen. The other two EMTs had lifted him, board and all, on to a stretcher and were lugging him towards the van at a trot. Lily straggled along behind them.
    ‘He’s boarded. Full C-spine precautions have been taken.’
    The EMTs slid Jeff into the back of the ambulance. Then they jumped in behind him. The doors slammed.
    ‘We’re initiating an IV line of Ringer’s Lactate. Preparing to intubate. ETA nineteen minutes. Suggest neurosurgery be ready.’
    Their radio crackled. A voice said. ‘We copy, Car Nine. We’ll be expecting you.’
    ‘Here we come,’ said the black man. He leaped into the van.
    ‘Where are you taking him?’ I said.
    ‘Hyannis. Cape Cod Hospital.’
    He slammed the door. The siren grumbled, then screamed. Gravel spewed from the tyres.
    We stood there for a few moments, staring down the driveway, listening to the wail of the siren grow dimmer. When the sound died, the silence seemed vast.
    Lily had her arm around my waist. She was leaning against me. I felt that if I moved, she’d topple over. After a while she sighed. ‘Well…’
    ‘That was impressive,’ I said.
    ‘They came and went. It seemed like just an instant.’ She shuddered.
    ‘Are you all right?’
    I sensed her nodding. ‘Yes.’ Her voice was soft but firm. ‘I’m OK.