She began shouting at the bus driver to stop Davey as she took off running. The bus driver heard her and looked up just as Davey ran past his line of sight.
“Stop, Davey, stop!” he shouted, but it was too late.
Davey had darted between the back of the bus and the line of cars and ran right in front of the moving car.
The sudden screech of brakes, the sickening thud, and then the sounds of dozens of children screaming and crying filled the air. The first day of the new school year was beginning on a tragedy.
* * *
Avery Ames, the day dispatcher at the police station, sent out the call to all patrol cars, dispatched an ambulance, and then all kinds of sirens began sounding across town. They got word at the hospital of the impending emergency and began readying for a trauma patient.
* * *
Hunt was in the kitchen having breakfast when he heard the sirens. He frowned. Ambulance and police were heading somewhere fast. He hoped it wasn’t bad, and knew whatever it was, Ava would be in the thick of it.
Last night had been a gift—the beginning of a new way of life. He was in love, really in love, for the first time in his life. It had only taken him thirty-three years of living and less than a week in her presence to make it happen. The thought of belonging to someone again, like he’d once belonged to his family, was an unbelievable gift.
Now, the sound of sirens told him she was likely facing another hectic day. He hoped it was nothing serious, then finished his cereal, put the bowl in the sink, and went back to work. The walls were scraped down and patched, ready for paint. Today, it was all about scraping the woodwork and filling in the cracks with putty.
* * *
When the ambulance arrived at the ER, they were ready.
Davey Randolph was unconscious and bloody—and so small and too still as they rolled him in. An IV was already in place, and EMTs were giving valuable info to the waiting trauma team as they wheeled him into the first bay.
Ava was on duty and soon in the middle of it all, helping cut away the child’s clothing as Dr. Quick began assessing injuries. There was a large cut on the back of Davey’s head that was bleeding profusely. And it appeared he had, at the least, a broken arm, and maybe some broken ribs. But when Dr. Quick raised an eyelid to check for pupil reaction, and then checked the other eye as well, his focus shifted.
“Pupils fixed and dilated,” he said. “Get the portable X-ray in here stat. I need film…head, upper body, and pelvis.”
Ava recognized the child. She knew the parents. But she couldn’t let that matter. In a town the size of Blessings, every patient was someone she knew, and Davey Randolph’s life depended upon them doing their job.
When the tests and X-rays came back, it was painfully apparent he needed surgery they weren’t equipped to perform.
Dr. Quick began issuing new orders.
“Call Medi-Flight. Get a chopper here, stat. We need to get him to the medical center in Savannah. Ava, you and Rhonda continue to monitor his vitals. Let me know if anything changes. I have to talk to his parents.”
Both nurses were focused on the doctor’s orders and the job at hand, trying not to think about how close this child was to death. Trying not to think about the internal bleeding in Davey’s brain and belly and what would happen if they couldn’t stop it…if his brain swelled too much before they got him where he needed to be.
A couple of minutes later, a nurse came running.
“Medi-Flight en route. ETA about sixteen minutes.”
Chapter 9
Boyd Winston had been a pilot for Medi-Flight for twelve years. Every trip they made was to pick up someone in critical condition, and this trip was no exception. He’d heard the medics on board talking and knew the patient they were picking up this time was a child. But his job was to get there as quickly and safely as possible, and return the same way, making sure the patient had every opportunity to survive.
This was his first trip of the new year, and he didn’t want to start the year off losing a patient before he got them where they needed to go.
He was in constant contact with the hospital in Blessing all the way there, and radioed them when he was four minutes out. He’d flown to Blessings before, so when he finally came over the little town and glanced down at the helipad he was approaching, he was shocked when his vision suddenly blurred. And then panic struck as he felt the band of muscles begin tightening across his chest. When he broke out in a cold sweat, he knew what was happening, but he needed to get down before he passed out.
“Help me, God,” he muttered, then radioed to the hospital. “Coming in. Be advised. Pilot in distress.”
The EMTs behind him heard and leaped to their feet, shouting, “Boyd! Boyd! What’s wrong?”
Boyd just shook his head and, with every ounce of focus he had left, set the chopper down on the helipad, shut down the speed of the rotors, then grabbed his chest and passed out.
Dr. Quick was on the site when he heard the call.
“We can’t wait for another pilot to get here!” he said. “If I don’t act now, this child has no chance at all.”
Ava grabbed his arm. “We don’t have to wait! There’s a licensed chopper pilot right here in Blessings. Marjorie Knox’s oldest son flew helicopters for the army, and he’s employed by an oil company in Houston, flying oil workers back and forth to offshore rigs. He can do this!”
“Then call him!” Dr. Quick said.
Ava grabbed her phone and ran out into the hall, calling as she went. It rang once, then again, and again, and she was in a panic, afraid it would go to voicemail when she heard Hunt’s voice.
“Hey, how’s my favorite girl?”
“Hunt, we need you! A little boy was just hit by a car, and we need to get him to Savannah for emergency surgery or he’s going to die. The Medi-Flight pilot just landed the chopper and then passed out. We think heart attack. Please! Can you help? There’s no time to get another pilot here, and we’re not equipped to do this surgery.”
“Give me three minutes,” Hunt said, and disconnected.
He dropped what he was doing and ran out of the house, jumped on his Harley, and within seconds was on the street—racing to the hospital, taking back streets to avoid traffic to get there quicker.
Ava ran back. “He’s on the way!”
Dr. Quick nodded, but Davey’s vital signs weren’t as strong as they had been, and he was worried.
The pilot was unconscious and ashen as they wheeled him past her down the hall.
Davey’s parents were in hysterics, and the EMTs were arguing about the legalities of using some untried pilot when Hunt rolled up on the Harley.