Ryan held her breath as she squeezed into the narrow space between the front
of the semi and the R.A. Crawling on the ground, she pulled her knees in and
slowly stood up. "Okay, I’m in," she called to the others, her eyes still
down. C’mon, Ryan, you can do this…you can do this, she thought to herself,
not wanting to see how badly Bell was injured. She took a deep breath and
looked into the cab.
"How is he?" Durfee asked.
Ryan could feel at least a dozen pairs of eyes on her as she reached her hand
through the smashed window. "Hang on…" she answered softly. The steering
wheel had been pushed forward, and Bell’s head rested against it. Blood
streaked his face from a large gash near his temple, small paths tracing over
his eyes and down his chin to his neck. His lips were parted a little, and
more blood trickled from the side of his mouth. His left shoulder looked out
of place, too far forward…definitely dislocated, and glass from the driver’s
side window had impacted to form a long laceration down the length of his
arm, Ryan noted.
She couldn’t see over the sill of the window, and she stood up on her tiptoes
to look further inside. She leaned her head in, almost until it touched
Bell’s face, and looked down. Oh, damn, she thought, as she saw the blood
pouring through the leg of his jumpsuit. It was torn, burst open just above
the knee, and Ryan could see dull white bone protruding through the material.
The dashboard on that side was pressed down, obviously from the weight of the
pole. Ryan squinted…she couldn’t tell if it was stanching the worst of the
bleeding there or making it worse. She paused for a moment, letting herself
concentrate on Bell’s breathing…she could barely feel the short, shallow
exhalations against her face.
Ryan catalogued the injuries in her mind. Head and leg looked like the worst,
not counting the serious possibility of spinal damage or the almost certain
internal injuries. Bell was in bad shape…very bad shape, and Ryan fought to
quell her rising fear.
She cleared her throat. "Okay," she pulled her head from the cab, "here’s
what we got : serious head laceration, and another deep one running down his
left arm. Left shoulder is dislocated, the arm doesn’t look crushed, but it’s
probably broken in a couple of places…left leg looks very bad, compound
fracture and a lot of bleeding and…the femur is protruding…um…the dashboard
is pressing down on it pretty hard, but the artery might have been nicked…I
don’t know," she recited, "the steering wheel is pressing into his abdomen
and chest," she looked over the wreckage at the Captain and Wick, "it’s too
tight for me to get my hand in there, we’ll need to pull it back…so I can
check his lungs and ribs."
Ryan ended her litany quietly and looked back to Bell. There was nothing but
silence for what seemed like an eternity, and she strained to hear Bell
breathing. Please don’t wake up now, please don’t wake up now, she prayed.
Durfee broke the shocked silence. "Okay…let’s get the door off, then we’ll
start on the steering wheel," he ordered, his voice quiet but firm,
"everybody else, keep working on moving that damn truck. Let’s move!"
Ryan could hear people running back to their positions, gathering equipment
and working. "What do you need in there, Ryan?" Durfee asked.
Ryan swallowed down a hysterical laugh. There was just so much that she
needed…but, most of all, she needed Bell out of the rig. Now. "Electric saw…I
could use some extra hands, too."
Wick looked at her. "I’ll go around to the back."
Durfee looked for someone small to fit into the tiny space with Ryan.
"Carla!"
The young woman ran over. "Get in there and help Ryan." Durfee ordered. She
nodded and got to her hands and knees, sliding under the twisted metal. Ryan
leaned over, taking her hand and guiding her up. Carla looked at Bell. "Oh my
god," she whispered.
"He looks bad, I know…but just…just try shut it down, okay?" Ryan said
firmly. "We need to concentrate on our jobs and get him out. Don’t think
about it being Bell in there, just do your job."
Carla nodded and swallowed. "Yeah."
"Here’s the saw!" Durfee called out. Carla grabbed onto it and adjusted her
helmet.
Ryan pointed to the hinge of the door. "Let’s start here – you cut, and I’m
gonna keep him steady, okay? You got about five inches between the door and
his leg, so don’t push it in too far." She put her hand on Carla’s shoulder.
"And if I squeeze, then that means he’s waking up, so shut it down as fast as
you can and stand back, got it?"
"Okay." Carla switched the saw on, wincing as the engine’s noise flooded the
air. Ryan carefully reached through the window and placed her hand over the
neckbrace, ready to hold Bell down if he woke up. She could see Wick reach
through the little window from the back of the rig, his hand flat against
Bell’s back.
"Do it." Ryan ordered. The saw hit the metal with a high-pitched whine, and
Ryan resisted shutting her eyes. Instead, she kept her gaze on Bell’s face,
focusing for any signs that he was regaining consciousness.
Ryan glanced at her watch. Three minutes. "How am I doing?" Carla shouted.
Ryan spotted Wick peeking through the window. "Good, good. I can see the tip
coming through the door now!" he shouted back. "All right, all right, you’re
in…keep it steady!"
Carla guided the saw downward, and Ryan felt her fingers curl more
protectively over the neckbrace. "Stay unconscious, Bell, please stay
unconscious," she muttered softly.
