With a heavy heart and an almost overwhelming sense of dread, T. J. was the first to reach the auditorium. Hondo and Deke were almost on his heels, and their eyes immediately fell upon the stricken officer. Street was kneeling beside Luca, his hand on the younger man's shoulder, and he turned his head to gaze up at his commander, his somber expression saying more than words in regard to the severity of the injury.
Luca was still seated against the wall in a position that had prevented them from seeing him when they had searched the auditorium minutes earlier, his head tipped slightly to the left, as if the effort to hold it up was too great. His eyes were closed, and his lips were pressed together in a tight line, indicating that he was still conscious and suffering terribly. His right hand was pressed tightly against the wound in his abdomen; the left hand was clenched in a tight fist on the floor at his side.
T. J. dropped heavily to his knees beside him and propped his rifle against the wall, staring with large eyes at his friend and teammate. He placed a hand on Dom's other shoulder. "Dom?"
Dom opened his pain-glazed eyes, his gaze meeting that of the team's sharp shooter, but he did not speak.
Turning his head, T. J. looked up at Hondo, imploringly.
For once, even the always-composed Hondo seemed temporarily at a loss for words. He pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture of despair. His eyes dropped to the bulletproof vest that he held in his other hand, the vest that would have prevented such an injury had it been worn. The one time, the one time he had not worn it, the unthinkable had happened! Replacing the cap, he regained his sense of command.
"Deke, radio for an ambulance."
Deke nodded, grasping the microphone at his belt. "Right away."
While Deacon radioed for help, Hondo squatted down in front of the badly wounded officer. "Dom?"
Luca turned his head slightly to look up at Hondo. "I forgot my vest," he said, softly. "I didn't even realize until after I was hit."
Hondo nodded, glancing at the vest. "I know, Dom. We just found it back there where you had left it. It isn't your fault. None of us thought about it, either." His expression was very concerned. "Help is on the way. Just sit still."
I'm not going anywhere! Luca thought, feeling strangely amused by the comment.
The others saw the slight smile the curled the corner's of the wounded man's lips, but none understood it. Then the smile turned into a grimace as he fought a wave of increased pain. His body stiffened slightly, his hand pressed tighter against the wound, and a low, wordless exclamation of pain could not be stifled, even with his lips pressed tightly together.
T. J.'s hand on Dom's shoulder tightened, as if he was attempting to ride out the pain with him.
Finally, the pain seemed to diminish a bit, for Dom�s body relaxed somewhat, but a strange sense of dizziness had come over him.
He stared with large eyes, seeking his teammates who were gathered around him, and felt sudden anxiety that everything seemed to be growing dark. He drew several deep breaths, trying to fight the unconsciousness that he knew was rapidly approaching, but it did not help. The darkness was closing in all around him, like a door to reality slamming shut. He turned his eyes in the direction that he knew T. J. was kneeling, and reached toward him with his left hand, but the hand groped the empty space beside the officer. "Teej?"
Alarmed, T. J. grasped the groping hand that could not seem to find him. "I'm here, Dom."
"I-I think I'm g-gonna ---"
Faint. Which he did. T. J. caught him in his arms as he slumped over, and gently lowered him to the floor, then placed his fingers against Dom's throat beneath his jaw, and was relieved to feel the steady throbbing of his pulse beating beneath his fingertips. He looked up at Hondo with urgency. "Lieutenant, we have to get him to the hospital, now!"
"I know, T. J. The ambulance is on its way."
Deke placed a hand on Harrelson's shoulder to attract his attention as he returned his microphone to his belt. "I'm afraid there's a problem getting the ambulance here," he said, quietly. Before Hondo could respond, he explained, "There was a serious accident at the intersection of 5th and Holland. No injuries, but many cars are involved, and traffic is backed up in all directions. ETA on the ambulance is at least twenty minutes."
"Twenty minutes!" Hondo exploded. Glancing at his two subordinates, he saw Street and McCabe were staring at him. He lowered his voice. "Damn it, Deke! Luca isn't going to last twenty minutes without medical attention! Did you explain the situation to them?�
�I explained it, but there is nothing they can do. An ambulance will have to be routed around it, and that will take time.�
�What about a chopper?"
"I already asked. It's out on another call. Heart attack. They can bring in one from another area, but again, it'll take awhile to get here."
"Then we only have one choice." He snatched microphone from his belt. "Sam?"
"Yes, boss," came the response from the van driver.
"I have a man down. We need to get him to the hospital on the double. Bring the van around to the south exit. Deke will meet you back there. Back up to the door, as close as you can get, and try not to alert the press that anything is out of the ordinary. No lights or sirens just yet. I don�t want them in the way."
"I'll be there in thirty seconds," Sam promised.
