The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters) by Sheehan-Miles, Charles (ebook reader online free .txt) 📗

I screeched, “Where are they?”

“They’re going to be fine, ma’am, stay calm, so we can get everyone taken care of.”

I heard the doors shut, and it was darker inside the ambulance. Then we were rolling, and I heard the siren wail. From my position flat on my back, with my head and body immobilized, I couldn’t see much, only a rack of equipment and monitors. One of the EMTs stared at a monitor, reading off numbers to the other, who took notes. The ambulance hit a pothole, and I felt myself lurch, then we were slowing down, the horn blaring. It was so loud, my head hurt, and I was queasy.

“Ma’am, I’m going to ask you some questions, it will save time when we get to the hospital.”

“Yes,” I croaked. I searched with my eyes until I saw the EMT. He was dark skinned, his head shaven, wearing a dark green uniform. He looked confident.

“Let’s start with your name?”

“Carrie.” My voice shook. “Carrie ... uh ... Thompson-Sherman.” I closed my eyes. I must have hit my head harder than I thought. Fear ran through me again. Was Ray okay? Sarah and Jessica?

“Okay, Carrie. I’m Jared,” the EMT said in a reassuring tone. “As far as we can tell, you’re in pretty good shape. A possible concussion, but no broken bones, no bleeding. We have your neck immobilized to protect against any spinal cord damage, but we’re sure you’ll be all right. I want you to stay relaxed.”

I tried to nod and scratched out, “Relaxed.”

I had to blink back tears. How the hell did they expect me to relax? I still saw the car in my mind, a huge green jeep barreling down on us. Ray’s head slamming against the glass. The glass shattering, flying toward my face.

“Good, Carrie. Now, can you tell me your age?”

I had to think again. “Twenty-six. No. Twenty-seven.”

“Are you taking any medications? Are there any medical conditions we should be concerned about?”

“No,” I whispered.

“Can you tell us who else was in the vehicle with you?”

I stifled a sob. “Ray. And my sisters. Sarah and Jessica. They were visiting.” My voice trailed off and I paused before I spoke again. “They got here last night. From San Francisco. Is ... are ... are they okay?”

“Everyone’s going to be fine, Carrie.”

I tried to swallow. My throat was dry, swollen. We hit another bump, and my throat swelled with vomit. “Oh God,” I mumbled as the bile came up my throat.

The EMTs rushed forward, and Jared ordered, “Suction.” Acid flooded my mouth, and I puked, and puked again, everything I’d eaten and drunk that day coming up in a huge rush as one of them stuck a tube in my mouth to suck it out, leaving me gagging, tears running down my face.

I wanted to curl up and cry. I wanted to find Ray and my sisters. There was nothing I could do, but lay there gagging and smelling my own filth. My eyes rolled up, the noxious smell making me vomit again, as if there was anything left to expel. Finally, I whispered, “I think I’m done.”

They just ignored me, and the one with the suction device continued for a few seconds more. My throat burned.

Jared wiped some of the bile from my face with a sanitary wipe as the other EMT took away the suction. “Is there anyone we can call? Family?”

I closed my eyes, trying not to groan.

I answered the question. “Please ... call my sister, Alexandra.” Alexandra was my closest relative geographically, only a few hours away in New York. I gave him the number, and he wrote it down, and the ambulance swayed and rocked, then another thump as we ran over yet another pothole. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the nausea. I must have a concussion.

I hoped they’d call Alexandra right away. Please God, don’t let Dylan be the one to answer the phone. He would know how to get a hold of Ray’s parents, but he would take some calming down. Dylan and Ray had served in Afghanistan together, and were as close as brothers. Closer.

I was so scared.

They’re working on getting the others out of the vehicle.

What did that mean? How badly were they injured?

I didn’t have any answers, and I felt darkness closing in, and I was so sleepy.

“Ma’am ... you need to stay awake. You’ve may have a concussion. Open your eyes.”

I fought to open them and tried to speak. My throat was so dry I couldn’t do any more than croak. “You’ll call my sister?” I asked. “Please?”

Jared put his hand on my shoulder. “We will. I promise.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

It was the longest ride of my life.

Are you the wife? (Carrie)

“Ma’am, I’m the triage nurse, we’re going to check you over real quick, all right?” The nurse was younger than I was, but she exuded calm. The emergency room was crowded, and the gurney I lay on had been shoved up against a wall in the hallway. The cream-colored walls and abstract art were designed to soothe, but the equipment up and down the hall, the various beeping and alarms I could hear, and the efficient and hurried motion of nurses and doctors overrode that.

“I need to know where Ray and my sisters are.”

“I promise, we’ll find out. For right now, I need you to stay calm while I get your blood pressure and vitals, okay?”

I nodded, and she slipped a blood pressure cuff up my arm and tightened the Velcro around it.

“I need to ask you a couple of questions.” She pressed a button on a monitor and the blood pressure cuff began to expand, squeezing my arm. “Do you know what happened?”

“Car accident.”

“Okay, can you tell me what year it is?”

I blinked then said, “2013.”

“Okay, good. Do you know who the President is?” She met my eyes as she asked the question.

I was getting impatient. “Barack Obama.”

“Did you hit your head, or lose consciousness?”

“I don’t