Читать книгу Mountain Rampage - Scott Graham - Страница 10
ОглавлениеRosie whimpered from the back seat as Chuck sped toward Estes Park, his thoughts, like Janelle’s, torn.
Why were the police and Parker headed for Raven House? What sort of mischief might Chuck’s students have gotten themselves into in the middle of the night? And as for Clarence—Janelle’s brother and one of Chuck’s two field school team leaders—Janelle’s concern was well grounded. It wasn’t much of a stretch to think Clarence might have gotten himself in some sort of trouble.
Janelle tapped on the face of her phone as Chuck crossed Elkhorn Avenue and braked to a stop at the Estes Park Medical Center emergency entrance. Already, the smattering of rain was gone, replaced by a cold wind whipping beneath the covered entryway.
“Anything?” he asked Janelle as he threw the truck into park.
She shook her head. “No reply. He must still be asleep.” A beat passed. “Right?”
“Right,” Chuck repeated, agreeing with what they both wanted to believe.
He hurried into the hospital with Rosie in his arms, Janelle and Carmelita close behind. A gray-haired woman in blue scrubs rose from behind a computer at the front of the hospital’s compact emergency room—three curtained compartments on one side, portable pieces of medical equipment sheathed in plastic along the opposite wall. The woman’s nametag identified her as Irene, R.N. She pressed a button on her computer keyboard before stepping around the counter and putting a hand on Rosie’s arm.
At the nurse’s touch, Rosie lifted her head from Chuck’s shoulder. Despite the drained look on her face, she smiled beatifically at the woman.
Chuck’s heart swelled at the sight of Rosie’s smile. The nurse directed him to lay Rosie in a wheeled gurney in the nearest of the three unoccupied compartments.
“You doing okay, hon?” she asked, leaning over the gurney.
“Yeppers,” Rosie declared in her little-girl version of her grandfather’s raspy voice. She rose on her elbows. “I’m doing grrrreat!”
Janelle dug her fingers into Chuck’s biceps.
The nurse turned from Rosie to Chuck and Janelle and asked doubtfully, “Sick little girl?”
“Really sick,” Janelle asserted. “We think she had a seizure.” Her eyes went to Rosie. “Thank God,” she breathed.
“It’s good she’s doing better now.” The nurse patted one of Janelle’s hands, still gripping Chuck’s arm. “Why don’t we get her checked in for the M.D.?”
Carmelita curled up on a hard plastic seat next to Rosie’s wheeled bed, wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees, and closed her eyes while the nurse set about taking Rosie’s temperature and blood pressure. Before the nurse finished, a tall, broad-shouldered young man pushed through double doors at the back of the emergency room. A shock of bleached-blond hair tumbled to just above the man’s bright, emerald-blue eyes. A deep cleft bisected his square chin, and a strand of white shells, visible in the V-neck of his scrub top, complemented a blond soul patch perched below his lower lip. A nametag on his left breast read Gregory, M.D.
Chuck straightened to his full six feet, but the ER doc still had him by two or three inches. The doctor looked far too young to be a physician, in the same way Janelle, slender and girlish at twenty-eight, looked far too young to be the mother of a pair of girls six and eight years old.
Unlike the doctor’s thick, blond locks, Chuck’s sandy-brown hair was thin and sparse, with more than a hint of gray. Crows’ feet cut deep into the sides of Chuck’s blue-gray eyes, the result of more than two decades of work outdoors on archaeological digs across the Southwest. His lean build contrasted sharply with the linebacker-like physique of the doctor.
As he crossed the tile floor in his slip-on clogs, the M.D. gave Janelle, in her fitted blouse and form-hugging jeans, a full once-over. Chuck’s eyes went to Janelle as well.
His young wife was Carmelita all grown up, olive-skinned and slender, dark, lustrous hair framing hazel eyes flecked with gold, a petite, upturned nose, and full lips.
The doctor stumbled and came to a stop, staring at Janelle.
Color rose in Chuck’s cheeks as the doctor finally turned his attention to Rosie. “Well, hello there,” he said, bending over the gurney, his voice warm and upbeat.
Rosie beamed up at him. “Are you a real doctor?”
“Why, yes. Yes, I am.”
“Do you know how to ski?”
