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What? It doesn’t matter? It could be Mallory. MALLORY.
When Mac turned around to start working on the CRV and get the people out–whoever they were–it hit me. Like a big, old F150 on a curving stretch of road.
I felt.
I felt fear.
I felt anger.
I felt helplessness.
I felt worry.
I felteverythingbecause inside that car was Mallory.
The woman who seemed to like me despite the stick up my ass. Despite the fact that I’d never been on a road trip. Or that I had a plane. That I slotted her into my calendar as a daily appointment. I remembered calling patients a quota. That Bridge had kicked me out of her classroom because I couldn’t see why I went to the high school to ask after Mallory.
I did have a stick up my ass. No wonder everyone rolled their eyes at me. Or gave me a look of disappointment. I was one. A big fucking doofus, like Bridge said.
Mac squatted down by the window, peeked in. He turned, looked at me and nodded. Ifeltbecause Mallory was inside the destroyed car, and I didn’t know if she was alive or dead.
Mallory, the woman who’d been mine all along and I never knew it.
59
THEO
I ran over,grabbed the Pulaski took from a firefighter before he could give it to Mac.
“What are you doing?” Mac shouted.
“Mallory’s in there!”
Mac grabbed the ax from me and passed it off, then shoved me out of the way. “Get your shit together. It’s our job to get the patients out. You don’t have the gear or the skill. Get your head on straight.”
I wanted to punch him, but he was right.
The firefighter–I wasn’t paying any attention to who it was–worked the tool into the seam between the driver door and the frame, right by the pin. Another firefighter used his booted foot to kick in the shattered windshield. Another two were doing the same on the other side. All wore thick bunker gear, heavy leather gloves, helmets, and even protective goggles.
I had on latex gloves.
Police cars pulled up along with another fire truck.
A whistle pierced the air and I turned to follow the sound. “Doc, over here!”
I glanced at Mallory’s car again.
“Go do your job.” Mac slapped me on the shoulder, then turned away from me to get to work.
Fuck. FUCK!
Mallory was in that car, and I had to walk away. I had to get my shit together, had to triage, and that meant going where I was called and assessing. I had to wait to help Mallory and whoever else was in the CRV.
I ran over to the firefighter helping the man in the truck. “Fifty-three, wearing his seat belt. BP is one forty over ninety, resps are ninety. Complaining of upper chest pain, most likely a broken clavicle due to seat belt. No allergies to medicines, no drugs or alcohol usage.”
The EMT gave me a thorough report as I assessed the man.
“Pen light?”
