Strange Brew, Chapter 10

  • Posted on April 8, 2023 at 2:58 pm

by Rachael Yukey

“Which way?” said Terry, easing the ambulance towards the boat landing exit.

“Take a right on Pine Point,” I said. “It’ll run straight into County Two, then you’ll go left. If I’m right about where we’re going, it’ll be maybe a quarter mile from there.”

“Thanks for not telling Jeff the whole story,” said Terry. “I didn’t want to reach the point of being asked where we’re getting our information. Until we manage to sort out the good guys from the bad guys, I don’t want to get within shouting distance of Halee’s name being brought into this.”

“For what it’s worth, I was thinking the same thing,” I told him.

Terry smiled, shaking his head. “You know, the extent to which we’re on the same page in most situations, without even having to discuss it, is pretty amazing.”

As he signaled left onto County Road Two, a stretch of gravel wider and in better repair than Pine Point Road, I regarded him bitterly.

“Except when it comes to us, right?” I said. Instantly I regretted letting that slip out. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted with Terry, but it seemed at this point we were struggling to even maintain a friendship. And that wasn’t exactly his fault, was it?

Terry shrugged. “Maybe. I’m going to throw out there that you seem extraordinarily allergic to letting anyone get too close, and I am damned if I’m going to chase you down every time you freak out and pull a runner.”

I felt tears sting the back of my eyelids. Hurt and angry, I indicated an upcoming mailbox. “There’s the address George gave us,” I said stiffly. “The field approach should be just past it.”

Terry eased off the gas, letting the rig coast down. He cut hard left so the ambulance was blocking most of the road, then backed into the approach, leaving plenty of room on the right for a second ambulance.

“Any idea where this road George was talking about might be?” he said.

I pointed towards a steep incline in the direction we’d been going.

“There’s what’s left of an old road, with a padlocked chain across the entrance, at the top of that hill,” I said. “Once everything greens up this summer, you won’t even notice it’s there when you’re driving by. I’m not sure, but I think that’s it.”

We fell silent for a few minutes.

“You’re not always so easy to get along with yourself, you know,” I said at last.

The corners of Terry’s mouth quirked upwards. “Think so?”

“It’s impossible to get you to be serious for five minutes,” I said. “And no matter where you are or who you’re with, you always think you’re King Shit of Turd Mountain. I think what worries me the most about you becoming ambulance director is that your head will get even bigger than it already is.”

Terry snorted. “My dear, you needn’t worry. Should it swell any larger, I won’t be able to enter my house.” Then he sobered. “Has it occurred to you that maybe we’re a lost cause? Your refusal to face your demons irritates me, and my narcissistic tendencies annoy you. The combination seems to mostly create friction.”

Before I could formulate a reply, the second ambulance arrived. Nate Hauss was driving, with Scott O’Brien in the shotgun seat. Scott was 25, a gangly man with straw-colored hair that he kept slicked back in a 50s-style duck’s ass cut. He’d attended EMT class with Terry.

“We brought extra hands,” Nate informed us through open windows, after he had backed his rig in next to ours. “Stacy and Jessie are in the back. I figured if it was big enough they wanted two trucks, we might need ’em. Does anyone know what the hell’s going on?”

“Just be ready for anything,” I said.

“Good thinking on bringing extras,” Terry called out.

It was only moments later that a procession of vehicles rounded the bend and came into view. Three police cars, various fire/rescue vehicles including the raggedy old rescue squad ambulance, and half a dozen ATVs. They rolled past us, some of them waving, and ascended the hill that I’d pointed out to Terry.

Spreading out along the edge of the gravel towards the top of the hill, they hastened to get organized. A firefighter carrying a heavy set of boltcutters stepped into the woods, then reappeared a moment later. The big yellow 4×4 Fire Department pickup eased itself into the pine. A firefighter was driving, George Fronse was in the shotgun seat, and two of the deputies were standing in the bed, clinging to the lightbar bolted across the top of the cab. The ATVs followed.

