Page 27 of In Sheets of Rain

I stumbled into Cathy and Mark’s and collapsed on the couch, accepting the shot glass with a grimace.

“I think I might puke,” I told her.

“Pussy,” she said.

I downed the shot glass to raucous laughter.

* * *

“Location, A 5-6?”

“On scene. R4-7-7.”

“Nature of emergency, Ky,” Gregg pressed, standing at my shoulder, watching my screen like a hawk.

There were more people in the room. Delta 10 for one. The medical director for another.

Everyone was silent.

“Ambulance. A 5-6,” I said. “Nature of R4-7-7?”

“Patient has a machete. R25.”

“On it,” Gregg said, stepping back to his desk to call the cops.

“Injuries?” Delta 10 asked.

“Ambulance. A 5-6,” I said, feeling sweat trickle down my spine. “Are you hurt?”

There was no reply.

* * *

The good thing was, I told myself as I wiped my mouth and stood up from the toilet bowl, that I’d just puked out most of what I’d recently drunk.

I washed my mouth out with water from the tap and swerved my way down the hall to the lounge.

Mark met me as I entered.

“You OK, Ky?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, because it was expected.

But Mark was a fireman not an ambo.

“Come have a ciggie out on the deck,” he suggested.

I followed behind him feeling lost.

* * *

“This is Ambulance Communications,” Gregg said into his headset. “One of our trucks is in danger at a job in Devonport. We’re requesting urgent police backup.”

“Ambulance calls A 5-6,” I said over the radio. No other ambulances were making a sound.

No one was talking out there.

Not even A 5-6.