EMT

EMT

Author's Note: I received a lot of very kind emails after publishing Hit and Run. Some told me they were glad to see me back. Unfortunately, I'm not back. I'm still blocked, but I have been finishing up stories that were in various stages of development when I lost the urge to write.

This one is shorter than usual, but I think the character development sets the stage for the ending. I'll keep plugging away when I can, but until then, I do appreciate all of the heartfelt concern. Hope you enjoy this one.

******

"ETA one minute!" the driver called out.

Ryan Ellis was 25 and had been an EMT for just seven months, while the other man he was teamed with had been on the job for six years. Neither of them had ever dealt with the aftermath of an Amber Alert gone wrong, but they were now less than a minute away from a vehicle carrying a young boy and his father, a man who'd lost custody of his child two years earlier.

"Stand by!" they heard the driver holler, meaning he was braking for the accident scene.

The moment the vehicle stopped he yelled out, "Clear!"

The two EMTS, or rather one EMT and a paramedic, jumped out.

Ryan saw three potential patients. A man of maybe 35 or 40 who'd been ejected from the vehicle, what looked to be a pedestrian who'd been struck by the car--possibly when it flipped--and a boy who appeared to somehow be pinned under the vehicle.

"I'll take the pedestrian. You get the kid under the car!" Ryan's partner called out after the other man assessed the situation for all of two seconds which was more than he needed.

"Roger that," Ryan replied.

He grabbed his bag, ran to the car, then knelt down. Unable to get a clear view, he laid flat on the pavement and then saw the boy.

"It's gonna be okay," the EMT told him when he realized the boy was conscious.

"I can't move," the boy, who looked to be maybe nine or ten, weakly called out.

"That's okay. We'll get you out of here. I promise!"

Ryan had gone to college for a semester after being discharged from the Air Force where he did a four-year stint. It took less than six months for him to realize that sitting in a classroom wasn't for him. Or rather it wasn't worth it if it meant a lifetime of sitting in some cubicle after he got a degree.

He'd been a Combat Controller for nearly all of his enlistment, and had been on one 90-day deployment to Afghanistan. Things had largely wound down by then, but the word 'almost' meant 'not completely.'

During a routine patrol, his team was ambushed. Fortunately, the enemy only had a few AK-47s, so there was no machine gun or RPG fire. The ensuing firefight was brief but incredibly intense. It lasted less than a minute but that seemed to go on for a lot longer as the team put out just over 200 rounds while killing the three attackers. No team member was hurt, and that was the first, last, and only combat Airman First Class Ellis had ever seen.

He made sergeant just before leaving active duty and decided to use the GI Bill and go to college. His heart wasn't really in it, but it would buy him time to figure what he wanted to do, and with any luck, he'd make up for a lot of lost time where women were concerned.

Academically, it was a lot easier than he'd expected it to be. Then again, it was a community college and he was taking four intro courses that could later be applied to almost any major.

Socially, however, it was a kind of sexual Mecca. That was basically true for most young men but especially so for a guy as good looking as him. He and his roommate took turns, or as often as not, shared their small one-room apartment with whatever girl or girls they met that evening who later came home with them.

Like school, that too, got boring after the first four months or so. With the exception of those times he'd been deployed, he'd had decent luck with women while in the Air Force, and this sudden burst of nearly non-stop sex had been a welcome relief. He didn't know what he wanted where either academics or women were concerned, but he knew he didn't want much more of mindless sex, and that's all he'd had. He wasn't complaining. He'd enjoyed every young woman he'd made love to. It was more that just having sex wasn't enough.

The decision to change course, literally and figuratively, came shortly after he attended a job fare on campus just before the Winter Break of that first semester. Jobs were plentiful, and he had a part-time gig of his own, but these were more careers than jobs. He hadn't been thinking about a career because he honestly had no idea where to even look when he began walking around and stopping in at various booths. One in particular caught his attention.

"You interested in being an EMT or a paramedic?" a man of about 35 and dressed in a white shirt with black pants asked, a bright, shiny red and white emergency vehicle parked maybe 15 feet behind him.

"I dunno," Ryan told him honestly, as that was also something he'd never thought about.

