Page 24 of Rockstar Rescue
Where I am.
Then I peer out the window and see the gray dawn sky and white of the snow.
In the dim light I make out Charlie Boy's arms draped protectively across Dylan's broad shoulders, hugging Dylan tight to his warm chest.
I hear Dylan's ragged breathing just inches from me.
He's held on this long, which makes me certain he's a fighter. He'll be able to hang on longer. Then I notice a dull roar coming from outside.
I get up slowly, careful not to disturb Dylan or Charlie Boy, and make my way to the window.
I can’t see anything at first, just hear the sound vibrating against the pane of glass.
Then I see it—a helicopter hovering overhead.
I wrap my robe tighter around my chest. When I pull open the door, the freezing air hits my face like a slap.
"Here!" I call out, knowing this is unnecessary. The helicopter obviously received the PCB signal, or else it wouldn’t have come.
Still, in my excitement and relief I wave to them frantically. "Over here! Sick man inside!"
The freezing cold forces me inside while it lands.
Then, while the pilot remains inside, the two medics on board trudge through the snow toward me as I stand in the open doorway.
"There's a man inside," I tell them. "He's diabetic. He needs insulin fast. Please tell me you have some."
One of them nods, recognizing the urgency.
"We don't always carry it, but let me check."
I cross my fingers—a childish habit I've had since I was little.
Then I usher the other medic to Dylan in the bedroom.
“Here he is.”
As we enter the room, Charlie Boy’s eyes fall on us, his ears perk up. He's heard everything but stays protectively beside Dylan, just as he was trained.
"Help is here," I tell Dylan, but he's barely conscious.
Instinctively, I feel his pulse. It feels weak under my fingers.
I fear he won’t even survive the short distance from the bed to the helicopter in this bitter cold.
The first medic returns with a gurney. “We don’t have it with us. But with luck we’ll be at the hospital soon.”
They strap him on the gurney, their movements quick and practiced.
Dylan makes no movement, no sound, as they strap him up. I can’t tell if he’s dead or alive.
Charlie Boy growls low as they move him out of the cabin and into the waiting helicopter.
“Can I go along?” I ask, following them outside in the freezing cold.
“There's not room for you and your dog,” he tells me.
“I'm not leaving Charlie Boy. I'll be okay here. I have supplies.”