Deke turned and rushed to the back door. A few seconds later, the van appeared, pulling onto the grassy field of the schoolyard. Deke gestured to him, beckoning him to hurry, and Sam instantly complied. Grass sprayed from the wheels as he speed toward the back door. He skidded to a halt, slammed the vehicle in reverse and backed up to the door.
Inside the auditorium, Hondo passed his rifle to Street, and reached for the fallen officer. "I'll carry him myself. Street, make sure all the doors are open. McCabe, you take the equipment."
While Street hurried out the door, Hondo lifted Luca into his arms, cradling him as if he was a child. Unsupported, Luca�s head fell back, and his arm dangled limply.
T. J. picked up Luca's rifle, as well as his own, and the bulletproof vest, and followed him. At the south entrance, Street was holding the school door open and just outside the door, Deke had opened the back doors of the van.
Hondo carried Luca carefully through the doorway, and stepped into the van, placing him on the floor. Street, T. J., and Deacon climbed in and pulled the doors closed behind them.
"Okay, Sam," Hondo said into the microphone. "Get us to the hospital, lights and sirens. There is an accident at 5th and Holland. Route us around it."
"You got it," Sam replied.
The van pulled away from the school, and speed across the soccer field to the street. They rolled off the curb, and sped toward the nearest hospital.
The first thing that Luca became aware of as consciousness returned was the pain, an intense wave of agony that embraced his body in a merciless grip of torture. He knew that the pain meant that he was still alive, but whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, he honestly could not give an objective opinion at that moment. Never in his life had he known such unbearable torment. To let go, to pass into the other world where, according to his devoutly religious mother, there was no pain, would surely be better than what he was experiencing at that moment.
Gradually, his other senses began to return. All around him, there was noise. He could hear the steady hum of a finely turned engine, always maintained to keep it in the peak of performance, and the whishing of cars rushing past.
No, that was not correct. He was in the vehicle that was traveling at a high rate of speed, and it was whishing past the other vehicles. A siren was wailing, a shrill, monotonous sound. He knew he must be inside an emergency vehicle of some kind; perhaps an ambulance?
No, that was not accurate, either. If he were in an ambulance, he would be lying on a gurney. Instead, he was lying on the hard floor, where every bump, every imperfection in the road sent a shock of agony through his wounded body. He could actually feel the vibration of the chassis as it sped across the hard surface beneath the tires.
There were voices around him, familiar voices, voices he heard nearly every day. They were conversing quietly, scattered fragments of words and phrases, all heavy with concern, and one of them had a tense, angry edge to it. He had heard that angry clip before, had even been on the receiving end of it on more than one occasion.
Harrelson.
Uh-oh! You're in for it now, Dominic, he thought, his own voice mocking him inside his head. You messed up. You engaged without awaiting approval. Harrelson will have your hide for that!
Slowly, he became aware of someone holding his right hand, and he concentrated on that as if it was a lifeline to his existence in this world of the living. It was not a woman's hand. He determined that quickly. It was larger, more powerful, obviously belonging to a man, but it was holding his hand now in a compassionate, consoling grip intended to offer comfort.
He struggled to open his eyes, wanting to see the owner of the hand. Who was it? After several tries, he finally succeeded in achieving that goal, gazing through lids that were mere slits at the man who sat beside him.
It was T. J., seated on the floor beside him. Ignoring the blood on Luca�s hand, he was gripping it firmly in �mod� handshake fashion, a worried expression on his face.
When the other officer saw that his teammate was looking at him through heavy-lidded, pain-glazed eyes, he glanced over his shoulder at the person behind him. "Lieutenant? He's awake."
Hondo leaned over with that same worried expression he saw on T. J.'s face. "Decided to be a hero, did you?" he said, trying to make the comment sound light, but it was weighed down by that distinct undercurrent of concern.
Luca's lips parted to speak, but the words seemed slow to form.
"That's all right," Hondo assured him, leaning over to place a hand on his shoulder. "Don't try to talk. We'll be at the hospital in a few minutes."
The hospital. Of course. That was why he was gripped by such agony. He had been shot.
Mustering all the strength he possessed, he finally managed to push one word through his lips, a mere whisper, but it was heard and understood by his friend. "Kids . . ."
"They're fine," T. J. responded. "All of 'em. Thanks to you."
"You saved that kid's life, Dom," Hondo said, his voice more gentle than usual, and Luca noticed that he had used his first name, an occurrence that happened only rarely. Worried that he might never get another chance to say it, he added, "We saw that gun you shot from that kid's hand. You've been holding out on us. Why didn't you tell us you could shoot like that?"
"Didn�t . . . have a choice," Luca said, weakly, his voice edged with pain. �Had to . . . � He grimaced briefly. � . . . make it count.�
"Well, you did good, Dom. You did real good."