After five minutes that felt more like five years, Fronse’s voice crackled across the airwaves.  “Chief One to all units. Smaller vehicles can follow. It’s rough, so exercise caution, but there’s nothing any of you shouldn’t be able to penetrate. We have the auction pit in sight, and are awaiting the remaining officers before entering the valley.”

A flurry of acknowledgements came in, and one of the Sheriff’s Department cruisers disappeared into the trees, followed by a few other cars and smaller vehicles. The rescue squad ambulance remained parked by the side of the road at the top of the hill.

“Riddle me this,” said Terry, breaking through the tense silence that had fallen between the two of us as we listened to the radio chatter and waited. “Why don’t they replace that old beast with a Suburban or something? Rescue isn’t licensed to transport anyway, so all they need is a vehicle to carry medical supplies. An SUV would go a lot more places than an ambulance will.”

“Some rescue squads have gone over to SUVs,” I said. “Just none of the ones that overlap Bronning’s service area. I don’t see rescue here in town spending that kind of money anytime real soon. They just don’t roll all that often, because we have the EMS service right here.”

Terry pursed his lips and nodded. “Fair point,” he acknowledged.

“Chief One to 304,” George Fronse’s voice crackled on the radio, hailing one of the deputies.

“This is 304,” came the response.

“We’re in sight of the building. The front door is unbarred, and there’s been a lot of foot traffic through here. I’m also seeing what looks like an ATV trail going back into the woods. Someone’s been using this place for something. Is the pit area secured?”

“Copy, we’re secure back here.”

“Chief One to Bronning Medic.”

That meant me. I represented the highest available level of care, and that left me in charge of the EMS team.

“This is Rig Two,” I said into the mic.

“You can move in. The ambulances should make it down the hill all right. Your cold zone is the auction pit. Prep your triage there, and do not proceed beyond that point.”

“Rig Two to Rig One,” I said into the mic as Terry pulled forward onto the gravel, “did you copy that?”

“We copy,” said Nate.

At the crest of the hill, the old road became visible. The foliage was beaten down, crushed by the small parade of vehicles that had passed. Terry eased gently into it, immediately finding himself on a downslope, and doing his best to remain on the existing tire tracks. In the side-view mirror I could see the second truck following at a careful distance, the rescue squad rig bringing up the rear.

The road wound its way deeper into the morass of trees. It was rough, but not rutted or dangerously sloped. It took a full five minutes before the trees began to clear, and up ahead we could see the overgrown, weed-choked remains of an auction pit half the size of a football field. The cattle stand at one end had collapsed in on itself, but the auctioneer’s box still stood. Rusty steel bleachers surrounded the pit on three sides. The two deputies who had brought the cruiser in were waving us around to an opening through which we drove the ambulances into the center of the circle. Perhaps fifty yards beyond the far set of bleachers, a red-brick building stood, with the various rescue vehicles spread out before it.

Terry drove through the pit opening and brought the rig around in a wide arc, coming to a stop facing the exit. Nate did the same, and the rescue ambulance came in last. I recognized the driver of the rescue rig as Brenda Smith. A burley, short-tempered woman with tattooed arms and short hair dyed jet-black, Brenda is the only female on the Bronning fire squad.

As we all got out of our rigs, an ATV approached with a firefighter driving. Brian Severson. “Fronse sent me over here because I’m an EMR,” he said. “Brenda is, too. He said we should do whatever you guys tell us to.”

“All right,” I said, as my temporary command formed a circle with me as the focal point. “I don’t know what we’re going to be dealing with here, and if we’re lucky it’ll turn out to be nothing. I will tell you that we think it might be related to the rash of odd overdose cases we’ve had lately. If you see any of the hallmark symptoms, I’ll be calling on all of you to give the patients your best supportive care until I can get to them, because any effective interventions are outside your scope. If there’s just too many, we’ll get intercepts coming and hit the road. The first truck to go will roll for Melville, but if they don’t have ALS rigs left to intercept with you, choose the next closest facility that still does.”

