Page 487 of End Game

For a few seconds I stand in the middle of the snack room staring at my phone.

Then I remember Clay.

Fuck.

I call him, and it rings until his voicemail picks up.

The message I leave him is definitely EMS to EMS.

My voice stays level because Clay is a firefighter, because he'll understand every word I just said, and because there is no fucking reason to make him imagine anything worse than what is actually happening.

“I think she's in DKA. We don't have labs yet, so I don't know how bad.” I pause and take a deep breath. “Call me as soon as you get this. You can come if you want.”

I hang up.

My partner is still nearby. “You need anything?”

“No.” The answer comes immediately, then I correct myself. “I don't know.”

He nods like that's a perfectly reasonable thing to say.

“They’re bringing her here?”

“Yeah.”

“Go wait for her. We'll deal with everything else.”

I look down at myself.

Blood.

Fuck.

“I look like hell.”

“You look like you just worked an extrication.”

Cami is going to see me like this.

That thought hits strangely.

I usually change as soon as I get back to the station when something like this happens.

But thinking of Cami brings another picture to the front of my mind.

Her in the back of an ambulance, and I realize I could not give less of a shit what I look like.

I walk toward the ambulance bay.

Try to help my crew straighten our ambulance until they kick me out.

Then I pace.

Because standing still isn’t possible.

I listen to the tones and the overhead announcement about Cami.

No name, but it’s enough. She’s three minutes out.