Page 111 of Up In Flames
I throw my phone in my locker and race toward the door of the truck bay. I quickly slide into my pants and boots, grab my jacket, and climb aboard Engine Four for the third time this shift.
Dispatch rings out overhead, alerting us to a priority one P.I.C., meaning there’s been a motor vehicle accident with a critical, potentially life-threatening injury. I’m not all that surprised with as much rain as we’ve gotten recently. The roads are slick as shit, keeping us busier than usual tonight. Even Paul is being extra cautious as we make our way toward the scene.
“Multiple cars involved, minor injuries to occupants of three of the four vehicles,” dispatch continues, relaying information while we drive with our sirens blaring. “The occupant of the fourth car is inaccessible. Bystanders report the car is upside down and significantly crushed. There’s a leak, unable to determine if gas, oil, or other substance at this time. Rescue squad has been dispatched to the scene as well.”
“Roger that,” Scottie says into the radio before replacing it on the dash. He’s our captain, and we’ll take our orders from him. Because I’m the volunteer, I’m low man on the totem pole, and my job is to take the orders called out to me.
It takes eight minutes to arrive on the scene, and it’s total chaos. I’m familiar with the road because it’s the circular exit ramp off the highway I take to get to my house. If taken even five miles too fast on these slippery roads, it could result in disaster…as is the case today. As soon as the truck is parked, we climb out, immediately getting to work. The police beat us here, so one of their guys jogs over to us, telling us what we need to know about the leak—it’s windshield washer fluid, no need to evac aggressively.
In the span of twenty seconds, I’ve assessed the new information, spotted the first three cars and their drivers, and my eyes finally land on the fourth car. It’s so crushed you can’t tell what it is, but Paul, Scottie, Ryan, and I haul ass to help whoever is trapped in there.
It doesn’t look good.
As I approach the driver’s side, Scottie is already shouting for the Jaws of Life. It’s very clear that the only way we stand a chance at extraction is by taking the door off.
The door that was once powder blue…no.
On what I now recognize as a BMW…no, no, no.
“We need to get him out, NOW!” I yell at the top of my lungs, not giving two shits about who’sin charge. These guys areprofessionals. They’re quick, safe, and rational, and as much as I’m trying to hold on to my training, I feel my mind slipping into shock faster than my body.
I fall to my knees next to the door and start yelling Taylor’s name.
He’s almost completely unrecognizable, but I know without a doubt it’s him. There’s blood on his swollen face and in his hair, his left arm is lying at the wrong angle, and it’ll be a fucking miracle if his neck isn’t broken.
I lean over and vomit right onto the soaked pavement.
“Whoa there, Knoxy. I know this one’s rough, but we’ve seen worse. You feeling okay?” Paul asks, coming to stand next to me as he hoists the cutter to the car frame and starts working the door off.
“Please,” I beg. “Get him out.” Turning back to the window, I practically choke on a sob with the taste of bile still in my mouth. “Hold on, baby. I love you. We’re gonna get you out of there.”
Taylor’s window is shattered, but hasn’t fallen out of the frame, so I can’t reach through to check for a pulse, and it feels likeI’mthe one dying.
“Shit, Knox. You know the victim?” Before I can answer, Paul yells over my head. “Hey, someone get Knox outta here. He knows the guy in the car!”
“I’m not going anywhere!” I yell back, finally getting my head in the game. I’ve wasted too much fucking time already. “Focus on getting this goddamn door off!” Turning to the sound of approaching footsteps, I rip the other set of cutters from Scottie’s hands. The adrenaline now coursing through me has me making two cuts to every one Paul makes.
As soon as the door is separated from the frame, I rip it away from the vehicle and lie flat on my stomach, checking for a pulse while Paul drops to the ground and wedges the separator underthe dashboard, trying to create enough space to get Taylor’s legs out from underneath it.
“Taylor, baby. It’s me. You’re going to be just fine. Just hold on, okay?” I keep talking to him in the event of some miracle that he comes to, but the harsh reality is that there’s a high probability I’m talking to his corpse.
“Collar!” I yell behind me. Ryan places the neck stabilizer over my shoulder, and I secure it as carefully as possible around Tay’s neck.
By the time I have the collar in place, Paul has managed to create about ten inches of space under the dash, and I thank God that Tay’s as small as he is.
Next to us, EMTs are waiting with a gurney. It’s flat on the ground to make the transfer as easy as possible.
“Ryan, pump the lift, but just about six inches,” Paul orders. Ryan wastes no time in executing the order with the hydraulic lift. If we raise Tay’s car too much, we risk him falling or changing the angle so much that we cause him further harm, but if the lift can push his car upright just a little, we’ll have more leverage to pull him out safely.
“I’ve got his head,” I tell the guys, because fuck all if I’m going to trust the most important person in my life to them, regardless of their commitment to this career.
“Knox, are you sure?—”
“We don’t have time to argue. Help me get him out of here.”
We pull Taylor from the mangled vehicle at a torturously slow pace. His face is a mess from the airbag and possibly a collision with the steering wheel when he rolled. His chest isn’t rising, and I don’t hear any breath sounds, but I’m choosing to believe he’s simply unconscious. And I’m thankful for that because he’ll be in a fuck-ton of painwhenhe wakes up.
We almost have him out when Paul stops.
