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Let’s just hope that no one was hurt.
I kill the sirens and step out of my car, my partner for the night, Johansen, doing the same from his side of the car.
Where the hell is the driver?
“Where do you want me boss?” he asks. I don’t know how he and Wayne usually work together, they have their own rhythm, and having your boss as a partner for the night means he’s deferring to me to get us started.
Carrie Haymitch is standing off to the side of the freeway, her own car parked with its hazards on while she holds her jacket tightly around her against the chill of the night.
“You go talk to Carrie. I’m going to see if there’s anyone in that rig.”
Maybe they can’t get their seatbelt undone and are stuck. Maybe they tried to hoof it to town. From what I can see, it doesn’t look like the camper rolled, just tipped over. With a tourist season like ours, I’ve seen my fair share of rolled vehicles, a tipped-over camper isn’t too bad considering. Gonna be a bitch to get out of there, though.
Rawlins and Murphy, two of the overnight volunteer firefighters, jog toward us with their EMS duffle and we start our way down the steep embankment.
A muffled wailing sound comes from the vehicle.
Someone’s in there. Fuck.
Picking up my pace, I rush down the ditch and around the back of the camper. I can’t see shit with the rig tipped over. The passenger side is pointing straight up, the vehicle laying on its driver side. The sound of muffled cries gets louder the closer we get to the vehicle.
I think it’s safe to say that the owner of the camper didn’t try to hoof it to town.
“Hello. Sheriff’s department,” I call out as I move toward the front cab of the car and hoist myself up. Rawlins stands behind me, ready to follow, and I glance through the passenger side window to see a woman unconscious in the driver’s seat, red liquid on the bare skin of her arm. There’s a car seat strapped to one of the rear seats and a chubby hand is waving from it.
Jesus fucking Christ. There’s a baby in there.
My heartbeat spikes in my chest as the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I’m used to the adrenaline spike, and I breathe through it before turning back to the first responders behind me.
“There’s a kid in here. Driver looks unconscious,” I call out before trying to open the passenger door.
“Guys!” Rawlins yells, waving the rest of the volunteer firefighters over.
“It’s locked. I need the unlock kit,” I say to Rawlins.
He calls back to Johansen who jogs over and passes me the kit. After wedging the door open as much as I can, I reach in with the plexiglass arm and hit the unlock button to pop the door open. Handing the gear back to Johansen, I say, “I’m going to get the baby and pass them up to you. Then I’ll look over the driver.”
Gingerly, I lower myself into the cab of the camper and move toward the back. The baby is wearing a pink onesie, and her chubby cheeks are flushed from her cries, her lashes wet with the tears running down her cheeks.
Fuck baby. I hope your mama is okay.
“Hey there, girlie. Let’s get you out of here, huh?” I say in my gentlest voice. Poor kid is probably scared out of her mind. She looks up at me from where her car seat is tipped to the side, with the lightest gray eyes I’ve ever seen, and her cries taper off until she quiets and blinks up at me.
I give her a quick glance over and don’t see any visible injuries. With the way she quieted after seeing me, I’m more inclined to think that she’s just scared, not hurt, thank god.
Keeping her in the car seat for stability until she can get checked out, I unlatch the car seat from the metal hooks holding it to the camper seat and gently twist it to lay horizontal to the ground before handing the seat to Rawlins.
Once she’s cleared out of the vehicle, I leave the guys to check the baby over and pivot toward the driver, climbing back to the front.
Reaching a hand out, I shift a mass of black hair off her face and neck and press my fingers to the side of her throat feeling for a pulse.
Please be alive. Please. I chant the plea to the universe.
The steady thump under my thumb has me blowing out a relieved breath.
“Strong pulse. Let’s get her out of here,” I call out. The guys pile in behind me. It’s a tight fit in the camper with the three of us, and I shift more toward the back while they work on getting her out of her seat while keeping her as stable as possible.
There’s some sort of sticky red liquid on her face and arm, and I didn’t see any open wounds. Leaning forward, I sniff, and the syrupy smell tells me it’s not blood on her like I initially thought. A quick glance around the cab I notice the soda can in the cup holder.
