Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“Cash,” I shout when his anger sees him pulling the driver out of the wreckage and adding to his bruises with his fists.
Mud slips off my backside when I scamper to my feet and race around the hanging-open driver’s side door of the truck. Cash’s dithering mood makes sense when the strong scent of alcohol filters out of the truck’s cabin. There are several open bottles littering the floor and even more in the tray.
I praise the lack of length in my strides when Kamil and several of Cash’s frat brothers arrive on the scene only seconds later. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Milo, back up.”
Kamil pulls Cash off the barely conscious driver before straying his eyes to me. My brows furrow when he stares at me for several long seconds. The mud on my backside makes it look as if I pooped my pants, but he isn’t staring at my butt. He appears to be looking straight through me.
“Oh shit,” I murmur when I follow the direction of his gaze. The driver wasn’t the only person in the truck. He had a passenger who must not have been wearing her seat belt since she was flung several hundred feet through the air. “Call 9-1-1.”
Animals and people are very different, but our vital organs are almost the same. They function in the same manner, and keeping them working is the only task when you stumble onto a wreckage where a person doesn’t have a pulse.
“Tilt her head back,” Cash shouts, his voice as shaky as the hands I’m compressing down on the blonde’s chest.
With his focus no longer on the driver, Kamil lets Cash go. He drops to his knees on the opposite side of the passenger before tilting her head back as suggested.
“Compressions are more important than breathing for her. If we can keep her heart pumping, she could survive.” Cash unplugs her nose before wordlessly seeking instructions on how he can help me keep her alive. “Can you compress her chest?”
As he lifts his chin, he shuffles closer before mimicking my position. Once he has her chest rising and falling in the same pattern as his chest, I rip off the belt of my onesie then tourney it above the large gash in the woman’s leg. It is a lot deeper than the wound Cash tendered to only minutes ago and far more life-threatening.
When my cruel tug causes the woman to whimper in pain, I instruct, “Stop chest compressions and check for a pulse.”
Tears prick my eyes when my suggestion isn’t needed. The woman’s eyes pop open as she sucks down breaths like she’s aware how close she came to taking her last one.
Although her consciousness is a good sign, we still have to move fast to save her leg.
“We need to pack the wound.” I stray my eyes to my outfit that will leave me naked if I were to remove it to Cash. “Your shirt. Give me your shirt.”
The woman’s sobs break my heart when I stuff Cash’s shirt into her wound, but I continue, mindful a little bit of pain now will save her a heap of heartache down the road.
“Now apply pressure to the wound,” I instruct when Cash helps me shove in as much of his cotton shirt into the gaping wound as physically possible. “It’s okay. Stay still. The paramedics are almost here,” I assure the blonde when her whimpers double the shakes hampering Cash’s body.
His tall height and athletic build make him appear as big as a giant, but right now, he seems more like a scared, frightened boy.
“Over here,” I shout when I spot a paramedic emerging from the back of the truck.
When he drops to his knees beside me, I rattle off everything we’ve done the past ten-plus minutes.
“How long was she unresponsive?” he asks while setting up heart equipment on the footpath’s edge.
“Two, maybe three minutes. It wasn’t long. We started chest compressions immediately and tourneyed her leg around five minutes ago.”
My eyes snap down to the scratch on my leg when the paramedic’s double layer of latex gloves has him stumbling to remove the cover of his syringe. When I noticed splotches of blood on and around the Band-Aid Cash applied, I sigh in relief.
I didn’t consider the consequences of working on a patient without proper protective equipment. I just wanted to save her life.
“You did good. We’ll take it from here.”
Before I can return to my feet, a second paramedic says, “Make sure you pass on your details to the officers. We will do a full blood workup and advise if you need to be tested.”
Even knowing he has no reason to fret, I nod. “I don’t have any open wounds.”
“And him?”
I realize how bloody Cash’s hands are when the paramedic nudges his head at them. They’re coated in blood, although I’m reasonably sure none of it is his.