I thought fast for a moment, trying to anticipate all possible contingencies. I was grateful for the fifty-five degree weather. It wasn’t exactly balmy, but it was warm enough that I wouldn’t have to worry too much about exposure.

“We also need to keep in mind that we have an unknown situation developing ahead,” I went on. “Brian, am I correct in assuming that the Chief is going to have fire hang back while PD secures the building?”

“That’s right,” said Brian.

“We have no idea what they’ll be walking into,” I said, “and we may end up with traumatic injuries to deal with. If there’s more than a handful, we’ll have to set up triage.”

I glanced around the little group, wondering who to choose for this most painful of tasks. The answer, when I arrived at it, was obvious.

“If it comes to that,” I said, “Terry is triage officer.”

“Why him?” said Nate. He looked Terry in the eye. “No disrespect, but those are our families sticking their necks out over there. Not yours.”

Terry started to say something, but I cut him off. “That’s why I picked him,” I said, deliberately putting an edge into my voice. “Do you really want to look at people you’ve known your whole life and decide who we’re not going to treat, Nate? I’m probably the only person here who’s ever had to do triage, and it’s bad enough when it isn’t people you know. Terry’s got the job, and that’s final.”

Nate’s jaw hardened, but he held his peace.

“Terry,” I said, “if it turns out there’s more patients than we can handle, I’m also going to have you serve as transport officer… it goes hand in hand with triage. You’ll get in touch with the hospitals and EMS services, determine who has how many trucks and ED beds, and decide which trucks go to which facilities. Also keep in mind the location of definitive care. For example, if we have a burn victim, you’ll want to get them moving south, because that’s the direction of the nearest burn center. Probably to Johnstown for stabilization, and then they’d transfer from there. Also keep helicopters in mind as an option, but it looks like we have some rain coming in, so they might no-go.”

Terry nodded. “Got it.”

“Brenda,” I said, turning my attention to the firefighter, “does the rescue rig still have that old manual cot in it?”

“It’s there,” said Brenda, “but it doesn’t work. The legs won’t extend.”

“Who cares? Make sure it’s clear, and the bench seat too. We can at least lay a couple of patients in there and have heat blowing on them.”

What I didn’t say was that if there were too many patients and it came to it, I’d put one of the EMTs in the back of that truck with an EMR driver, send it on its way to the hospital, and deal with any repercussions later.

“One last thing,” I said. “If shit does get real, remember where your place is. No matter what’s happening out there, we stay here. Patients get brought to us; we do not go to them. If any one of you gets hurt, that both costs us a provider and gives us an extra patient. We stay put no matter what. If the cops tell us to retreat, we leave, no questions asked.”

I looked around the group. Their faces were mostly scared and pale. Even for the more seasoned EMTs like Nate, this sort of situation was miles beyond the experience of a small-town volunteer.

I forced a smile. “Of course,” I added, “more than likely there’ll be a minor dustup, nobody will get hurt, and I’ll buy everybody a drink this evening. You can all have a good laugh at my expense. Now if there are no questions, get your rigs set up. Have airway adjuncts out and on the bench, and make sure your trauma supplies are easily accessible. Terry, you’ll want to go through your triage kit. Let’s go.”

I rapidly handed out truck assignments, and everybody split off towards their respective rigs. Nate caught my arm. “Look,” he said in hushed tones, “about Wilder being both triage and transport officer…”

“No arguments, Nate,” I said, cutting him off. “I’m sorry you’re not happy, but…”

“It’s not for the reason you think,” said Nate. “I’ve got my problems with Terry, but that’s not what this is about. The thing is, he’s the best EMT out here, except maybe for me. Making him transport officer basically means he’s not doing patient care, and if this gets bad we’re going to need him.”