As the van neared the first major intersection, Sam was surprised to see that two police cars were sitting at either side of the crossroads with lights and sirens on. Having heard the communications over the radio about a badly wounded SWAT officer enroute to the hospital, they had cleared the busy intersection of traffic in all directions. When the van sped through it, the two cars fell in with it as escorts, one in front the other behind. At every major intersection they reached, they encountered the same assistance as other officers farther up the road cleared the streets and intersections of traffic, and then joined in the escort.
In the rear of the van, the SWAT team could hear the sirens, and exchanged glances, wondering what was taking place.
As if reading his commander's mind, Sam's voice crackled over Hondo's microphone. "I wish you could see this, Lieutenant. WCPD has cleared all the intersections of traffic. We have a clear road all the way to the hospital. Even with the reroute, we�ll get to the hospital before an ambulance would have! You can hear the escort that's accompanying us."
Emotionally moved by the unified tribute to his wounded officer, Hondo said, "God bless them." Leaning over the wounded officer, he placed his hand on Dom's forehead, smoothing back the sweat-damp hair, and said, "Did you hear what he said, Dom? Can you hear them?"
Gazing up at the ceiling of the van, Luca listened to the chorus of sirens that surrounded the SWAT van. To most people, the sound would have been unsettling, but to an officer in distress, it was as beautiful as music. The message was clear: We care, we�re here for you, and we want to help.
He gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. "Sirens . . ."
"They're clearing the streets of traffic, and giving you escort to the hospital."
Emotional tears welled in Luca's eyes at the honor being paid to him. When he blinked, they spilled from the outer corners of his eyes in thin wet lines down his temples and into his hair, already damp and starting to curl slightly from the pain-induced perspiration.
By the time they neared the hospital, more than a dozen police cars, every car in the vicinity, had joined the escort in honor of their critically wounded brother in arms.
Dom's mouth felt very dry, yet he felt the need to swallow, a puzzling reflex that seemed unnecessary. "It's bad, isn't it?" he whispered, an effort that took almost every ounce of his strength.
T. J. swallowed hard, and Dom noticed the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. He had never noticed that before. Funny, how his senses seemed more focused on things than ever before. It was as if his mind wanted to notice everything before . . .
T. J. hesitated, glancing at Harrelson as if for authorization, and Dom knew he didn't want to answer. Even the straight-talking Harrelson seemed to be avoiding the answer.
"Truth," Dom whispered.
Finally, T. J. nodded, slowly, unable to lie to his co-worker. He would find out soon enough anyway, and if he were in that position, he would want a truthful answer. "Yeah, it's bad, but you're tough. You're gonna be fine."
Luca heard the uncertainty in his friend's voice, and he did not fail to notice the way Hondo and Deke exchanged glances behind him, confirmation that T. J. was trying to comfort him by offering hope that might not be realistic.
A painful pressure against his abdomen drew his attention to his left, and he saw that Jim Street was on the floor on his other side, holding his hand against the wound in his abdomen in an attempt to impede the flow of blood. Someone had opened the front of his jumpsuit and pushed up the tee-shirt he wore beneath it to expose the wound. Again, he saw that same expression of intense concern on Jim's handsome face that he had seen on the faces of the others. In response to Dom's gaze, Jim managed a weak smile.
"Hang in there, Flash," he said.
Lowering his gaze, he managed to lift his head slightly and looked down at the blood-soaked cloth that Jim was pressing against the wound, and experienced a ripple of alarm. Could anyone lose that much blood and survive?
The movement of his head caused the dizziness to return, and Luca could feel himself slipping into darkness again. His head dropped to the floor again, and he wondered if he was dying or if he was merely losing consciousness. He had been neglectful of his church attendance, but if he was dying, he would need the family priest.
"T. J.?" His voice was getting weaker.
T. J. leaned closer to better hear him. "Yeah, Dom?"
"Send for Father Manucci," he requested.
T. J. felt a twinge of emotion in his heart, understanding that Luca was asking that Last Rites be administered. Behind him, Deke and Hondo exchanged grim glances.
"I'll send for him," he promised, but he never knew whether or not Dom had heard. The eyes closed again, and the hand he was gripping relaxed.
When it was apparent that Luca had lost consciousness again, T. J. again placed his fingertips against his throat to assure himself that he was still alive. Once more, he felt the steady throbbing that confirmed life.
"Hang on, buddy," he said, softly. "Hang on."
The van screeched around the corner into the hospital lot's emergency entrance, forcing everyone inside the van to brace themselves. T. J. and Street held on to Luca to steady him and prevent him from being flung across the floor by the abrupt turn. Sam sped through the lanes, swerving around slow vehicles and ignoring speed signs. Once, he honked the horn loudly to hurry along a couple of slow moving pedestrians who decided to step off the curb at that moment. Startled, they jumped back to the safety of the sidewalk until the police van had passed. They stared after it, wondering what was going on.
