Chapter One: The Incident

First chapter of The Grim Note. Like it says in my notes, it still needs work, I know, but this is a draft version. Gimme your feelings, please.

 

Grim’s Note

Chapter One: The Incident

10:56 p.m, Friday, June 30

            Here came another call, another mad dash down the streets accompanied by the cacophony of the sirens. It was another opportunity to rescue someone from being smashed by the dice that were cast by Fate. Or try to, at least.

Being an EMT was largely luck, boosted by the skill and training you may or may not have. This luck had a lot to do with the circumstances of the emergency. Its location relative to yourself, its severity, and whether someone had already gotten there before you and unknowingly killed the same person they tried to provide first aid to. There is no telling how many poor b******s I’ve come up to who had a decent chance to live provided some idiot Samaritan had not gotten there before the ambulance and moved the victim, usually upsetting the spine and neck that couldn’t take the added damaged that came with being moved without the needed precautions.

So, with every call we got, we would turn on the cherry lights and dash across town to try to cheat Death out of a few more lives. It was a race against time, failing organs, and the damned idiots who didn’t have enough sense to clear damned lane for the ambulance in full haul a*s mode. God, how I hate South Huntsville traffic.

Now, let me back up a bit since I’m not the one driving, and give you the low down. My name’s Leonard Garcia. My family immigrated from Spain, rather than Mexico or any of the other countries down in that area and I have the European features to prove it. My grandparents sold their tapas bar and came over by boat to start anew in America. Huntsville, Alabama had a lot of opportunities for foreigners, and had a lower cost of living than most of the big cities where one could find other immigrants of similar origins without too much trouble. But anyway, they eventually had a son, who eventually met a woman who was sadly fated to endure the 13 hours of labor that brought me into the world. Lord bless her, for she still adored me as I grew up and never begrudged me that pain she went through. One of the major values she tried to instill in me was to help others. So, I tried a stint in the armed services as a medic, and so a few years and an honorable discharge later, I was back in town and applied for a job as an EMT.

My partner was a local born as well, but pure American mutt heritage, no one ethnicity reigning supreme. His name was Steve Morrow. Brown hair, dark brown eyes, a face that would be at place in any setting in the city. Easily forgettable. Only real exceptional skill he had was being a damned good driver. He could make that hefty meat wagon fit into gaps between cars that a sane person would think impossible. One time I asked him how he got so good, and he simply shrugged and said he used to drive ATVs through the woods outside the city.

So that brings me here, in this speeding ambulance heading north towards the park trying to fight our way through the dim-witted drivers to get there to save someone’s life or limb, cursing every d********g who didn’t have the sense of decency to move the hell over. Even at eleven at night, the meager nightlife of this city attracted enough people onto the roads.

Eventually, we got to the scene of the wreck. It was just after the Downtown exit and right before the rest of the major exits that would take you around town. There was a red flimsy foreign car smashed against the west side barrier by an eighteen wheeler. I can already see it. The truck was coming onto the main road from the right and merged all the way to the left, and didn’t check his f*****g mirrors or even pay attention to anything. Poor Little Red probably assumed the truck driver would stop merging or see him at least. Once he realized that wasn’t happening, it was probably too late. Little Red was at that moment a statistic that he no doubt heard about countless times before and didn’t think about it as having the ability to touch him. Poor b*****d got touched with several tons of force behind it.

            My partner and I jumped out and made our way to the smaller car, as it was clear that the truck driver was fine. It was easy to identify him by the ruffled clothing, bags under the eyes, and scruff that had residence on his face and neck. He was talking with a cop, wearing the telltale signs of shock and adrenaline high that one gets from being in a wreck, but otherwise he was perfectly healthy. As we passed them, we heard a snatch of his statement.

“…I swear though. Damned kid came outta nowhere, officer. I was just trying to make my exit, and next I know, I’m rubbing this guy against the asphalt, when there shouldn’t have been anyone there!”

“Yeah yeah… Now have you been sleeping according to regulations?”

The rest faded as we moved past them and the sounds of the night traffic reasserted its dominance in our eardrums. Little Red took some heavy damage, more becoming apparent as we got closer. The passenger side of the vehicle had the inherent impact damage from the contact. The driver side was the real mess. It had the initial impact damage from hitting the stone barrier, and then the continued scraping and grinding just added injury to injury. Looking inside, we saw the driver slumped over the steering wheel column. He would never get back up under his own power, as his head was split open like a melon. It was a little odd that a sideways impact would cause him to hit his head like that, but not unlikely. Luckily, or as lucky as things this morbid could be, he was the only one in the car. My partner and I could already tell that we had no chance at all with this one. For him, the dice of Fate came down, and came down hard.

Reviews

[KGV]

Kurt, I absolutely love what I've read so far. I really like this part - "God, how I hate South Huntsville traffic."
I will go on to read the other chapters, and I apologize in advance in my reviews seem short and empty. But darling, I assure you that they aren't. Keep writing, kid. :)

-Kate