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“Yo!” the male shouted again.
As Daquan pulled on the gearshift, he could hear the male still shouting and then saw in the rearview mirror that he had started wheeling up the street toward the car.
And then he saw something else.
“Damn!” Daquan said aloud.
He ducked just before the windows on the left side of the car shattered in a hail of bullets.
And then he realized there was a sudden burning sensation in his back and shoulder.
He floored the accelerator pedal.
—
Daquan knew that Temple University Hospital was only blocks down Broad Street from Erie Avenue. Driving to the ER would take no time. But Daquan suddenly was getting light-headed. Just steering a straight line was quickly becoming a challenge.
He approached Erie Avenue, braked and laid on the horn as he glanced in both directions, then stepped heavily on the gas pedal again.
His vision was getting blurry and he fought to keep focused. He heard horns blaring as he crossed Erie and prayed whoever it was could avoid hitting them.
By the time the sedan approached Ontario, Daquan realized that things were beginning to happen in slow motion. He made the turn, carefully, but again ran up over the curb, then bumped a parked car, sideswiping it before yanking the steering wheel. The car moved to the center of the street.
Now he could make out the hospital ahead and, after a block, saw the sign for the emergency room, an arrow indicating it was straight ahead.
Then he saw an ambulance, lights flashing, that was parked in one of the bays beside a four-foot-high sign that read EMERGENCY ROOM DROP OFF ONLY.
Daquan reached the bays and began to turn into the first open one.
His head then became very light—and he felt himself slowly slumping over.
The car careened onto the sidewalk, struck a refuse container, and finally rammed a concrete pillar before coming to a stop.
Daquan struggled to raise his head.
Through blurry eyes, he saw beyond the shattered car window that the doors on the ambulance had swung open.
Two people in uniforms leaped out and began running to the car.
Daquan heard the ignition switch turn and the engine go quiet, then felt a warm hand on him and heard a female voice.
“Weak,” she said, “but there’s a pulse.”
“No pulse on this guy,” a male voice from the backseat said. “I’m taking him in . . .”
Then Daquan passed out.
TWO DAYS LATER . . .
[ THREE ]
Temple University Hospital, Room 401
1801 North Broad Street, North Philadelphia
Wednesday, December 19, 6:35 P.M.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Matt Payne said, pointing at the television screen while intravenous tubing dangled from the top of his hand. Then he exclaimed: “Shit, it hurts to move!”