"I’m almost done!" Carla called. One of the other firefighters reached over
to grip the top of the door as the last hinge was broken. Ryan, keeping one
hand on Bell, grabbed the side of the door as it started to swing out. Carla
shut off the saw and laid it down, then the three slowly lifted it from the
rig. Other hands reached to help clear it away.
"Okay, door’s off!" someone shouted.
"Carla, switch sides with me here." Ryan ordered. They squeezed past each
other, and Ryan kneeled to take a better look at Bell’s leg. Ryan flinched as
she saw the blood pooled on the floor of the rig. "Aw, jeez…someone better
call County General and get some O-neg sent down here!" she called.
"I’m on it!" Durfee answered.
"Ryan…Ryan?" Carla grabbed her shoulder hard. "Ryan, I think he’s waking up!"
"Stay down, man! Bell, don’t move!" Wick said loudly.
Ryan struggled up. "Carla, move over, get on some gloves and put pressure on
his leg."
"Okay…" Carla responded nervously.
Ryan leaned into the cab and put one hand on Bell’s arm and the other near
his head. His eyes were still closed, but she could see them fluttering open,
and a soft groan escaped his lips. Ryan shook her head. No, no, don’t wake
up, don’t wake up yet, Bell, she thought desperately.
"Wick, come back over here," she said quietly. His arm disappeared back
through the window. "Sssshhh, ssshhh…it’s okay, Michael, it’s okay…" she
murmured softly, stroking the back of Bell’s head.
"Ryan." Wick said, his voice quiet but sharp. "Ryan?"
Kathleen waited a moment and held her breath, watching Bell’s face relax back
into unconsciousness. She turned to face Wick. "I think he’s out."
He nodded, relieved. "Good…here, take the bag." He handed her a large bag of
equipment. "Can you get his vitals?"
"Yeah, give me a minute." Ryan felt around the bag, latching on to a
stethoscope and a blood-pressure cuff. Leaning further into the cab, she
eased his right arm down from the dashboard, attached the cuff, and started
to take a reading.
"I’m going to get on the line with County General, okay?" Wick asked.
"Yeah, hang on…I’m almost done," Ryan frowned at his BP. "Carla, how ya doing
down there?"
"Um…he’s still bleeding…a lot." she answered.
"County, this is Rescue 77, come in." Wick handed a saline I.V. to Ryan as he
spoke into the headset.
"Rescue 77, this is County…we have been advised of your situation…how’s Bell?"
Wick swallowed, relieved that the hospital had already been informed.
"County, copy that, he’s in bad shape. One serious head laceration, another
severe laceration in the right wrist, left shoulder is dislocated, left arm
has large laceration-"
"It’s broken, too, Wick." Ryan called to him.
"Okay, left arm is broken, we also have a possible crush injury to the left
femur, definite compound fracture, and bleeding is heavy. BP is…" he looked
at Ryan.
"90 over 70…resps are shallow and I think the right lung may be collapsed.
I’d estimate at least 2 pints blood loss, also." Ryan pulled the stethoscope
from her ears.
"90 over 70, resps shallow, right lung may be collapsed, 2 pints blood loss.
Victim remains unconscious. Oxygen is in, one saline I.V. is in, please
advise, over." Wick finished and took a breath.
"We copy that, 77." There was a pause. "77, how long before he can be
extracted from the vehicle?"
Wick shook his head and looked on as several firefighters began work to clear
the pole from the hood. "County, scene of the accident is…extreme…I can’t say
how long…maybe another 45 minutes?"
"County, copy." There was another pause. "All right, Wick, listen up. The
lung and the leg sound like the worst. Keep him still, and do not…I repeat,
do not let him go into shock, okay? Keep him warm…we’ve got the O-neg headed
your way, start transfusing ASAP. Keep us advised."
Wick sighed. "Rescue 77, copy that."
"Well?" Ryan asked.
"The usual, don’t let him go into shock…not a whole hellava lot we can do
until he’s out." Wick answered. He rubbed his hand over his eyes, trying to
ignore his impatience and anger at not being able to help more.
Ryan cleaned the wound on Bell’s head, gently wiping away the blood. She
taped a bandage over the gash, smoothing it with care. "You okay, Wick?"
He looked at her and laughed. "Are you?"
Ryan turned and looked at him, annoyed. "Wick-"
"Hey." Durfee’s voice cut through the growing tension. "We’re ready to get
rid of this…" he laid his hand on the pole. "Are you ready?"
"Yes."
"Hang on, till I get ‘round back."
Ryan patted Carla on the back. "Keep his leg still, okay?"
Carla swallowed, trying to think of where to place her hands. So much blood…
"Here…and here…keep it steady." Ryan took Carla’s hands and positioned them
on Bell’s leg. "You’re doing fine, Carla."
"Okay."
Durfee signalled the others. "Wick, you ready?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Let’s do it!"
****
Ryan watched as the Engine 32’s crane was positioned over the hood of the
R.A. With a loud hum, the pulleys attached were pulled upward, lifting the
pole away from the rig. The weight of the R.A. shifted, and Ryan tightened
her grip on Bell’s shoulders.
