Lines in, needles out, pump up the cuff, write something down. Janey was just another patient to him, one more casualty of the war on drugs. “Ma’am, I need you to let go of her hand.” The EMT’s voice was brisk and businesslike. Not what it looked like, but what it was.
She squeezed Janey’s hand harder, willing her to fight, to know that she wasn’t alone, that there was someone here who cared, who knew the truth of what had happened. All of her energy was focused on the pale woman strapped to the gurney, struggling to live. There were no windows, and even if there had been, she couldn’t have made sense of it. The radio blatted voices-the dispatcher, other drivers, hospitals. The siren was a constant assault to her ears. SIDONIE REID gripped the seatbelt tightly, the nylon digging into her fingers as the ambulance roared through an intersection to the sound of blaring horns and squealing tires.
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