From Ashes to Honor Read Online Free PDF Page B

Got it?"
    "Got it, coach."
    The face mask and mouth guard made it tough to read offensive tight end's reaction, but on the next play he leaped into the air, hands outstretched to catch the pass. Healye, the defensive safety, looked like a locomotive as he chugged across the turf, dirt and grit spewing from his cleats. He battered Winston with such force that the sickening sound of the impact rolled across the field like an ocean wave.
    Mercy jumped to her feet now, too, watching the scene unfold like a slow-motion replay:
    Winston's body, bent at an awkward angle, seemed to hover in mid-air for a moment before it hit the grass with a sickening thud. Then he tumbled and rolled several times, and when at last he came to rest, he looked like a human pretzel.Nothing moved, save the rise and fall of the number fifteen on his chest.
    By the time his stunned teammates gathered round, Abe had already dialed 9-1-1.
    Jordan took a knee. "Don't touch him, boys. And stand back, for the luvva Pete!"
    Abe snapped his cell phone shut. "We're in luck. Dispatcher said there was a false alarm right up the street. The ambo's just around the corner."
    "Couple of you boys open that gate," Jordan barked, pointing at the chain-link fence that surrounded the field.
    Half of the Owls ran toward the road while the rest stood, green-and-gold helmets dangling from sweaty, trembling fingers, staring at Winston's motionless body. Mercy stepped up and ushered them aside.
    Healye used his sleeve to blot his eyes. "He gonna be OK, Dr. Samara?"
    Before she could respond, the quarterback said "Man. I sure hope he won't be paralyzed for life, like the kid in that Friday Night Lights movie."
    She slid an arm around Healye's shoulders and led him away from the group. "This is football," she stated. "Everybody knows it's a rough game and that you were only doing your job. What happened was just . . . just a freak accident, but I'm sure Winston will be fine." She smiled, but her heart wasn't in it. "He probably just got the wind knocked out of him."
    Healye nodded, but his demeanor made it clear he wasn't buying a word of it.
    "Do you hear sirens?"
    "Yeah, thank God!"
    Mercy gave him a sideways hug. "Don't you worry. Before you know it, Winston will be back on the field, giving you a run for your money."
    "Maybe." Then, "Should we say a prayer or somethin'?"
    It had been a long, long time since Mercy believed in the healing power of prayer. She considered citing studies and news reports that outlined what the high courts had decided on public prayer, but thought better of it. If calling on an uncaring, unresponsive heavenly power brought these kids a moment of peace, what harm could it do?
    When the boys gathered close and bowed their heads, they stood and waited, their silence making it clear they expected her to do the honors. Thankfully, the approaching ambulance saved her from having to concoct a believable entreaty.
    The EMTs whipped the vehicle around and backed as close to Winston's stock-still body as possible, kicking up dust and bits of dried grass as they lurched to a stop.
    Two EMTs jumped from the cab. "Did anybody touch him?" asked the driver.
    Mercy read "McElroy" on his name tag as the coach answered "Nope, and he hasn't moved—not so much as a pinky—since he hit the ground, either."
    The paramedics grabbed a backboard and raced to Winston's side. She saw the flash of scissors as they slit his shirt from hem to neck, a blur of white as the cervical collar snapped into place. Next, they eased him onto the board and carried him to the truck.
    The tallest EMT climbed in beside the boy, and, after covering Tommy's face with a clear-plastic mask, adjusted the dials of the oxygen tank. Round disks were taped to the boy's broad, hairless chest to monitor his vitals, and a needle inserted into a blue vein on the back of his hand. Immediately, glucose trickled from a bulging bag.
    When he turned to thump the snaky length of flexible tubing, the breath