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8
We Didn’t Stop Until Six
The word of the day was ‘incorrigible’.Adjective; not able to be corrected.
And I’d just used it in a radio call to Comms.
My cell phone went off and I answered it, grinning.
“You thought I couldn’t do it,” I said.
“Kylee! That was awesome!” Neal exclaimed down the line.
It was our thing. I couldn’t remember how it started. Probably over gin and tonics in our back yard. But Neal had been given a word-a-day calendar for Christmas and somehow it was now a competition between us to see who could use that word over the radio first.
Sean thought we were mad. That we’d get in trouble. Delta 10 was always listening in. And if he heard us misusing the radio in that way, we’d get written up.
So far, so good.
“One point to me,” I said.
“I think you might be winning,” Neal told me, laughing. “But tomorrow’s word of the day is much harder.”
“What is it?”
“Malicious.”
“Ooh,” I said, making Neal laugh harder. “I might have to find a malicious injury.”
“You can’t have a malicious injury,” he argued. “Maybe a malicious attacker. But the injury isn’t malicious.”
“It is if it’s life threatening.”
“I like the way you think.”
“It’s a talent,” I said dryly, just as the pager went off. I looked down and checked the screen. “Oh, shit,” I muttered.
“What?”
“We’ve been called into Comms.”
Neal started cackling.
“Do you think I’m in trouble?” I asked.
“Don’t know. But I’m sure as hell glad you won today and not me.”
* * *
Comms was in Mt Wellington, right next to the Mt Wellington Station; Neal’s station. He was probably on the road and so couldn’t save me. I walked into the Ambulance Communications Centre to face the music; head high, shoulders back.
I hadn’t realised my hands were wringing until I unlocked them to press in the code to enter Dispatch. I didn’t know I wrung my hands, at all. But there was no denying my hands had been wringing.
I decided to ignore that.
Pulling the large wooden door open, I stepped into organised chaos. Lights flashing, phone lines ringing, voices low in a hum that mixed with the background noise of copious amounts of computing equipment running.
There were half a dozen desks with three screens up on each, and in a glass walled room off to the side was a row of hardline telephones; all red. Each call centre staff member had a switchboard in front of them where their headset was plugged in. Buttons were pushed, lines were typed, codes keyed in.