“All the on-scene care will be for nothing if we don’t get people where they can be helped,” I said. “I don’t trust Stacy, Jessie, or Scott to keep it all straight. It’s Terry or you. You’re both good EMTs, but you’ve got experience on him. That might just make a difference in keeping people alive, so I want you on patient care no matter what.”

Nate thought about that for a moment, gave me a respectful nod, and trotted off for his rig.

Minutes later we were huddled in our ambulances, waiting and listening to the radio chatter as the cops closed in on the old building. The police had been joined by Fronse’s one underling on the Bronning force, a part-time cop named Wes Hamilton. Wes had been in Melville when George got in touch with him, and drove back as fast as his Chevy Malibu could be pushed.

Nate and Brian had wanted to be outside, where they could at least try to see what was happening, but I nixed the idea. It was safer in the ambulances, and I didn’t want them already chilled if they ended up having to do any patient care outdoors.

I’d split my forces into three crews. The rescue ambulance had Brian Severson and Scott O’Brian; an EMR and an EMT. The lowest-acuity patients would go there. If the rig ended up having to transport, there would be an EMT to take the back, and an EMR to drive. Rig One would consist of Nate Hauss, Terry Wilder, and Brenda Smith. With Brenda driving that put the two best EMTs in the back, making for the most effective possible BLS truck if there were more high-acuity patients than I could handle. Rig Two would be Stacy Logan, Jessie Kramer and me. Jessie was inexperienced, and Stacy was, as Terry had once memorably proclaimed, a twit… but either of them would make an acceptable assistant for me while the other drove.

I could see Terry in the shotgun seat of the other ambulance, talking into his phone. I guessed he was preemptively checking status with emergency departments and EMS services, and possibly flight. Smart lad.

PD was in the building now. They reported that the place had been cleaned, tables had been set up, and there was portable light and heat equipment in several rooms. But nobody was there. The quiet radio chatter as they cleared one room after another did nothing for my nerves.

Suddenly Wes Hamilton’s voice crackled through on the radio, low and tense. “Bronning PD Two to Chief One.”

“Go for Chief.” George.

“We’ve got seven kids in here, boss. Last room at the end of the east hallway. Teenagers; three girls and four boys. They’re tied up, hands and feet both, and they’re not very responsive. I think they’re all breathing, but there’s something wrong with them. We’ve gotta get ‘em out of here.”

I tensed. Sitting next to me in the shotgun seat, Stacy Logan bit her lip. I could hear Jessie shifting around in the back.

The radio crackled. “Anything else in the room?” George wanted to know.

“Affirmative. There’s some crates stacked against the wall, a big pile of something under a tarp, and a bunch of different colored pressure cylinders. What about the kids, Chief?”

“We’re on it,” said Fronse. “We just cleared the last room on the ground floor. I’m posting a guard at the basement stairway, and we’ll get the kids out before we go down there. Fire, please bring the pickup and the Rangers to the main door. We’ll lay as many in the back of the pickup as we can fit, put the rest in the Rangers, and haul them over to the EMS cold zone. Come in with soft cots, backboards, and plenty of bodies. Let’s not drop these kids getting them outside.”

I picked up the mic. “Medic to Chief One.”

“Go for Chief.”

“Let’s make sure everyone is keeping an eye on the kids‘ airways. If somebody doesn’t look like they’re breathing well, try repositioning. Make sure the airways are clear. If you can, transport them lying on their sides. If you’re not sure if someone is breathing, check for a carotid pulse.”

“Copy that,” said Fronse. “Folks, you heard the lady. Let’s get everybody out of there alive. Fire, go ahead and move in.”

Terry’s voice issued forth from the radio. “Bronning ambulance to Franklin County.”

“Go ahead, Bronning.”

“We are about to receive seven high-acuity patients; teenagers with an altered level of consciousness. Cause unknown at this time, but we only have one ALS crew. I need five ALS ambulances paged; two from Johnstown, and one each from Jordan, Melville and Perry. Some will be intercepting, and some might have to come all the way to the scene. Can you give me a separate county channel to coordinate with them on?”

