“Unlocking Secrets: What Lies Within Carrie Mac’s Mysterious Three Envelopes?”
“What’s your name again?” I ask as he flicks on the lights and sirens.
“Dale.” He leans on the horn at an intersection plugged with cars. “Move over, motherfuckers.”
“Shut it down until they have somewhere to go,” I say, but he whop-whops the siren, bullying the cars out of the way and inching through, leaving a mess as the lights change behind us.
We pull up to find our patient lying on the concrete where the sidewalk meets the street at the edge of a driveway belonging to a home with fat, garish pillars that make it look like a small-town courthouse. I grab the kit from my side of the ambulance and go to meet Dale at the back, where he should’ve already pulled out the backboard and the stretcher. He hasn’t though. I don’t see him at all, actually.
