Page 147 of Engulfing Emma

I finally come out from behind my desk, conflicting emotions of relief and alarm coursing through me. “Where is he?”

“In C hallway. Come on.”

As we run over there, I ask, “Why did she think I could help?”

“Maybe because you helped that Carter kid when he was bleeding.”

“I’m not the one who helped him, Lisa.”

We turn the corner and I stop in my tracks, sickened by what I see. Jordan is lying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. There’s a pool of blood around his head, and he’s convulsing.

“Somebody help him!” Becca screams.

I have no idea what to do, and neither does anyone else. I drop to the floor and try to stabilize his head so he doesn’t get injured any further. The door at the end of the hall flies open and firefighters come through, one wheeling a gurney.

Brett won’t be with them. I know his schedule, and he isn’t working today.

“Move aside,” one of them says.

“Can someone tell me what happened?” another asks.

Becca is sitting against the wall sobbing, her hands covered in Jordan’s blood. “He f-fell. There were s-some papers on the floor at the top of the stairs. He slipped on them and tried to steady himself, but he was c-carrying all my stuff.” She looks at her hands and screams. “Help him!”

“We’re doing everything we can, ma’am.”

The firefighters push everyone back, creating a perimeter in which the paramedics can work. They pull a bunch of medical equipment out of their bags.

Lisa stays on the floor with Becca while I try to see what’s happening. They put a collar around his neck and open his eyelids.

“His left pupil is blown,” one says.

“I’m losing his pulse,” says another.

A paramedic puts his hands on Jordan’s chest. “Starting CPR.”

“What’s happening?” Becca cries.

“I don’t know,” I lie. “They’re trying to help him.”

Jordan is lying lifeless, his blood all over the paramedics and floor. He bounces up and down with every chest compression. They have a bag over his mouth to force air into his lungs.

“I have a weak pulse,” someone says. “Let’s get him on the gurney.”

They put him on a backboard and then lift him onto the gurney.

“Where are you taking him?” I ask.

“He needs a level-one trauma unit. We’ll take him to Med across the bridge.”

I motion to Becca. “She’s his wife. Can she go with him?”

“I lost his pulse,” someone says.

A woman climbs on top of the gurney and does CPR again.

Becca cries and gulps and looks sick. I take her in my arms.

One of the firefighters looks at Becca and then at me. “You’ll have to get her there yourself,” he says. “We need all hands on deck in the ambulance.”

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