“Copy that, Bronning. Take FC4 to coordinate with ALS crews. Did you want us to check the status of flight?”

“Negative; I’ve already checked,” said Terry. “Both Lifelink and North are a no-go for weather.”

“Copy that, Bronning.”

As I listened to the flurry of ambulances being paged out to our location, I couldn’t help but be impressed by how well Terry had the transport situation under control. He really would make a great director.

“Bronning ambulance Rig One to Rig Two,” said Terry.

“Go for Rig Two,” I replied.

“Can you handle two patients if it turns out to be the recent overdose symptoms?”


“Are we considering the Rescue rig as a transporting unit if push comes to shove?”

You read my mind. “Affirmative. They have a licensed EMT in the back; that’ll have to be good enough.”

“Copy that,” said Terry. “You’ll roll for Melville with two. I’m having the rig from Melville come all the way to the scene because their travel time is a little less than the others, and Rig One will roll with one patient towards Johnstown for an intercept with Thormleton. I’m reserving options on the Rescue rig and remaining ALS rigs until we get a look at the patients. I’m thinking I should remain on scene and direct traffic.”

“Copy,” I said. “Remain on scene. You’re doing great, Terry–”

A tremendous thunderclap rang out through the valley. Even in the vehicles, we felt the vibrations as the ground shook. Jessie let out a small yelp from the back, and Stacy’s eyes went wide.

“What the hell?” she said.

“Chief One to all units still inside the building, say your status!” Fronse’s voice barked out over the radio.

“Chief, this is PD Two,” a choked, gasping voice came back. “We have casualties in here. D-don’t know how bad. There’s a lot of smoke and dust, and I can’t see much. I – I’m hurt, Chief, can’t move my leg…”

“We’ll have people coming in for you,” said Fronse. “Anybody inside who can walk, get out of there now! We’ll send fresh teams in to extract the wounded. Chief One to Bronning Medic, we’ve had an explosion in the building. Four of the kids were still inside, along with two officers and eight firefighters. The kids we extracted appear to be coming around, so we’re going to wait until we have more people out to send them your way. Stand by.”

“We copy, Chief,” I said. “Standing by.” I switched channels on my portable. “Bronning Medic to EMS team.”

“Rig One,” Nate responded.

“Rescue,” said Scott.

“Sounds like we’ve got some trauma coming our way. As they show up, the triage officer will evaluate them before they’re unloaded from whatever they’re being transported in. His decisions on treatment priority are final. Everybody stay in your rigs until the first casualties arrive. Any last-minute questions?”

“Rig One copies, no questions,” said Nate.

“Rescue, no questions.”

I worked to keep my outward demeanor calm, and I think I was successful, but my guts were in knots. My father was amongst the firefighters who had approached the building.

We didn’t have long to wait. Barely a few minutes went by before the yellow pickup barreled through the entrance to the pit, jouncing on its stiff suspension. Two Ranger ATVs followed. I could see people sitting up in the back of the Rangers. I popped the door of the rig and slid to the ground, noting as I did that the remainder of my staff were piling out of their trucks as well.

“Go time, people!” I called out, as the pickup swung around behind the ambulances and shuddered to a halt. “Triage officer out front!”

Terry was already moving, approaching the back of the pickup at a fast walk. A firefighter perched in the bed of the pickup hopped over the side and lowered the tailgate.

“Can I have everyone’s attention,” Terry bellowed as he reached the tailgate. “Any injured people who can walk, go around to the passenger side of the pickup and hold tight. We’ll get to you as soon as we can.” Catching Jessie Kramer’s arm, he pressed a bundle of green armbands into her palm. “Give these to the walking wounded so we know who they are.”

The injured in the Rangers got out, then made their way around to the side of the truck. Some were limping, others were clutching their arms, and I could see signs of minor bleeding. Jessie gave the handful of tags to one of the men there, along with a few words of instruction. The man passed the tags around, and the walking wounded began wrapping them around each other’s arms. The Ranger drivers pulled away, headed back for the old brick building to collect more wounded.

