Race to Refuge

Chapter Three: Charlie

Charlie

I finished my new-employee orientation at the hospital. It was as boring as I'd figured it would be and I was ready to move on to the rest of my first day on the job. The reason I'd switched from being a salesman to being a paramedic was because I was ready for more excitement. The sales job, despite all the travel...the endless airports and planes...just wasn't providing that.

I joined my new coworker, Wes, at the ambulance parked in the hospital lot. We shook hands. He grinned at me and arched an eyebrow. "How was orientation?"

"Boring," I admitted with a laugh. "I was ready to get out of there."

Wes shook his head. "Just be aware that this job is ninety-five-percent total boredom."

I asked, "And five percent adrenaline, right?"

Wes said, "We go on tons of calls where no emergency help is required at all. We think we're about to get rescued from a dull shift, but then it ends up being something like a fender bender and somebody with a couple of scratches." He glanced at his watch. "We'd better get in the truck. Do you want to drive?"

I hesitated. I'd thought I'd really be more observing today. "Do you want me to?"

"I've been driving my last couple of shifts and could use the break. Do you mind?" Wes was already heading to the passenger seat.

For about thirty minutes, I could see what Wes was talking about. Nothing was going on in this town. Apparently everyone was driving safely, using excellent fire and stove safety, and treading carefully down staircases. Wes closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window. While sitting there waiting for a call I started checking the gig for equipment and familiarizing myself with where everything was. "Wake me up if anything happens, okay?" Wes mumbled.

Then something did happen. Our computer console on the dashboard notified us of a call. "Hey Wes," I said. "I think we're about to have our five percent excitement for the day."

Wes became fully alert quickly and his eyes scanned the data terminal for more information as I started up the truck to drive to the scene. "Huh. This sounds like a weird one, too. You always remember your first call, but this one sounds like one to remember anyway. The 911 call says some man was attacked by a person who started gnawing on him. Victim is in bad shape and needs transport to the nearest hospital."

"A person started gnawing on them?" The siren was going and my blood was pounding. It felt good to be here, good to be on my way to help out. This was what I craved.

"That's what it says. Someone mentally disturbed I guess. The neighbors came out and chased him off and called the cops." Wes's voice was uncertain. "You know, I thought I heard something on the news on the way over here. A similar report somewhere else."

"Maybe some kind of weird gang activity? Like an initiation or something?" I asked.

Wes just shook his head. The rest of the time he only spoke to let me know when the intersection was clear on the way to the scene, just a few blocks away.

It was a quiet neighborhood—ordinarily. But today was different. It looked like all of the people who lived there were either standing out in the street watching what was unfolding, or else they were looking out of their windows and doors. Their faces were tight and scared.

We pulled up, lights still going on top of the ambulance and hopped out, running with a jump bag and stretcher to the victim who was surrounded by a group of people.