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I pulled it out and had to blink to clear my vision; Sean’s text too small for my blurry eyes to manage.
Hey, hon. Just heard from Delta 10. Kevin is gonna be alright. They saved his arm.
I lowered the cell phone, turning the screen upside down, and stared at nothing.
“Was that Sean?” Mark asked in a whisper.
“Yeah. The ambo’s gonna be OK.”
“Thank fuck,” Cathy said, blearily.
I nodded.
* * *
“A5-6 on priority! Officer down! Officer down!”
“Shit,” someone said.
“Is he in danger?” Gregg asked.
“Ambulance. A 5-6. Are you safe?”
“Negative, Comms. I am not safe. R25. R25.”
I closed my eyes.
Gregg’s hand landed on my shoulder and squeezed softly.
“Tell him to hang on,” he said.
“A 5-6,” I said, my throat dry. “R25 is almost there. Hang on, 5-6. Hang on.”
Silence.
And then, “I hear them, Comms. They’re here. R25 is on scene. R25 is here.”
* * *
Isat back in my chair and breathed through a tight throat.
“Good work, Kylee,” the medical director said.
“Nicely done, Ky,” Gregg agreed.
“Shit,” someone said.
* * *
Istared at the detritus of last night’s decompression session as it lay scattered over Cathy and Mark’s lounge room floor. Full ashtrays and empty beer bottles. The tacky residue of tequila shots. Sucked on lemon pieces discarded like broken promises.
And I wondered when my reactions had become so extreme; so uncontrolled.