"Do you like action?" the other man asked with a smile. "You know, high intensity, get your heart rate into high gear kind of action?"

Ryan recalled the firefight and how he'd never felt more alive as he and the other members of his team pumped out two magazines each toward the source of enemy fire. When it was over, he'd been on an adrenalin high for a couple more hours and found himself secretly hoping to experience that feeling again--only without AK-47 rounds being fired back at him.

"Yeah. I guess maybe I am," he told the man who introduced himself as Dave, his right hand held out.

Ryan was young, healthy, and fit, and while he knew COVID was extremely dangerous for certain groups of people, he also knew he wasn't one of them. COVID preyed on those with pre-existing conditions called 'co-morbidities' like morbid obesity, diabetes, asthma, the elderly, and those with compromised immune systems.

Those concerns aside, Ryan shook the man's hand then asked Dave how long he'd been an EMT.

"Twelve years and counting," he proudly old the younger man. "Technically, I was an EMT for five years and have been a paramedic the last seven. And the best part is I still love it."

He smiled then said, "Like the saying goes, 'Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life'."

Before Ryan could ask a question, Dave said, "How about you? What are you looking to do after college?"

Ryan thought for a moment and realized he had no idea.

"I'm not sure. I'm just finishing my first semester and really have no idea."

"You look a little older than most of the other freshmen. You former military?"

"I am," Ryan replied before giving a very short summary of his past.

"Ah, okay. Air Force but a CCT. That tells me a lot."

CCT stood for Combat Control Team or Combat Controller in the singular. The Air Force's definition of what a CCT did was: American special operations forces who specialize in all aspects of air-ground communication, including air traffic control, fire support, and command, control, and communications in covert, forward, or austere environments. They, along with Para-rescue Jumpers or PJs, were the closest things the Air Force had to Special Ops troops.

"I was an Army Ranger back in the day," Dave told him. "After I got out I felt...lost. I needed something that provided that adrenalin rush I got every time I was downrange."

Ryan knew that 'downrange' was an Army term for being deployed to a hostile place or in peacetime, just being deployed.

"I take it this fills the bill," Ryan replied with a little laugh.

"Yeah. It definitely does that. I'm not gonna sugar coat it. You'll see some pretty gruesome things, but if you've been in combat and seen you know, ...."

He didn't say, "Dead or charred bodies," and didn't have to.

Ryan had seen the three men he and his team killed in self defense, and as inhumane as it may have sounded to anyone else, he'd never felt the slightest twinge of guilt.

"I'm guessing the flip side is when you save lives or help people out."

Dave tilted his head, winked, then said, "You got that right. And either way you still get that same rush. Or at least I do."

He saw Ryan looking around, so he asked, "You interested?"

"Yeah. I think I am," Ryan told him before Dave spent nearly an hour talking about the required training as well as the job itself and also explaining the difference between an EMT and a paramedic. The only interruptions came when another student stopped to ask a quick question or take a brochure.

The former only required completing a course that, in some states, was only a year long while an additional 1,200 to 1,800 hours of experience was required to become the latter.

"Sign me up!" Ryan quipped when Dave wrapped things up. It was a spur of the moment decision, but it felt more right than anything he'd decided to do since leaving active duty.

"This college has an EMT program, but you'll need to sign yourself up. When you get your certificate, come see me, and I'll hook you up even if you won't be working with me personally."

Ryan thanked him, shook his hand again, and now knew where to go to get the certification training he'd need. He made a beeline toward the building in the distance and a minute or so later he was standing in front of a counter waiting for someone to look his way.

With the semester ending, it was a snap to sign up for the required courses for EMT training and say goodbye to Psychology 101, Intro to Western Philosophy, World History, and pre-Calculus. As he left the building, he finally had a sense that his life might soon have some sort of meaning and purpose again. And with that in mind, he decided it might not be so bad to celebrate by finding a hot, young girl to commemorate the event with him.

As he looked again at the boy pinned under the vehicle, he couldn't believe his mind had raced through the last couple of years in less than a few seconds. But it had, and now he still had to figure out how to get him out.

