Page 20 of Everything Changes

“Don’t look at this, man,” he said, hearing how strained his own voice was. Carey continued to stare down at the kid.

“He’s going to lose that leg, isn’t he?” Carey whispered. Jase saw no reason to answer, letting the crushed and mangled flesh and bone speak for itself. He continued to monitor the kid’s vitals and bleeding while a numb, detached feeling settled over him, his vision narrowing, his movements becoming mechanical. The meaty smell of blood and devastating injury overwhelmed him, and the sound of sirens and helicopter rotor blades came as if from far away, almost like a distant dream.

CAREY KNELT awkwardly next to Jase, sickened by the boy’s injury and the devastation three families would shortly be feeling.

Such a fucking waste, he thought viciously, all for a goddamn joyride. His heart ached at what this kid would be facing for the rest of his life, how he would pay the price for his carelessness, have to live with the guilt of causing the senseless death of his friends, all while dealing with recovery from a grievous injury.

It would have been better if you’d died, kid, Carey thought fatalistically, shaking his head sadly. He hoped the boy had a rock-solid support system because he was going to need it.

Jase’s clipped voice startled him out of his reverie. “Where’s the fucking CASEVAC?”

“CASEVAC?” Carey was confused. “Can’t you hear the sirens? Ambulance is almost here.”

“I can hear the fucking helicopter! Why aren’t they landing?”

Carey looked up and saw a local news chopper hovering overhead, the cameraman hanging out the side, and his confusion deepened. Why would Jase want it to land?

Suddenly Jase turned to him and gripped the front of his T-shirt, his voice low and threatening. “Everett goes first. You got that?”

Carey’s first inclination was to shake Jase off, and as he was opening his mouth to say, “What the fuck,” he caught a glimpse of Jase’s eyes. They weren’t unfocused, but they were distant, like he was seeing something that wasn’t there. Carey felt a chill go through him. Flashback. From his work with wounded veterans and his own personal research, he knew a combat stress reaction could be triggered by any number of things, sometimes things as innocuous as the smell of diesel fuel or the sight of smoke in the distance. For Jase it was the sound of a helicopter, the boy’s injury… oh, fucking hell.

Jase’s grip on Carey’s T-shirt tightened, and he repeated, “Got it? Everett goes first.”

“Yeah, man,” Carey said quietly. “I’ll personally make sure that Everett goes first. You have my word.”

Jase let go of him and turned back to the boy on the ground, his hands moving efficiently as he monitored him, changing out the empty bag of saline for another one, exchanging the blood-soaked hemostatic gauze he’d packed into the worst of the wounds with fresh. The pristine white immediately turned red.

The sirens finally wailed to a stop somewhere behind them, and pounding boots sounded on the pavement as paramedics and EMTs ran up. Carey backed away, hearing Jase rattle off medical jargon that was incomprehensible to him as he brought the other caregivers up to speed on the situation. When he heard Jase start demanding the CASEVAC chopper to land immediately, Carey stepped up and took his arm.

“HM1, they got this.”

Jase stood up, his eyes blazing, and then as he looked around the chaotic scene, Carey could see the awareness start to return. Blood drained from Jase’s face, leaving his skin pale and clammy. He started to shake visibly, his breath coming in gasps. Carey had to get Jase out of here.

He looked around, relieved beyond measure when he saw their Jeep wasn’t boxed in by ambulances or other vehicles. The cops on scene were busy dealing with the traffic and onlookers, and now was their chance. He knelt next to the helpful woman and asked her for a piece of paper and a pen, and when she dug them out of her purse, he wrote his and Jase’s contact information down.

“Give this to one of the cops, okay? I’ve got to get him out of here.” The woman looked at him blankly, and Carey said, trying to keep the impatience from his voice, “He’s a combat vet and he’s about to have a panic attack. We’ll be available for interviews, but later.”

The woman looked at Jase and then nodded agreement, taking the paper from his hand and tucking it carefully into her purse. Carey patted her shoulder in gratitude and then stood and gripped Jase’s arm, scooping up Jase’s medical kit from the ground and slinging it over his own shoulder.

“Let’s go, Jase.” Jase was bent double, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. Carey led him to the Jeep and got him into the passenger seat, saying, “Breathe, dude. You’ve got to breathe.”

He flung the medical kit into the back and climbed into the driver’s seat, relieved the keys were still in the ignition. Maneuvering carefully around the wreck and the various stopped cars, he accelerated and got them out of there.

CHAPTER 8

CAREY DROVE them home as fast as he safely could, looking at Jase with concern as he huddled in the passenger seat, his face pale and clammy, his breaths coming in heaving gasps. Twice on the way, Carey had had to pull over so Jase could vomit, leaning out of the car door as far as he could, heaves wracking his body. By the end of the second attack, he wasn’t bringing anything up but watery liquid, and his breathing wasn’t calming. If anything, it was getting worse. His breaths were painful-sounding and hoarse, and little sounds were coming from his throat as the anxiety attack worsened.

Carey screeched to a halt in front of Jase’s home, and he hurried around to help Jase from the car. Jase brushed him off roughly, then staggered up the steps to the front door, dropping his keys several times. When Carey attempted to help, Jase snarled at him.

“Fucking don’t!”

Jase’s shaking hands could barely manage to unlock the door, and with far less than his customary grace, he staggered inside, dropping keys and wallet haphazardly on the floor. He took a few lurching steps, then put his back to the wall before collapsing slowly to the floor, his legs seemingly boneless. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on them, his breath coming in heaving gasps.

“Jase?” Carey lowered himself awkwardly to sit next to his friend, his hand coming up to rest on Jase’s shoulder. Jase was frighteningly pale, beads of sweat standing out on his hairline. Carey was alarmed, but he had seen this countless times in his work at the Hope Ranch. He placed his hand on the back of Jase’s neck lightly, a point of contact for him to focus on as Carey encouraged, “Breathe, Jase. Just breathe.”

Jase’s mouth opened, but he was struggling for air, starting to gasp as his throat constricted further, the panic taking firmer hold.

“Jase, look at me.” Carey kept his voice calm, steady. Jase raised his head and met Carey’s eyes, his own eyes wild. “Breathe with me, Jase. Come on now. One, two, three…,” Carey counted out as he drew medium breaths in and let them out slowly, watching Jase struggle to match his breathing with Carey’s. “That’s it, dude. Breathe with me.”