I turned my attention to the pickup, where all of the critical cases appeared to be. A number of bodies were in the back, some strapped to longboards, others with soft stretchers beneath them. Terry and two firefighters were standing in my way, so I couldn’t get a good count or identify any of the people there.

The firefighters pulled one of the victims from the pickup bed and onto the tailgate, where Terry had placed his triage kit. Nate tried to press forward, but I placed a restraining hand on his arm. The man on the tailgate was conscious. Terry spoke briefly to him in a low voice as he quickly examined a wound on the left leg. He wrapped a yellow tag around the wrist, indicating an injury that was serious but not immediately life-threatening.

“Rescue rig,” he said briskly, and two firefighters closed in along with the Rescue rig’s crew. The four of them picked up the backboard where the man lay and carried it off toward the ancient rescue ambulance. Another was moved to the tailgate. It was Del Williams, the firefighter who had driven the ambulance on the Jason Bixley call. He was bleeding profusely from an arm wound, and seemed to be unresponsive. Terry shoved a tourniquet at Brian Severson, who was standing by his side, and vigorously rubbed the sternum. Del stirred a little and opened his eyes. As Brian tightened the tourniquet, Terry wrapped a red tag around the arm.

“Rig One,” he said. Nate stepped forward, and Terry put a hand on his arm.

“Take this one to Melville,” said Terry. “There’s an intercept coming from there, but if he’s stable don’t use it. We’re going to need more trucks than we have.” Nate nodded once, took up one of the longboard handles, and with the help of Brian and two others bore the man away. Stacy stepped forward to take Brian’s place as Terry’s assistant.

The next victim was pulled back to the tailgate, and my heart froze in my chest. The man on the soft stretcher was my father. Most of his shirt was in tatters, angry burns swathed his chest, and his face had taken on a waxy, grayish hue. Terry placed two fingers on the neck, feeling around for a carotid pulse as he bent his ear close to the mouth, listening for breathing. Casting a quick, pained glance back at me, he wrapped a black tag around the arm.

“Black,” he said.

It hit me like a punch to the gut. No. No. NO.

“Wait,” Stacy said urgently, turning back to look at me. “Nettie… they said all these people were breathing when they pulled them out. There might be time…”

My vision swam. It was an effort to think. Daddy! my mind screamed. It took every ounce of discipline I possessed to push it aside.

“Black, goddammit!” I shouted.

Gentle hands lifted my father from the tailgate, laying him in the grass off to the side even as the next victim was brought forward.

As he assessed the next patient, Terry spoke sidelong to Stacy. “Get off my triage,” he told her, his voice ice-cold. Stacy stumbled back, looking hurt and offended. Terry was wrapping a red band around an arm.

“Hey, Terry,” Nate was calling from the back of his rig. “Del’s awake, and his BP’s solid. I could take one more if it’s non-critical.”

“Stand by, then,” Terry called back. “Rig two,” he told the attendant firefighters, indicating the patient in front of him. I blinked in surprise; the young lady in question was none other than Samantha Jensen, who I’d almost lost on that hellish ride to Melville. My jaw clenched. Goddamn it, girl… wasn’t one bad trip enough for you? One of the firefighters was holding pressure on her abdomen with a big dressing, which was thoroughly saturated with blood. Terry turned toward me.

“She’s lost a lot of blood, and I’m seeing signs of smoke inhalation, Nettie,” he said. “She needs to go ALS, and she needs to go now. Can you do this?”

My eyes narrowed. I hated the look of pity on his face.

“Stacy, Jessie, let’s go,” I snapped. “Stacy, you’re driving.”

“Roll for Johnstown,” Terry called after us.

As I entered through the side door of my rig, I caught a glimpse of the Rangers swinging back through the entrance to the auction pit, more victims sprawled in the back. I turned my eyes away, not wanting to see who was in those Rangers. I thought that if I had to look at one more person I knew who’d been fucked up, I would scream. I slammed the door, then dropped heavily onto the bench seat.

