Chapter Four: The Ambulance
The paramedics arrived in eleven minutes. It felt like eleven hours.
Two of them — a young woman named Torres and a heavyset man named Briggs — came through the door with a gurney and were nearly knocked sideways by the crowd pressing toward them.
“Everyone back,” Torres said sharply, pushing through. “Give us room, please — back, now — “
They reached the coffin. Briggs pressed his fingers to Maya’s neck. His eyes met Torres’s.
“Faint,” he said. “But it’s there.”
Torres was already unfolding the equipment. “BP?”
“Getting it.” A pause. “Sixty over forty. Low. Dropping.”
“Okay, we’re moving.” Briggs looked up at the crowd. “Is this her family?”
“I’m her mother.” Carol’s voice was remarkably steady. “I’m her mother, please, is she — “
“She’s alive,” Torres said. She said it plainly, without softening or drama, because plain was what the situation required. “She’s alive and we’re taking her in right now. You can follow us to St. Augustine’s. Do not ride in the ambulance — we need the space. Can you drive?”
“I’ll drive,” Danny said. He was already moving toward the door.
They lifted Maya onto the gurney. Carol watched her daughter’s face — still pale, still still, but breathing, unmistakably breathing now that everyone was looking for it — and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and did not look away until the doors closed.