As he assessed the situation Ryan asked, "Can you tell me your name?" even though he already knew it from the police reports coming into the EMT vehicle.

"Noah," the boy quietly whimpered.

"Noah. Cool name. I'm Ryan, and I'm gonna get you out of here."

"My leg really hurts," Noah said, barely audible above the din surrounding them.

"Sorry, buddy. But as soon as we get you out of here, you'll feel a lot better."

Ryan knew that wasn't going to be true until he'd been treated at a local hospital, but this was one of those times when support mattered more than brutal honesty.

"Is my mom coming?" Ryan heard Noah ask.

"Um...yeah. She'll be here soon," he said, lying again to help keep Noah from going into shock.

"Listen, I'm gonna run around the vehicle and come over to where you are, okay? I'll just be a sec!"

Ryan knew what to do and now had a plan. He was going to run it by his partner, but he was fully engaged with the pedestrian who was unconscious and bleeding from a head wound. He couldn't quite piece the 'how' of the accident together, so for the time being he focused on what he could do--getting Noah out.

He knelt back down near Noah, asked the boy how he was doing, surveyed the scene from that angle, then told him he'd be right back again.

In just seconds Ryan had a pneumatic jack from the ambulance in hand after attaching the other end to a small-but-powerful air compressor that was reachable through a side panel. It had 50 feet of hose, and although Ryan only needed about 30 feet, he unravelled the whole thing to ensure it didn't kink up on him.

Now back in place he slid the jack under the vehicle next to the boy then said, "This'll be a little loud, but it's gonna raise the car up, okay?"

Ryan couldn't hear the faint reply of, "Okay," as he doubled checked the jack's location before pressing a button on the control panel in his hand.

The EMT could see that the boy's leg was pinned under a tire, but it didn't look like it had been crushed or even broken. If that was true Noah might just be okay as soon as the weight holding him down was removed.

He watched ever so carefully as the jack slowly made contact with the car before he stopped it to reassess. Everything looked good so he gave it another go. The metal creaked, and slowly but surely the vehicle began to rise. Once he could see a small gap between the car and Ryan's leg he stopped again as going higher wouldn't make getting the boy out any easier but might cause something to go wrong and possibly crush him.

He set the control panel down then reached underneath with both arms and grabbed Noah by the armpits and began to pull. Noah's body moved, so Ryan pulled a little harder. He was almost clear when there was a loud noise and the car suddenly crashed back down to where it had been before only this time with the metal frame on Noah's lower leg.

Ryan's brain couldn't make the connection between the sickening thud, the car's collapse, Noah's screams or the profanity coming from just a couple of feet away. Even so, he knew something was very wrong.

"What the fuck did you do?" Ryan finally heard someone close to him holler as he strained to see if Noah was still alive.

"I...I just...I don't know. I was backing up, and that...."

He pointed at the control panel then finished.

"That was under my foot. I had no idea...."

The other firefighter was responsible for this rookie, but he hadn't been paying attention when the 'newbie' started moving backward. That brief lapse may have just killed someone, and the veteran firefighter felt like he might vomit. He'd seen death before and even a dead child, but he'd never been responsible for anyone's death.

There was no time to wallow in self pity or even chew the younger man's ass. He needed to act.

The firefighter leaned down and said to the EMT, "Is he alive?"

"Yes," Ryan called out as he tried to calm himself. Noah's lower leg had been crushed, and Ryan could see bone as well as blood pooling around the injury.

"What can I do?" the other man asked.

Ryan asked him to try raising the jack again, and the man knew enough to go very slowly. By the time they got Noah out it Ryan's worst fears were confirmed. There was a serious compound fracture in which one end of the jagged tibia was exposed. Noah had mercifully lost consciousness and was unaware of what was happening to him.

The firefighter helped Ryan get the boy up on a gurney as the paramedic ran over and began giving orders. In spite of the very real life and death situation, Ryan was even more sure he wanted to be a paramedic. He already had nearly a hundred hours under his belt, but he'd need another 1,400 just to qualify. But that had to wait as this young man's life was now literally in his hands.

"Where's my son!" a woman began screaming.