The doctor cocked his head. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
Rosie’s words fell over one another. “I knew it. It’s because you live here, isn’t it? Chuck says everybody who lives in the mountains knows how to ski. I get to learn how this winter. My name’s Rosie. My sister learned how last year, but I didn’t because I didn’t want to. But now I want to because we live in the mountains, just like you. In Durango. We don’t live in New Mexico anymore. Do you know where that is?”
The doctor nodded, providing all the encouragement Rosie needed.
“We’re living at Y of the Rockies for the summer,” she said. “All summer. It’s a resort. It’s fancy. Chuck says it isn’t, but I think it is. I got to ride a horse. It’s fun. We live in a cabin in the woods. But sometimes it’s boring. But mostly it’s fun.”
The doctor grinned and put a hand on Rosie’s shoulder to quiet her. He straightened. “I’m Dr. Akers,” he said to Janelle. “What brings you here this evening?”
“Rosie—my daughter—” Janelle paused for no more than a millisecond, “our daughter—got sick. She had a fever. Then, in the middle of the night, she had a seizure of some kind.”
“Can you describe it for me?”
The doctor looked down at Rosie, his hands on the gurney rails, as Janelle related the scene in the cabin. He turned back to Janelle when she finished.
“The good news,” he said to her, “is that whatever was troubling Rosie clearly has passed, at least for now, and most likely for good. Your instincts were sound—your description is classic for a pediatric febrile seizure.” He reached into the gurney and stroked Rosie’s upper arm while keeping his eyes on Janelle. “Odds are she picked up a virus and seized when the fever peaked.”
Chuck glanced away, his thoughts on how much Rosie’s hospital visit—looking increasingly unnecessary—would cost.
The doctor shone a bright light in Rosie’s eyes, listened to her heartbeat, palpated her abdomen, and ran his hand down the fading patches of red on her arm before turning back toward Janelle. “It’s good you brought her in. Seizures can be dangerous things. At this point, I’d suggest we observe her for a bit before we do any expensive tests. We’ll keep her comfortable, make sure she’s headed in the right direction. That way, if it happens that we’ve got a zebra here, she’ll be where she needs to be.”
Chuck leaned in to catch the young doctor’s eye. “A zebra?”
The doctor looked at Chuck for the first time. “Here in the ER,” he explained, “when we hear hooves, we want to make sure it’s simply a horse—something common and expected. Every now and then, though, the hooves turn out to be something uncommon—a zebra—and we want to be sure we’re prepared for it.”
Rosie’s eyes grew large. “Like in Africa?”
The doctor gave her a reassuring smile. “Which is why I don’t think you’ve contracted a zebra. Or a python either, for that matter. We’re a long way from the Serengeti.” He turned to Janelle. “I’ve got a couple of inpatients to check on. I’ll leave you with Irene for now. Assuming all’s well in a couple of hours, you and Rosie can head on home. I’ll be right upstairs, just seconds away.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Janelle said.
The young physician rested his fingers on her forearm. “You can call me Gregory.”
The muscles at the back of Chuck’s neck tightened. The doctor gave Rosie’s hand a quick squeeze and left the room.
The nurse motioned Chuck toward the front counter. “Time for the paperwork.”
Chuck followed her across the room and took a seat in front of the counter. A multi-band police radio rested on the countertop beside the nurse’s computer, its volume turned low. A male voice, barely audible, issued from the radio’s small speaker. “…wrapping up…Code 12,” the voice said.
Chuck recognized the law enforcement code number from his years of work on federal lands across the West. Code 12 was police-speak for a false alarm.
The tinny voice continued from the radio. “I should be 10-40 in five or ten.”
Chuck let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Logic said the voice on the radio belonged to the officer who’d responded to the Y of the Rockies resort complex thirty minutes ago—and now was readying for departure.
“Roger that, Hemphill,” the dispatcher replied from the radio.
The nurse took her seat behind the counter, opposite Chuck. She rested a hand on the computer’s mouse, her eyes on the monitor.
The officer’s voice sounded again from the radio, this time with a sudden, urgent edge. “Paula. You there? Paula.”
The dispatcher’s response was immediate. “Yes, Jim. What’ve you got?”
Heavy breathing came over the radio; the officer was on the move.
“Paula,” the officer said. “Looks like we have a potential 10-54. I repeat, a 10-54.”
“A 10-54? Jim?”
When the officer’s voice came back over the radio, it had lost all tones of authority. “Blood. Jesus, Paula. A whole bunch of it.”
The nurse, concentrating on the computer screen in front of her, reached a casual hand to the radio and clicked it off.
