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Excerpt #2:
Fair warning, this is an
intense excerpt, so probably skip if you have triggers or are squeamish!
“Has anyone called 9-1-1?” I yelled.
Several people called back, “Yes.”
“Does anyone have any first aid training?
Any at all?”
Silence.
The cars were about 100 yards from each
other. I ran to the closest one. An older man, probably in his seventies, was
in the driver’s seat. He was alone. His windshield was smashed and his face was
covered in blood.
“Hey! Can you hear me? Hello?”
No response. I checked the pulse in his
neck. Alive and unresponsive. Looking around I saw a middle-aged man in outdoor
gear standing with what were probably his teenage daughters. I motioned him to
come over.
He stared at me.
“Over here! Now!” I barked.
The teens moved with him.
“No. You,” I pointed at the girls. “stay.
You do not come over here.”
Outdoor man jogged over.
“I need you to keep this guy company until
the paramedics arrive. Don’t touch him. Just talk to him. Say any shit you
think of. Tell him about your kids, where you were headed, anything. Just keep
talking and keep it calm.”
I scanned the crowd and pointed to a
couple of young guys, “Come with me.”
They obeyed. We ran to the farther car. It
was bigger, taller, an SUV. The upside? Lower likelihood of catastrophic
injuries. The downside—higher chance there’d be more than one person in the
vehicle needing medical attention.
The driver was trying to get out but his
door had been crushed. He’d rolled the van but thankfully physics had been on
his side so he was wheels down again. All the windows were shattered.
I pointed at the guys with me, “Wait.”
Then I approached the driver’s side, “Sir.”
He gave me ‘the look.’ He was in shock,
had no idea what had happened.
“Sir, you’ve been in an accident. What’s
your name?” I used my elbow to push away glass so I could get a better look
inside.
“Oliver,” he said, looking at me with wide
eyes, tiny pupils.
Beside him, his wife I assume, had taken
the brunt of the impact. They don’t call it the suicide seat for nothing.
Clearly he anticipated the hit and steered to try to avoid it. What he hadn’t
anticipated was the soft shoulder.
I motioned for one of the two guys to join
me and spoke quietly to him, “This is Oliver. Talk to him and keep him focused
on you. Don’t let him look at his wife.”
Crossing behind the van to see if anyone
else was inside, I approached the woman in the passenger seat who was clearly
unconscious. Her pulse was strong but there was zero chance she didn’t have a
serious neck injury. Just as I was about to call 9-1-1 myself, to advise
dispatch to send three ambulances, Oliver leaned across and shook his wife’s
shoulder.
“Amanda!” he yelled.
I grabbed his hand and held it away from
her body.
“Sir. Don’t touch her. She needs
paramedics. You’ll do more harm than good.”
The driver dropped his arm and stared at
his wife.
I looked for the second guy, to get him to
find a door we could open so when first responders arrived they’d have quick
access to stabilize the passenger. The idiot was walking away from me.
“Yo! Bro! I need you over here. No time to
take a piss,” I yelled.
He ignored me and started to jog—in the
wrong direction.
Turning back to the first guy, I said,
“Try to get the driver’s door open. If he cooperates, let him stay where he is.
But if he starts to touch his wife again, encourage him to get out. But don’t
pull or push him. Let him move on his own. Clear?”
“Yup.”
“Over here,” the runner called to me. He
was twenty yards up the road and standing in the ditch, waving wildly.
I ran, hoping against hope that he wanted
to show me some wildflowers in the ditch. Wishful thinking. What I saw was so
not good. I put my hand on the guy’s shoulder and turned him away from the
child laying lifeless in the mud. Despite a decade of emergency medical calls I
knew that even I’d be needing to debrief this with a professional.
“Look at me,” I said, forcing him to make
eye contact with me, “Call 9-1-1. Tell them we need air evac for a toddler. Say
Captain West of Vancouver Fire and Rescue is on-scene. Got it?”
He nodded and was pulling out his phone
before I finished my sentence.
I dropped into the muck and rolled a child
of no more than five onto my extended arm so I could pick him up with as little
movement to his spine as possible. I needed him on solid ground. As I lifted
him I took one breath to redirect my rage at the parents who didn’t think car
seats were necessary, into something a little more productive.
I gently lay him down on the pavement and
checked his pulse. Nothing. But he was so small and my heart was pounding so
hard I knew I might not feel it even if he had one.
“Hey little man, can you hear me?”
No eye flutter. No chest movement. I
pinched his arm. No response.
The first guy had gotten the dad out of
the car and was walking him toward me.
“Keep him away from here,” I yelled. I
pushed a button on my watch and started CPR.
A few hundred compressions later, I
noticed that two fire trucks were on-scene. All my focus was on making sure the
blood was circulating in this small body so that if he could be resuscitated
he’d actually stand a chance at having a functioning brain.
Minutes passed.
“Merde,” I heard as the boots and
legs of a firefighter in full turn-out gear stopped in front of me.
“Get me your AED,” I said without looking
up.
“It’s being used,” a female voice replied.
“If it’s not attached to a body I want it
now.”
No response. I looked up and made eye
contact with her, “Now!”
She looked startled. Deer in headlights.
But she followed my command.
“Joe from Sophie,” she said.
“Go for Joe,” a voice on the radio
replied.
“Has your driver got a pulse?”
“Weak. AED is charged,” the radio voice
said.
“Sir, how long have you been doing CPR?”
She asked.
I checked my watch, “8 minutes 27
seconds.” I stopped compressions, checked the boy’s pulse. Nothing. “I need
that AED. Now!”
“Joe, bring the AED to the other car.
Fast. There’s a kid.”
“Scissors. In my kit,” I ordered.
“I’m the Incident Commander, I—”
“I don’t care if you’re the fucking Queen
of England. Get the scissors and cut this kid’s shirt off.”
Amazon link
******************
My review:
4.25 out of 5 stars
First In by Danika Bloom is Book 1 of ‘The Mixed Six-Pack’
series and features Sophie Beaulieu and Nick West, who both are depending on
the position of paid chief for the local volunteer fire department to be their
stepping-stone to a new life. Unfortunately for their personal attraction to
each other, only one of them can occupy the position.
This contemporary romance is an entertaining but sometimes
bittersweet story that is told in alternating first person points of view. It introduces
two charismatic and hardworking characters who are passionate about their
profession but juggling personal problems. I was drawn into the story
immediately and formed a connection to each character, but some of the
developments were frustrating to me because I didn’t feel enough resolution or
explanation was provided. I understand that this is the beginning of the
series, but there are multiple dangling threads that I definitely hope get tied
up in the sequel(s). There was also a mirrored situation that strained my
credulity a bit, even though the outcome was different.
Despite those issues, I enjoyed this story and was
fascinated by the glimpse into what goes into being a volunteer firefighter for
a small town. I’m already in awe of the courage and tenacity of first
responders, and this underscored the dedication and obstacles that many of them
face. There are many thorny issues addressed, including the entanglements of
dealing with a dysfunctional family and the challenges of countering
discrimination, and there are also wonderful elements including mysterious
coins and a great Bernese Mountain Dog named Max.
This is a nice start to the series and I look forward to
reading more stories about others who fit the description #sexyfireman.
A copy of this title was provided for review
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