A police officer recognized her from a photo he'd seen of her and her son that was shotgunned out during the Amber alert and told her Noah was being put in the ambulance.

"Is he okay? Is he alive?" the woman demanded to know, now in shock as she saw her boy's little body on the gurney.

"He's alive, and they're doing everything they can. Cmon. You should be able to see him before they take him to the hospital."

The woman was shaking even though it was 72 degrees outside.

"Noah! Noah, are you okay?" she yelled as she pulled away from the police officer and ran to her son.

"Ma'am? Please stay back!" Ryan said, stopping her a couple of feet from the gurney.

"How is he? Is he hurt bad?" the woman asked, craning her neck to look past Ryan.

"He has a compound fracture of the lower right leg. We don't know about internal bleeding or anything else."

"Oh, my God!" the woman screamed as she began crying then sobbing.

"I need to help your son, but you can ride with us if you'd like. Just give me some time, all right?"

The woman didn't hear a word. She just stood there crying and shaking before remembering how all this started.

"Where is he?" she screamed again.

"He's right there. On the gurney!" the police officer told her.

"No! Not him. Where is my son of a bitch ex-husband who kidnapped my son?" she wailed.

The woman turned toward the wreckage and saw two police officers draping a sheet over a body.

"The uh, the suspect...your ex-husband...was...killed," the officer told her. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Sorry? Screw him!" she said before the realization hit her that in spite of all he'd done to her and the way he'd hurt their son, she wasn't glad he was dead. Relieved? Perhaps. But not rejoicing.

As much as she hated him for what he'd done (and for all that he'd done to her and their son in the past) she couldn't hate him anymore. It was finally over. She, too, had a flurry of memories from the first time they met through their wedding to Noah's birth. In all of them, the man she'd loved but came to hate was smiling in that way that had always made her weak in the knees and...wet...somewhere else.

The change had been slow and gradual, and by the time she realized what was going on, it was too late. Her husband had been cheating on her for over a year, claiming to be working late while being with some other, younger woman.

Lisa Otremba, pronounced oh-TREM-buh, was 38 years old and still a very attractive woman. She'd never let herself go and had regularly spent hours in spinning and yoga classes to keep herself looking her best. She also dressed nicely and often found herself initiating the lovemaking she craved at least as much as her former husband.

So why he'd done that to her was the only question she had after she confronted him one evening and he confessed his wrongdoing after Noah had gone to bed.

"Because I could," he calmly told her, a little smirk on his face.

She understood what he meant. He was a very attractive man, and he was now making a lot of money. Women were attracted to him, and while it had always concerned her a little, she trusted him completely. But she knew quite well that anytime the urge hit him he'd have no trouble finding a beautiful, younger woman to bed.

She also knew her husband well. He loved new challenges and trying new things. Even so, ignorance was bliss until the evidence was so overwhelming she could no longer pretend all was well.

She was hurt and angry, but Lisa wasn't shocked. He was just as calm when he told her a few seconds later, "I'll go pack a few of my things."

He turned around as he went to head upstairs then said, "You can have the house. And Lease?"

He called her that whenever he was being tender, but hearing him say it then only made her angrier.

"It wasn't personal, okay?"

He paused then smirked, "Hey. Tell Noah I'm really sorry about all this, too, will ya?"

There was that smug look again. She glared at him until he turned back around then sat there and boiled until the anger passed and turned to sadness then cried until she couldn't cry another tear. Her last thought before falling asleep around 4am was that she would have to tell her son that his father had walked out on them, and had she not been so exhausted she'd have cried some more.

As difficult as that had been Noah was really too young to understand the dynamics of his parents' relationship. And now, although he was at or close to the age where he could understand death, Lisa was acutely aware that her son barely knew his father. He'd never been much of a dad to their son, and after the divorce, had lost custody of Noah two years ago. Since then he'd asked to stop by a grand total of three times in those 24 months and only showed up once. Still, this was his father.

For now she was happy that her son was alive, but that happiness lasted only until she looked at him again and tried not to cry when one of the EMTs told her she could come inside.

"Can you tell me anything?" she asked the two men she now shared the ambulance with as they continued working on her son.