On to Chapter Eleven!


18 Comments on Strange Brew, Chapter 10

  1. Captain Midnight says:

    I hadn’t known that Nettie’s father was a character in this story! That is awful that we lost him!

    • Rachael Yukey says:

      Understandable… he was never really introduced as a living person, except for a brief mention by Nettie early in the story during a conversation with Terry.

  2. Kim & Sue says:

    Yes, Nettie’s Dad was a surprise. The action was fantastic. It also seems Nettie would be great as the new directer. Liked in the opening Nettie and Terry hashing out their relationship.

    Really good chapter and we can’t figure any of the main characters being behind the crimes. We wonder if Nettie’s dad is in on the crimes? Just what is going on? Eager for the next chapter.

  3. Erocritique says:

    The presentation of the orchestration of the emergency response was incredible. Even with sooooo many moving parts, I was still able to follow along quite easily. – And it didn’t come across as a sterile training exercise. There was a ton of material uniquely related to the various character’s previously fleshed out backgrounds and personas that had me nodding in a knowing way. I was not overly shocked by the rather abrupt reintroduction of Nettie’s father. “Knowing her”, it isn’t surprising that even her father was kept at a distance. (Maybe we’ll learn more about their past relationship now?) – And Nettie’s simple statement of “Black Goddammit” carried with it a deeper meaning and pain than some may have appreciated. I “felt” her words in that moment. – Very powerful. The only problem now, is that I have to wait for the next chapter to find out what the fuck was going on at “The Locker”. (I’m starting to suspect that “The Locker” is a place where the kids engaged in group “huffing” of some mixture of gases due to a few subtle clues) -WHY the kids were tied up begs all sorts of questions. I NEED ANSWERS!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

  4. Clit Licker says:

    This is a brilliant story, even without sex (there is more to life…I’m told). I was visualising the scene – it’d make a good film. If only…

    • Rachael Yukey says:

      Eat, sleep, and screw… there may be more to life, but I hope not! I don’t remember where I heard that, but it’s still funny.

    • Rachael Yukey says:

      Derp…. hit submit before I was done. I’m very honored that you think it’d make a good film. Thanks!

  5. Lakeisha says:

    Awesome chapter. This felt so real as I read I became thoroughly entranced in the reality that the dialogue portrayed. Really well done! Anxiously awaiting the next instalment!

    • Rachael Yukey says:

      The best compliments I get are about the characters and the dialogue, because those are the things I put by far the most effort into. Thanks!

  6. Carol Anne says:

    Wow Rachel, how exciting. Sounds like someone must of given the kids a heads up and some were left tied up and drugged. Unless they find more in the basement. Looking forward to the next chapter.

  7. Dondo says:

    Well I’m still hooked. Either you did a lot of research or have an emergency response background. Real, flawed characters in tough situations, well-written and believable. Looking forward to the next chapter. Thanks Rachel.

    • Rachael Yukey says:

      Thank you! I was a volunteer EMT once upon a time. My partner used to be a paramedic. Still, a lot has changed since I was in it, and I’ve had to do a fair amount of research. Fortunately I know the manager of a small-city EMS service, and when I realized I was in over my head he was kind enough to loan me a protocol book.

  8. Mo says:

    What a great chapter! It says how great this story is that a non-erotic chapter hit with such punch!

    Truly moved at pace and tension of nettle & her team described perfectly.

    You really have built up a group of characters we are all invested in & I’m already wondering how Nettie will cope with the traumatic loss of her dad…

  9. Mike says:

    Incredibly brilliant chapter, the characters are so in depth and amazing, it’s edge of the seat stuff and I can’t believe some of the likes gave it Average, poor & Awful. Are these people even Reading the same exciting story that I am ??

Leave a Reply

Please review the terms of use and comment etiquette before commenting. Messages that break our rules will be removed.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.