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Gas?
No, this was carbon monoxide. The realization hit Ryder immediately. Odorless gas. Dizziness. Fatigue. Nausea.
He crawled, focused on the door. Fresh air. He needed air.
Call Matt. Call 911. Where’s Tom?
He reached into his pocket for his phone, but was unable to dial.
He collapsed before he reached the door.
Matt called Ryder a second time as John pulled up behind the deputy’s cruiser parked on the gravel driveway leading to Neil’s small house. Again, no answer. He couldn’t dismiss it as poor cell coverage because he hadn’t had any trouble sending and receiving calls in Friday Harbor.
“Tom’s not answering, either,” John said.
Matt jumped out of the Bronco and John followed him. They approached the house cautiously, but quickly, looking in every direction to assess if there was a threat. It was quiet. He could scarcely hear traffic from the nearby downtown area.
All the blinds were drawn in the house. The front door was solid wood, no glass panes, nothing to see inside. He tried the knob; it was unlocked.
He pulled his gun. He didn’t know what to expect. He knocked. “Ryder! Tom! It’s Matt Costa. I’m coming in!”
He pushed open the door and stepped back. Silence. No movement.
“Agent Kim!” he called, as he stepped inside. John stood at the threshold.
The house was musty and there was an underlying scent Matt couldn’t identify. To the left was a kitchen area separated from the living room by a bar counter. To the right was a narrow hall leading to a small office, and Ryder—lying facedown on the wood floor.
“Clear the house,” Matt told John as he squatted to check Ryder’s pulse. He was responsible for this young analyst; how could this happen?
Ryder’s pulse was strong, but he was unconscious.
“Matt!” John called. “Tom is passed out in the bedroom!”
“Call for paramedics,” he said. He didn’t know what was going on, but if both Tom and Ryder were unconscious with no visible signs of injury, that suggested something they’d eaten or inhaled. There were no signs of vomit, there could be a gas leak, but Matt didn’t smell any gas.
“John, call the gas company.”
Matt turned Ryder over and grabbed him under his arms and pulled him out of the house. He moaned and Matt was relieved. Matt put him on the lawn, made him stay down. “Ryder?”
“I’m. Okay.”
“Stay put. I’m going to help John with Deputy Redfield.”
Matt went back in and John was struggling with Tom, who was taller than the sheriff. Matt picked Tom up the same way he’d picked up Ryder, and motioned for John to get his feet. They carried him out.
“Are you sure we should be moving him?” John asked.
“I think there’s a gas leak, something—I don’t know. I don’t smell anything, but something caused both of them to pass out. Maybe the heater was on, or the pilot light got blown out. But it needs to be checked out.”
Tom hadn’t regained consciousness yet, but Ryder was trying to sit up.
“Stay,” Matt said.
“I need to get the files.”
“You need to stay put. The gas company is on its way.”
Ryder shook his head. “Carbon. Monoxide. I recognize my symptoms. I just need fresh air.”
