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Spring, 2010—En route to Gainesville, GA
Gene Rowland turned the radio dial to the next station. Easy listening wouldn’t cut it while driving Route 19. He found a classic rock station and was happy bobbing his head to Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick In The Wall” as he exited toward his hometown, Gainesville.
Gene could’ve waited until next week to drive home from Atlanta, but why stay in the city longer than needed? He sub-let his apartment in the city before he’d left for Costa Rica three months ago. After some much needed sleep in an airport hotel, there was no need to linger.
It was a good trip; a change of scenery he’d desperately needed from his daily twelve-hour shifts at the busiest emergency room in Atlanta to a short program where he’d got to teach the life-saving skills he’d put to work daily. The change of pace had given him time to think.
Maybe too much time to think, Gene mused.
He still didn’t know how he would feel at the end of his sabbatical from the hospital. The challenges he faced at the hospital kept him on his toes. Those years of residency and fellowship had made him the doctor he was today: a good one, but also burned out. After Costa Rica, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to go back to the hospital.
He didn’t even want to linger in the city this time.
Gene steered the car toward Browns Bridge Road—a more scenic route than the faster I-985—as dusk deepened. He wasn’t in a rush, and it was nice to glimpse the lake just as the sun disappeared on the horizon. Located by Lake Lanier and only a little over an hour’s drive from Atlanta, Gainesville was becoming the place many families planted roots. He and his siblings had wonderful years growing up there.
He missed hiking the trails around the lake or going fishing with his dad or doing other outdoor activities with his siblings and friends. Maybe he would find time to have fun again now that he wasn’t running in the hamster wheel that was the grueling hospital shifts—at least for the next few months.
As Gene drove across the old Browns Bridge, he smiled as the lake briefly opened up on both sides before trees surrounded him again. He paid closer attention to the road for animals that might decide to jump into the middle of the road without warning. It was especially harder to see in this bewitching hour.
Gene’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as the car about a half of mile ahead of him abruptly swerved on the road toward incoming traffic, veered back too fast and off to the side of the road.
Shit!
Gene stepped on the gas as a truck flew past him. He braked hard on the side of the road where the line of trees had stopped the other car. He quickly jumped out while dialing 911.
What the fuck just happened?
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” the operator responded.
“There’s been an accident. A car drove off the Browns Bridge Road, a mile from the bridge toward Gainesville. I need an ambulance.”
He ran down to the wrecked car and checked the backseats before stopping at the driver’s side.
“I’m deploying help, sir. What’s your name?” the operator asked.
“Dr. Gene Rowland.” Gene saw a woman slumped against the window. He knocked on the glass. “Ma’am, are you okay in there?”
“How many passengers in the vehicle, doctor?” the operator asked.
“Just the driver. Female, mid to late twenties. She appears to be unconscious and may have a head injury. The airbag didn’t deploy.” Gene knocked on the glass again, louder this time. “Ma’am, can you hear me?”
He tried to open the door. “The door’s locked.”
“Help is on the way, doctor.”
Gene wasn’t the type to wait when someone needed help. The front part of the engine was smashed and there was smoke coming out of it. Not willing to risk the woman’s safety, he found a rock sharp enough to shatter the rear door window.
“What is that, sir?” the operator asked.
“I broke the rear door window to get to the lock. There’s smoke. I need to get her out of the car.”
“Sir, please wait for the fire department. They’re on their way,” the operator said.
But Gene wasn’t listening and shoved his phone into a pocket. He carefully opened the driver’s side door. The seatbelt had kept the woman from slumping forward, but her head lolled to the left. Half of her brown hair had come free from its binding, obscuring her face, but some of it was wet with blood.
He carefully lifted the matted hair to assess the woman’s injury. But he couldn’t check for much else in the low light until they stabilized her spine, and they moved her out of the vehicle.
