Page 7 of Engulfing Emma

“I’m afraid so,” Jake says. His radio goes off. “My sergeant is calling. I’ll try to keep you updated.”

Justin waves at our surroundings. “All this because some addict was probably seeking drug money.”

J.D. looks more than a little concerned. “That’s the scary part. If this guy is whacked out on drugs, you never know what he might do.”

We stand around and speculate about what could be happening, but whatever it is, it’s happening slowly. NYPD and the S.W.A.T. team have their protocols to follow. I suppose they are trying to get in touch with the gunman to see if they can get him to surrender.

Chief Mitzell is being briefed by the police. He gets a call and heads over to our rig. He holds up his phone and motions to it. “Nine-one-one is being bombarded with calls right now, as you can imagine. Someone claiming to be inside the building needs immediate medical help. I’d like a paramedic to get on the line.”

I step forward. “I’ll do it, Chief.”

He hands me the phone. “I’ll have them transfer the call to your cell if you give them your number. After you handle the crisis, the police will need to talk to whoever is on the other end of the line.”

“Understood,” I say before reciting my cell number into his phone.

A few seconds later, my phone rings. It’s a 911 operator. She patches me through to the caller. I find a quieter place to talk. “This is Lt. Cash. I’m a paramedic. Someone needs medical attention?”

“Oh, thank God,” a woman says in a hushed voice. “He’s been shot and has been losing blood. I’m putting pressure on the wound, but it won’t stop bleeding. He says he feels sick. The two of us have been locked in a storage closet. I don’t know why that guy is doing this, but he says he’ll kill me or the others if I don’t save Carter. He doesn’t know I have a phone. I found it in a box. I—”

“Ma’am, slow down.” I motion for Denver to bring me something to write on and then I jot down the information I think is pertinent for the police. “What’s your name?”

“Emma. Emma Lockhart.”

“Okay, Emma. I’m Brett, and I’m going to do my best to help you and the gunshot victim. Is he awake and alert?”

“Yes.”

“Where has he been shot?”

“In the leg.”

“Above or below the knee?”

“Above. There’s a lot of blood.”

“Damn. The bullet might have nicked an artery. If it had torn right through, he might not still be alive. But since he’s still conscious, he might be bleeding out slowly. Can you take a picture of the wound and text it to me?”

“Uh, no. I’m not on a cell phone. This is a landline. Like I said, we’re stuck in a storage room and everyone else is in the main office.”

I jot down some notes as uniformed NYPD officers look over my shoulder.

“How many perps?” one of them asks.

I mute the phone. “Do you mind if I try to save this guy’s life first? The woman is already panicking. I can hear it in her voice.” I unmute. “Emma? If the gunman opens the door, put the phone down—wait, does it have a speaker?”

“I, um, hold on. I don’t think so.”

“Okay, listen to me, Emma. You have to stop the bleeding, or your patient is going to lose consciousness and bleed out.”

“Oh, God. He’s going to kill us all if that happens. He said if Carter dies, it won’t matter if anyone else does too.”

“We’re not going to let that happen. First, I need you to elevate the leg to slow the flow of blood. Can you do that?”

“I did that already,” she says.

“Good. That’s good thinking. Are you or Carter wearing a belt?”

I hear her shuffling around. “No. No belt.”

---