Aaron shakes his head. “You better. We don’t have much time left.”
I wave him away and point to the bench to shut him up. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”
He glares as if he doesn’t know if I’ll pull through and then flashes me a grin before lying down on the bench. “Fine. Let’s do this.”
We’re just about to jump on the treadmills for some cardio when the tones drop, alerting our fire and medic teams of an emergency. Just like always, the alarm chiming through the speaker system fuels the first dose of adrenaline that pumps through my veins, and I’m hyper focused on all that comes next.
Our attention turns to the scrolling screen. Just by the red text, we know immediately we’re heading to a traffic accident. Of what caliber, we have no idea. That’s how the job is 98 percent of the time. Completely unpredictable. Mental preparedness is everything.
Instinct has us jogging through the narrow hallway, down to the main bay, and to our assigned vehicles. I grab my shirt off the side mirror of the ambulance, where I’d left it before my workout, and slip it on.
My paramedic counterpart today, Pete, climbs into the driver’s seat at the same time I hop into the passenger seat. We exchange a nod while listening to the communication coming from dispatch, which details the scene we’re about to approach. The gist of it—a foggy morning pileup on I-4. A mass-casualty incident. And we’re the fourth crew to be called out.
“Shit. This isn’t going to be pretty.” I mutter the words while I simmer with sympathy, nervousness, and passion in equal measure.
As proud as I felt serving in the army, this is where I’m meant to be. With this crew, at this station, jumping into an endless variety of situations to help those in need—it’s an honor beyond belief that I wouldn’t trade for the world.
Pete turns on the flashers and sirens then shifts into drive. A second later, we’re pulling onto E. Davis Boulevard, which is just a block away from Bayside Regional Hospital on Tampa’s Davis Islands. We’re a good four miles from this particular accident, but thanks to our location, we have a unique advantage to get to the front of the scene.
Pete maneuvers the city streets like a pro, flying past lavish Mediterranean-style buildings, pastel-colored condos, outdoor shopping centers, luxury marinas, and more. It’s a ritzy town— that’s for sure—but it also houses some of the best medical care in the world.
By the time we arrive at the scene, it’s clear why we were called. We’re going to need everyone we can get out here. There’s got to be countless injuries, with the most severe happening right where we’ll pulling up to park.
Holy fuck, what a disaster.
The traffic backup stretches beyond my line of vision. While one crew is already working to clear a temporary path for traffic to start moving, another is tending to injuries and a third is loading up a passenger on a stretcher to make a beeline for the hospital. And since we got called, two other stations got the alert too.
From what I can see at first glance, there are two rolled cars, several more totaled, and about a dozen fender benders. I hop out of the ambulance. Smoke is everywhere, the smell of burned rubber and oil overwhelming my senses. The sound of a saw comes from where the rescue squad is already sawing open the door of a car to retrieve an unconscious driver. Crying comes from near the car, loud sobs as a teenage girl waits to see if her mom is going to make it out of this alive.
“Moore! Jeffries!” Chief Boone calls. We look up to find him pointing to the rescue squad from about fifty feet away. “You’ll need the basket for transport. They’re ready for you now!”
And just like that, Chief moves his attention elsewhere. At a scene like this, amid so much chaos, he will be all over the place.
“You got this?” Pete calls to me, already jogging toward our mission.
“On it.” I unload the yellow basket stretcher, tuck it under my arm, and jog after him. At this point, my vision is a tunnel of exactly where I need to be while determining my quickest path to get there.
I weave around a collision near the shoulder and halt as a dark-haired woman trips over a bumper lying in the road and stumbles backward. Just before she teeters over and falls on her ass, I lurch into action and curl an arm beneath her to catch her.
She gasps and turns to me, her big green eyes just wide enough that I spot a swirl of gold within them. In a single glance, I can read her every emotion—surprise, fear, confusion, embarrassment. It’s just a split second, but I see it all. And that’s not all I see.
I see a rare beauty with thick brows, long, fluttering eyelashes, a cute button nose, strong cheekbones, and two perfectly luscious lips.
“Are you okay, miss?”
“Yes. I’m so sorry,” she says. “I was just…”
It’s my natural instinct to give the woman cradled in my arm a once-over to make sure she’s okay. That’s a mistake. She looks fine—better than fine. Maybe a little shaken up but that could have easily been caused by running into me. Either way, she’s a distraction that I need to tear myself away from immediately.
An internal chastising jars me back into hyper-focus mode. You have a job to do, Moore.
I start to lift her, steadying her until I’m certain she can stand on her own. “It’s best to leave this area clear so our emergency crews can get through.”
Her face darkens in a shade of obvious embarrassment. “I-I didn’t know I was in the way.” She backs up, wobbling a bit, but she’s able to steady herself just fine. “I was taking photos for—“
My hand rises to stop her as my gaze falls to the professional camera in her hands. Frustration rumbles through me. Taking in her pink-and-gray suit dress, I would bet money that she’s some sort of journalist or blogger. It all makes sense now.
My eyes narrow and meet hers again. “I can’t tell you to put your camera away, but you should know you’re only a distraction out here. There are lives at stake.”
Her face twists with more confusion. “But I—”
“Moore, get your ass over here!” Chief’s voice booms.
“Back to your car, miss.” My words come out much harsher than I intended, but I’ve dealt with the media enough to know how it works. They’ll do anything to get the money shot, even if that means standing in my way.
I level her with a stern look and a final message. “If you have to take your pictures, do it from the side of the road.”
Without another word, I step away from the woman and head toward the vehicle currently being sawed in half in hopes to salvage whatever lives we possibly can.
By the time we get to Bayside Regional, the bloodied man on my stretcher is in critical care. He’s unconscious with a bone protruding from his lower leg, and it seems he’s not the only one in dire need of help.
Looking around, it’s clear that this accident has become an all-hands-on-deck situation. Code T is the alert currently being transmitted over the emergency room speakers as Pete and I burst through the automatic sliding doors.
The adrenaline pumping through my veins has me moving quickly until I look up to find Beck Munroe, an internist and one of my closest friends, ready and waiting for the handoff.
“Open fracture, left lower leg, good pulse,” I call out from the head of the gurney. “I’ve administered two milligrams of Dilaudid,” I tell Beck, conveying the urgency of the man’s condition by my tone.