Page 4 of Savage Seduction

“Shit!” I jump to my feet. “Call 9-1-1!” I shout to the woman behind the counter.

I grab Ben’s hand. “Come with me, Doc.” Pulling him to the side exit, I kick open the door. Control the scene.

“Doc, check on everyone—make sure no one was hit by debris.” Glass crunches underfoot as I run toward the sedan. “Everyone, back!” I bark.

A woman sits on the curb cradling her arm and crying. Blood soaks her shirt. I turn my head and yell, “Doc! Injury here!” I keep running forward.

A voice comes from the mangled vehicle. “Help me.” I stop in my tracks when I realize the front end of the car is wrapped around the light pole. I push my fear aside and keep moving toward the wreck. The smoke is so thick and blackthat it obscures my vision. My eyes water and my throat burns, but I pull my shirt up over my mouth and nose and keep moving.

Tiny fingers of orange flames flicker from under the hood. “Dammit,” I say. How much time do I have before the fire finds the fuel line? I turn back to the ever-growing crowd of looky-loos and pull the shirt away from my face long enough to yell, “Everyone, get back. Is anyone on the phone with 9-1-1?” There’s no response, except a bunch of blank stares and cellphone cameras pointed at the unfolding disaster.

“Please… help me.” The voice draws me back to the sedan. A light breath of wind takes the smoke in the opposite direction for a moment, revealing the victim—a young, dark-haired girl no older than eighteen.

I rush to the car and try the door. It won’t budge. “Listen to me,” I say to the girl. “Can you try and open the door from inside?” The girl, pale and bleeding profusely from her scalp, nods and feels around on the inside of the door. She struggles against the immovable hunk of twisted metal and starts crying.

“It won’t budge.”

“Don’t cry… look at me. What’s your name?” I ask.

“Jenny,” she says with a tearful sob.

A burst of smoke followed by an intensifying heat of flame tears from the engine compartment, causing me to back up a step, shielding my face with my arms. There’s no more time. I rush forward. “Unhook your belt. I need to pull you through the window.”

Jenny doesn’t move. I reach inside, take Jenny by the chin, and turn her face toward mine. We lock eyes. “I need you to focus on me. Now, can you move your arms and legs?”

She nods.

I scan the interior of the car, but the smoke is making it hard to see the backseat. “Are you alone in there?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Unfasten your seatbelt. Do it now.”

The girl reaches down and presses the seatbelt button. I pull the belt away from Jenny and fling it to the side. “I need you to help me as I pull you through the window. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

I reach into the window and grab the girl by her arms. Using my right hip as leverage against the door, I hook my arms under the girl’s and heave up and to the side with all my might. Within moments, the girl is freed and now lies in a crumpled heap on the ground.

“Can you walk?” I tug at her arms, assisting her. The girl makes it to her feet and hobbles away from the burning car with her arm around my waist.

Once we are clear, I help her sit. Suddenly, something from my periphery catches my attention and as I turn, a man runs past me. I step back, but the man still brushes up against me. The exchange has only been a split second, but something feels off. I turn and see the man’s figure disappear around the corner. I make to run after the man, driven by pure instinct, when I feel a tug on my pant leg.

Through tears and ragged coughs, Jenny says, “Thank you.”

A deafening pop of exploding tires makes me turn, jump, and drape myself protectively over the young girl. The intense heat makes me sweat and prickles my skin. The gasps from the crowd subside within a few moments, replaced by the sounds of emergency vehicles drawing closer—their flashing lights reflecting off the building windows all around us.

“Help is on the way,” I say and try to give Jenny a reassuring smile. The pretty young girl’s face is caked with blood. “Oh honey, you’re still bleeding.” I rub Jenny’s arm. “Can you give me one of your socks?”

Jenny removes her shoe and sock and hands it to me. I foldthe sock and press it to the top of her head. She winces under the pain. “I need you to hold this on there until the medics get here to help you. Can you do that for me?”

She nods and pushes down on the wound. The flow of blood stops dripping into her eyes. She’ll have a nasty scar, but unless she goes bald, no one will notice.

I flinch as the fire truck screeches to a stop across 48th Street. The firemen pile out of the engine and turn their hose on the fire. Seconds later, squad cars block all four sides of the intersection at 48th Street and Western Ave. The police officers blow whistles and start directing traffic. The ever-growing crowd gasps in awe at each new sound or action from the officials in uniform. Memories of holding back the masses, directing incoming units, and even controlling my own feelings of fear during dangerous events, come flooding back while I wait for the officers to come to me for a statement. I close my eyes and let my mind drift. How many accidents have I worked? How many people have I saved and lost? The scar on my stomach tingles again, drawing my attention away from my memories and back to the scene playing out in real time.

I stand and search the crowd for the nearest officer. He is a few yards away between the bus stop sign and bench along Western Ave. I hurry over to him. “Hello, my name is Maximo Salgado.”

At first, the gentleman in blue raises a hand to silence me as he hasn’t finished talking to the man he’s been interviewing, but then he recognizes me. “Max?”

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