Chapter 7 - THE DESERT AMBULANCE
The sharp, rhythmic wail of an approaching emergency siren broke through the quiet expanse of the Flagstaff pine forests. Red and blue strobe lights flashed violently across the diner's front windows, slicing through the dusk that had settled over the parking lot.
Within seconds, two emergency medical technicians shoved open the double glass doors, carrying heavy medical bags and a folding wheeled stretcher.
Mack met them near the counter, his leather vest smelling of exhaust and stale sweat, his face dark with suppressed fury. "Table Four! He's completely unresponsive!"
The technicians moved quickly, taking over the space around the booth. They attached monitoring pads to Cal’s bare, tattooed chest, checked his pupils with a small flashlight, and secured an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose.
"Blood pressure is dropping fast! Pulse is weak and irregular!" the lead technician reported sharply. "Get him on the board now!"
Erin stepped back, giving the medical team room to operate, but she kept her left hand firmly entwined with June’s fingers. She positioned her body so that June wouldn't have to watch the harsh, mechanical process of her father being strapped onto a backboard.
June’s chest heaved with quiet, breathless sobs. She didn't scream or fight her harness. She simply squeezed Erin’s fingers with all her strength, her wide eyes watching her father’s limp hands as the technicians hoisted the heavy stretcher and rolled him toward the exit.
Mack stepped up to the wheelchair, reaching down to release the wheel locks. "I'm bringing her in my truck behind the rig," Mack growled, his voice thick with tension.
The moment Mack reached for the wheelchair handles, June let out a sharp, distressed sound.
She pulled her body away from Mack’s reach, burying her face directly into Erin’s burgundy apron, her small arms locking tightly around Erin’s waist in total resistance.
Erin looked up at Mack. The veteran rider looked completely overwhelmed, his hands hovering uselessly in the air. He knew how to handle motorcycle club politics and highway emergencies, but he was entirely unequipped to comfort a non-verbal, traumatized child.
"She's terrified, Mack," Erin said softly but firmly. "Let me take her in my car. My shift ended fifteen minutes ago. I'll follow right behind the ambulance."
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Mack hesitated, his sharp eyes scrutinizing the young waitress. He looked at June, who refused to loosen her grip on Erin's apron, then out toward the flashing red lights of the ambulance outside.
"Fine," Mack muttered, wiping his hand over his graying beard. "Stick right behind my rear tire. Don't pull off for anything."
