Page 484 of End Game

“Tell Micah to tell them Type One diabetic, altered mental status, meter reads HI, deep rapid respirations. She needs ALS.”

Ronan relays it.

The dispatcher is asking questions I can't quite make out.

Dex's voice appears somewhere behind them—high and panicked. “What the fuck is happening?”

“Dex—”

“Why isn't she waking up?”

Micah says something I can't hear.

I hear Cami make another sound.

Then a weak, slurred, “Water.”

My chest caves in.

Ronan repeats the request. “She wants water.”

“Don't give her much if she's that altered. Wet her mouth if you need to. Try to keep her on her side if she gets nauseated.”

“Okay.”

“Is she vomiting?”

“No.”

“Good.”

There are more questions I could ask.

Pulse.

Cap refill.

Exactly how fast she's breathing.

If she’s fully oriented.

None of them will change the next step.

Professionals are coming.

She needs fluids.

Labs.

Insulin.

Electrolytes.

A hospital.

Not me playing paramedic through a fucking phone.

“Griffin?” Ronan's voice pulls me back.