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26
Is That What You Think About The Most?
The car was upside down. I could smell petrol. Red lights flashed as white strobe lights blinked, making the scene a morbid but chaotic setting. The Fire Service was using suppressant foam, and Ted was dealing with the driver.
I lay on my back, staring up at the frightened eyes of a teenager, and wiped the vein in the crease of his elbow.
“Please help me,” he begged.
“We’ll get you out of here, Daniel,” I replied, readying the 16 gauge needle. “Just a small scratch,” I offered and slid the sharp tip home.
Grabbing the bits of tape I’d attached to the seat belt still holding him, I secured the luer and then covered the whole area in a crepe bandage.
“Please,” Daniel said. “I’m frightened.”
“I know,” I offered. “But we’re here, and we’ll get you out. Can you move your feet yet?”
“I can’t . . . I can’t feel them. Oh, fuck! Please! Please! I want to get out!”
“Calm down, Daniel. Take a breath for me. In through your nose, out through your mouth. That’s it. I’m right here. The Fire Service is right here. We’re going to get you out.”
My hair stuck to something on the tar-seal. Petrol soaked into my safety vest. The car creaked and groaned, and the astringent scent of suppressant foam engulfed me.
Lights flashed. People shouted. The driver moaned.
And Daniel begged, “Get me out of here!”
I secured the BP cuff around his upper arm, wiping hair out of my eyes with the sleeve of my jersey. I tried to roll my shoulders, but the tar-seal was hard. A crick had started up in my neck.
I squeezed the bulb, filling the bladder with air, watching the gauge as I listened to his pulse through my stethoscope.
“It hurts,” Daniel wailed.
“Your feet, Daniel?” I asked. “Can you feel your feet yet?”
“No! My arm! You’re hurting me! Stop it!”
“Hang tight, mate. Not long now.” I released the valve and watched and listened.
His blood pressure was low.
“Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God,” he moaned.
“Everything set?” A Firie asked as he crouched down beside me. “Your partner’s about done over there.”
I looked into Daniel’s eyes and held them.
“Don’t leave me,” he begged.
“I have to let the firemen in now, Daniel,” I said. “They’re going to cut away the door and get you out. I’ll be near though, and as soon as you’re free, you’ll see me.”
“Please,” he said.
“We need to make a move,” the Firie said. “We haven’t suppressed all the spilt petrol.”
“Oh, God!” Daniel wailed. “Jesus!” he screamed. “Get me out of here!”
Lights flashed. My throat felt raw. My nose burned from the smell of petrol.
