Page 252 of Disarm
“I’m here,” I tell him. I don’t know if he can hear me. “I’ve got you. Don’t… don’t fucking go anywhere.”
His fingers twitch around mine, the tiniest squeeze.
I hold onto that like it’s the last hook on a cliff.
The ambulance isall harsh light and narrow space, the air thick with antiseptic and rubber and this faint metallic tang that turns my stomach. They let me ride up front, seat belt digging into my chest. I twist around to look through the small window into the back every five seconds. Caleb’s on the stretcher, strapped in, oxygen mask fogging with each breath. The paramedic from before is at his side, watching the monitor and making notes.
I catch glimpses.
Pulse. Blood pressure. The rise and fall of his chest.
We hit a bump. My teeth clack together. I taste copper from where I bit my tongue.
“Is he—” I start.
The driver, a guy with graying hair at his temples, glances over. “He’s hanging in there,” he says. “Vitals are low but stable. ER’s ready for him. You his partner?”
“Yeah,” I say, staring straight ahead. The streetlights whip past in slashes of gold. “Yeah. I’m… Miguel. I’m?—”
The hospital comes into view in a blur of glass and concrete and fluorescent light. The siren cuts off as we pull into the ambulance bay and the back doors fly open before we’ve come to a full stop, then there are more people, more voices, and more hands.
They wheel him out. I jump down, nearly miss the step, and catch myself on the side of the rig. My legs feel like wet spaghetti.
A nurse intercepts me, a clipboard in her hand. “Are you family?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, at the exact same time my mouth wants to say, I don’t know. What counts?
She takes it. “You can follow us to the doors, but then you’re going to have to wait in the family area until a doctor can talk to you.”
I nod like I understand words.
They push him through the automatic doors. I jog alongside, holding on to the rail of the gurney like if I let go now, he’ll slide away from me forever.
We hit the point where the signs say AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. A nurse steps into my path, gentle but firm hands on my shoulders.
“Sir,” she says. “You need to wait here.”
I want to shove past her. I want to bite. Claw. Dig my way into that room with my bare hands.
Instead, my knees buckle.
The only reason I don’t collapse is because there’s a shitty plastic chair right behind me and I land in it.
“Is he—” My voice is shredded. “Is he going to?—”
Her face softens. “They’re going to do everything they can,” she says. “Right now, the best thing you can do is let them work.”
Behind her, I see a flash of calf muscle as someone in scrubs moves past, the glint of scissors as they cut his shirt, and the beeping of machines syncing into a frantic rhythm.
The doors swing shut.
I can’t breathe without him.
My hands are shaking so hard I can’t unlace my fingers from each other. There’s blood under my nails, drying in rusty crescents. I stare at them like they belong to someone else.
I don’t knowhow long I sit there before my phone vibrates in my pocket. Time has no meaning at this point, so why pay attention to it? It could’ve been five minutes or fifty.
The screen lights up with Mom.
