The person didn’t respond. She listened to Sam step away and then heard him vomiting. Probably his first experience with a person nearly dead.
The rookie came back, keeping his distance from her and the victim. “A few people have come out that side door already. They ran to their cars and drove off while I was here with the dude. Is he still alive?”
“He’s breathing.” She made a judgment call. “Stand by that door. Keep it secure. Don’t let anyone come out of the gym. I’ll watch this guy until the ambulance gets here.”
Sam hurried off, this time without argument.
Bernie straightened up and stared north toward NM 491, the direction from which the medics and fire trucks would come. Waiting. That could be the motto of her experience in law enforcement in the Four Corners. Waiting for an ambulance. Waiting for the FBI. Rarely did the Navajo Police have the luxury of waiting for backup—most of the time, officers were on their own. So few police for so much geography, and a growing population.
Because Shiprock Hospital was closer than the fire station, she figured the ambulance would arrive first, then the fire trucks. Then the San Juan County deputies unlucky enough to be working tonight. Then the New Mexico State Police, the FBI, and whatever other conglomeration of agencies got involved with cars that blew up. Maybe some of them would get there before the game ended and the crush of people wanting to leave the gym intensified.
She heard the injured man groan and squatted next to him. She softened her voice. “I’m a police officer. I’m here with you, sir. An ambulance is on the way. We’ll do everything we can for you. Hang in there.” It had been long minutes since the explosion. So far, no second blast and no snipers shooting at Sam, at her, or at anyone else. Then she noticed a tall, slim figure in a white cowboy hat walking toward the disaster site. She stood, drew her gun, and yelled, “Hey, you. I’m a police officer. Get over here now.”
The man look toward her, surprised, and yelled back as he continued her way. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I’m here to help.” He stopped a few feet away, and she followed his glance to the injured person. “Holy cow. He looks bad.”
“Who are you?”
“Byrum Lee. I’m a medic.” Unlike the rookie, Lee kept his cool despite the horror of the body’s disfigurement.
“What are you doing here?”
“I had to work late, but I came to see the end of the game.” As he spoke, he reached toward his pocket. She automatically raised her gun. “Don’t worry, Officer. I’m not armed. I’m getting out my ID. I heard the explosion from my truck just after I turned off the engine. I saw the car come apart and start burning. I didn’t know what to do, but when that police car drove up, I thought maybe he could use some help. I didn’t realize you were already on the scene.”
He gave her his wallet, open to his driver’s license. While she examined it, Lee squatted down and gently pressed his fingers against the charred skin of the man’s neck. He moved near the man’s face and turned so his ear was close to the victim’s open mouth.
Lee stood. “I was in Afghanistan. That was a long time ago, but some things stick with you, like the sound of lungs filling with blood. He’s in bad shape.”
“The ambulance is on the way.”
Behind her, Bernie heard the gym doors open and the heated tones of the tail end of an argument. She turned in time to see a small group of people—they looked like teenage boys—running into the cold. For a split second she considered the wisdom of leaving the victim with an unknown Good Samaritan.
“Mr. Lee, stay right here until the ambulance comes. Tell me if the guy says anything. And don’t let anyone mess with the burning car.”
“Sure thing. Whatever I can do. Nobody should die alone.”
She sprinted toward the boys, almost reaching them before they got to a red van.
2
“Hey, you guys! Stop. I’m a police officer.”
The boys broke into a gallop, increasing the distance they already had on her, splitting off in different directions. She berated herself as she turned back to the burning car. First she couldn’t find a dying man, and now she let possible suspects get away.
Then, in the distance, she saw the welcome red flash of ambulance lights against the night sky. Moments later, she heard the wail of the sirens. An ambulance and, behind it, a fire truck. Something wound tight inside her relaxed a fraction of an inch. The situation was bad and could still become disastrous, but in a few minutes she and Sam wouldn’t be facing it alone.
She stopped to catch her breath, thinking of what to tell the emergency folks. Then she saw two sets of headlights on the road right behind the ambulance, with turn signals indicating they were headed for the gym. The vanguard of the expected stream of parents, aunties, and neighbors coming to pick up the kids who attended the game. More would follow.
The fire truck and ambulance headed toward the smoldering car, and Bernie ran to meet them. The truck stopped outside the entrance to the gym and two firefighters got out. She knew the taller one, Mike Hannigan, but he looked right through her and headed toward the uniformed rookie standing by the side door.
She yelled. “Hannigan. Bernie Manuelito, Navajo Police.”
He stopped. “Hey, Officer. What’s cooking?”
“I heard the explosion about half an hour ago. No more since then. Officer Sam and I are the only law enforcement here. We found one victim.” She moved toward the ambulance. The driver lowered the window. “Follow me.”
She jogged to where Lee waited with the injured man. The ambulance rolled along behind, lights flashing.
The driver called to her out the open window. “Only one person hurt?”
“That’s all we’ve got for now.”
She heard another siren and noticed more responder lights approaching from the distance. Much quicker than she’d expected. Thank goodness.
The ambulance crew went to work and Lee stepped aside.
“He’s hanging on.” Lee kept his gaze on the injured man. “We said some prayers. He didn’t speak, but I know he heard me. Poor guy.”
“Thanks for your help. I need your ID. I’m sure the feds will want to talk to you.”
Lee showed Bernie his Arizona license again and she jotted down the information. The game would officially be over in a few minutes if it didn’t go into overtime. For many fans the combination of fear, curiosity, and fatigue would overpower their respect for an elder like Mr. Franklin. She envisioned the chaos and kept moving to coordinate the response.