“What’s wrong with you?” she gasped while fighting off her own rising nausea.
“I’m dying,” the kid said. He was certainly dead weight, hanging off her as he sobbed.
“No you’re not,” she said.
His breath was shallow and fast, like he was hyperventilating. “I took a bunch of pills.”
“What?” She urged him to keep moving since the puddle of puke was inching closer. “How many?”
“All of them.”
Fear froze her in place before a surge of adrenaline launched her into action. She dragged the kid over to the passenger side of the truck, shoving the raft onto the floorboard to make room for him. He wasn’t much help. She had to push on his butt to get him inside, and even then he fell flat on his face. That must have aggravated the bump on his head, because he rolled over with another groan and began sliding off the seat. After struggling for a few minutes, she managed to get him settled.
Silvia ran around to the other side of the truck and was about to get in when she saw a pair of glasses lying in the street. She swore and hurried to collect them. She shoved them in her pocket and grabbed the original thing the kid had dropped, her mind filling with panic. There wasn’t time to wait for an ambulance or to seek help. Not when he could be overdosing.
Silvia got behind the wheel and went full throttle, unconcerned about getting pulled over. She welcomed the possibility, because at least then a police officer could take over. She began searching for the streets for one as she drove. Pride didn’t have its own hospital, but it did have an urgent care center. Silvia had taken Hugo there last year for a painful ear infection.
“Hold on,” she said, glancing over at her passenger. “And try not to puke.”
The kid groaned again.
“What kind of pills?” she asked.
No reply.
“Were you trying to kill yourself?”
The kid curled up and began to sob. Her heart was breaking for him by the time she screeched into the parking lot. Silvia leapt out of the truck and ran for the entrance.
“I’ve got an overdose in my car,” she cried as soon as she was through the doors. “Please help!”
A woman behind the desk and a man dressed in scrubs responded instantly. She ran outside with them, relieved when the man scooped the kid up into his arms and carried him inside.
“What sort of drugs did he take?” the receptionist asked.
“I don’t know,” Silvia said. “I found him in the street. He mentioned pills. I think he’s suicidal.”
“You won’t be in trouble,” the woman said as they hurried inside. “But we need to know what he took.”
“I’m telling the truth! I don’t know him!”
“Okay. Wait here.”
The receptionist spoke a code over the intercom. The man disappeared down one of the halls, still carrying the boy. Silvia sat in the waiting room and began to cry. She hadn’t had the luxury of reacting emotionally until now. She couldn’t help thinking of her brother, and how horrible it would be if the same thing happened to Hugo. What if the kid didn’t survive? Silvia would be the last person he ever spoke to. And she didn’t even know his name!
She forced herself to calm down, shooting to her feet when the receptionist reappeared.
“The doctors will take care of him,” the woman said.
“Will he be okay?” Silvia asked.
“We’ll just have to wait and see,” the woman responded. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
Silvia nodded and explained what had happened in more detail. The woman seemed relieved when puke was mentioned. “I hope that got the pills out of his stomach,” she said. “He’s lucky you helped him up before that happened. Junkies often… Well, it’s a good thing you were there, that’s all.”
Once she’d told the woman every detail she could remember, Silvia returned to her seat in the waiting room. She didn’t know what else to do with herself, still too upset to drive. And while she had an uneasy relationship with God, she decided it was worth praying, just in case it helped.
Half an hour passed before the receptionist returned from a trip to the back room and waved her over. “Good news! The doctor says that he’ll be fine. Although he’s probably not feeling well at the moment.”