"Ryan!" Carla cried out.
Ryan quickly looked down. Blood was pouring freely from the leg wound,
flowing in between Carla’s fingers as she frantically applied pressure.
"Damn," Ryan cursed. "Wick, keep him down!"
"What’s goin’ on?" he shouted at her.
Durfee ran over. "What’s the matter?"
"He’s bleeding out, Cap…hand me that bag over there!" Ryan asked sharply.
Durfee shoved the bag towards her, and she grabbed a bandage, making a
tourniquet around the top of the wound. She flinched for Bell as she tied it
off.
"Oh, god…" Carla uttered, her voice trembling, "that was a lot of blood,
wasn’t it, Ryan?"
Fumbling with the scissors for a moment, Ryan began to cut off as much of the
leg of the jumpsuit as she could, preparing to partially splint it. "Yes,
yes, it was." she answered softly, "Captain, where’s that O-neg?"
"E.T.A. is three minutes, Ryan. How’s he doin’?" Durfee asked, watching her.
Ryan laughed mirthlessly. "Well, we just seem to be going from bad to worse
here…" She carefully wrapped the splint and stood up, moving behind Carla to
look Durfee in the eyes. She tried to speak quietly. "He doesn’t have a lot
of time. We need that truck outta the way and that steering wheel gone now."
Durfee nodded. "Truck is too heavy for one crane, we’re waiting on another –
it’s coming as fast as it can, I swear to you, Ryan," he said, holding up his
hands. "Can you move him back at all?"
Ryan shrugged. "Not much choice, is there? We need to get that steering wheel
outta the way." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Durfee reached over and put a hand on her arm. "We’re gonna get him out,
Ryan."
Ryan nodded, her eyes still closed. "I know…" she blinked and opened her
eyes, hoping she had pushed back all the tears. She shook her head and smiled
apologetically. "I’m glad he’s not awake," she said, her voice just above a
whisper, "I don’t want him to wake up here…he’ll be in a lot of pain…"
Durfee squeezed her arm. "Okay, Ryan…it’s okay." He sighed. "You got enough
room to take off the steering wheel?"
"We’ll see," she answered grimly, "But we need to move him first, give us a
minute, okay?"
"Yeah." Durfee gave her arm a last, gentle squeeze.
Ryan moved back behind Carla. "Okay, folks…we need to sit him up." Ryan
patted Carla on the back. "I want you to keep an eye on his leg, keep it
still…let me and Wick do the work, okay?"
"Yeah."
Ryan leaned into the cab. "Wick?"
His arm reached through the window again. "He okay?"
Ryan touched his hand. "Leg started to bleed out…I had to splint it, make a
tourniquet."
"We don’t get him outta here soon, he’s gonna lose that leg."
"I think that’s the least of our worries…you ready to pull him back?"
Wick positioned his hand on Bell’s back, latching onto the bottom of the
neckbrace. "You push from the front, and I’ll guide you back."
"Okay, just keep him straight." Ryan leaned as far as she could into the cab
of the rig, carefully putting her hands on Bell’s shoulders. Ryan could feel
the dislocation of the left shoulder and winced, knowing she could make the
injury worse with the movement. "All right, on three…1…2…3!" She braced
herself and pushed, her arms supporting Bell’s weight. "Oh, boy…" she
grunted. Guess it’s been awhile since I’ve slung Bell over my shoulder, she
thought, seems like most of the time it’s the other way around…
//The explosion threw them to the floor hard, and flames whipped over their
heads. Stunned, Ryan couldn’t move. She wondered what had happened to Bell,
then…a hand grabbed the back of her jacket, hauling her up. Bell. The sudden
movement forced her to breathe, and she choked on the smoke-filled air. She
could feel the hand shoving her forward, and Bell’s body pressed close to
hers, shielding her from the heat of the fire as they moved towards the
closed door…//
//Ryan looked up, squinting into the light coming closer and closer as she
and the little boy were pulled from the well. It had felt like she had been
down there forever, and then…strong arms were around her, setting her on the
ground…over the little boy’s head, she looked straight into Bell’s eyes…and
she felt safe…//
"Okay, Ryan, that’s enough! You’re there!" Wick called out.
Ryan rested her head lightly against Bell’s chest, catching her breath.
Raising her head, she looked at him. His face had become paler, and there was
now a light sheen of sweat over his brow. "God, Michael…" she whispered.
"Ryan?" Wick’s voice came from the window, quiet. "He still out?"
"Yeah," Ryan answered, gently adjusting the oxygen.
"He snorin’?"
Ryan laughed, releasing some of the tension she felt so keenly. "Wick…" She
kept her hands on Bell’s face, brushing away a lock of hair that had fallen
over the bandaged wound.
Wick reached his hand back through the window and laid it lightly on Bell’s
shoulder. "He’ll be okay, Ryan."
Ryan looked at Wick and gave him a small smile, not trusting her voice. She
cleared her throat and got out of the cab. "Cap, we’re ready to get the
steering wheel out."
"Okay…" Durfee began calling out orders. "Ryan! Blood’s here!"
"Good, hand it over, and we’ll get it started now."