Once in the hospital parking lot, the police cars began to fall out, one by one, as the van neared its final destination. They would be required to return to duty, but their thoughts and their prayers would be with the wounded officer. Most of them did not personally know Dominic Luca, but he was a fellow officer, and that made him as good as kin.
Reaching the emergency entrance, Sam backed the vehicle up to the automatic double doors, and stopped.
Hondo flung open the back doors of the van, and stepped onto the sidewalk. A young intern stood just inside the entrance, and upon witnessing the arrival of the van, he stormed angrily through the door.
Pointing a condemning finger at the van, he said, "Excuse me, sir, but you can't park here. This is an emergency entrance, for ambulances only. Kindly move this vehicle!"
Hondo was in no mood for nonsense from a pompous intern with an over-inflated sense of self-worth. Street was almost certain he saw sparks snapping from the lieutenant's piercing blue eyes as he seized the young man by the front of his white smock and yanked him up to eye level. "Listen to me, boy! I have a badly wounded police officer in that van, so you may consider it an ambulance. Now get a doctor and a gurney out here, right now!"
Held up by the front of his smock, the intern was literally standing on the tips of his toes. Shifting his gaze, he glanced at the officer lying on the floor of the van through the open doors, then back at those angry eyes, and mumbled, "Yes, sir."
Hondo released him, and he backed away, greatly intimidated. Whirling, he rushed inside the hospital again, and nearly collided with a physician, who was walking in swift strides toward the door. The doctor spoke a few quick words with him, then the intern rushed to locate a gurney, while the doctor exited through the doors, walking in long, urgent strides.
The doctor did not hesitate, but immediately climbed into the van. T. J. instantly relinquished his space to allow the physician room to examine Luca. He lifted the cloth that Street had been holding against the wound, but his eyes and expression betrayed no hint of his thoughts as he observed the wound.
"Is this the SWAT officer who was wounded in a shootout at the high school?" he asked, replacing the cloth. Moving his hands to Luca's face, he lifted one eyelid and then the other, and examined the responses of his pupils with a penlight.
"Yes," Hondo replied, surprised. "How did you know?"
"Your driver radioed ahead to tell us to be expecting you."
Bless you, Sam! Hondo thought.
"How long has he been unconscious?"
"He fades in and out," T. J. answered. �He�s only been unconscious this time for a few minutes.�
"We have an emergency room waiting," the doctor continued. He snapped off the penlight. Turning to the intern, who waited on the sidewalk with a couple of orderlies, he said, "Get that gurney over here."
The orderlies pushed the gurney against the rear of the van, and Luca was carefully lifted from the van and placed on the clean white sheets. The orderlies rushed him inside the hospital, and as the doctor passed Hondo, he glanced at the front of the lieutenant's jumpsuit. "Are you injured as well?"
Hondo glanced down, noticing for the first time that there was blood on the front of his jumpsuit. "No, it's his blood. I carried him to the van."
"All right. There's a waiting room at the end of the hall. I'll talk to you there, later."
Hondo nodded.
The doctor started to move away, then stopped and turned back, his expression sober. �Lieutenant? I think someone had better notify his family. We can do it, but maybe --�
�No, we take care of our own,� Hondo told him. �We�ll do it.� Even as he said the words, it was a phone call he did not want to make.
As the doctor followed the gurney into the emergency room, Hondo turned somber eyes to his other officers. Street, T. J., and Deacon all stood in the van, gazing at the doors through which their teammate had just been taken.
Hondo understood the concern that they felt for their friend and colleague. Raising his microphone, he said, "Dispatch? This is Harrelson. Forward a message to the chief. I would like to declare us unavailable. See if Sunset division can cover for us for a while."
"Roger that, Lieutenant," came the reply. "Any word yet on Officer Luca?"
"Not yet. All I can tell you is that he's still alive. If you're a religious woman, please pray that he stays that way."
"I will, Lieutenant," she promised.
"Thank you. Will keep you informed." His eyes shifted to the driver, who had gotten out of the van and came around to the rear. "Thank you, Sam, for radioing ahead so they'd be ready for us. I should have thought to do that."
"Well, you were a little preoccupied."
"Yeah, I guess I was. Well, I guess you'd better get that van out of the way before another one of those pit bulls comes out here to tell us to move it!"
"Right, Lieutenant. Keep me updated on Luca, okay?"
"I will." He turned to his other officers. "Well, lets go to the waiting room. Something tells me its going to be a long day."
While Sam moved the van, Hondo, T. J., Jim, and Deke walked through the automatic doors in search of the waiting room.
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