Oceans Apart Read Online Free PDF Page A

kind of thing he’d learned in the military. Okay, Evans, locate the victims . . . identify the serious injuries . . . figure out the level of help needed. He raced up to the burgundy sedan and peered inside. Just one person, the driver, and he looked unconscious.
    But what about the minivan? Minivans held children, didn’t they?
    He tore across the intersection, squinting to see through the tinted windows. The impact was on the driver’s side, so he went around and flung open the sliding passenger’s door. Only then did he see that the woman and teenage boy inside were alive and moving around. Side-door airbags had inflated upon impact and probably saved their lives.
    “You okay?” Connor had his cell phone open. He dialed 9-1-1
    before the woman could answer.
    “I . . . I think so.” The woman rubbed her neck and began to cry.
    “Did he run the red?”
    “Yes. Never even slowed down.” He held the phone to his ear and waited while it rang. “I’ll check on him.” Other cars were stopping now, people getting out and milling about. As the emergency operator answered, he heard a woman behind him scream. “He’s not breathing! Someone help!”
    “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
    Connor explained the situation as he jogged toward the burgundy sedan. “One of the victims isn’t breathing. Please hurry.” He snapped the phone shut and worked his way past the few people standing near the driver’s door. Being a pilot didn’t make him a paramedic, but he knew CPR. If the man wasn’t breathing . . .
    “He’s dying,” the woman shouted. “His chest isn’t moving!”
    “Excuse me!” Connor made a final shove toward the car.
    “Please . . .”
    29

    – Oceans Apart –
    The screaming woman stepped back, and for the first time Connor got a clear view of the old man’s face. As he did, he felt his blood drain from his face. “Dear God . . .” His voice was a whisper, and he froze. “It can’t be . . .”
    His father lived on the other side of the country, but for a fraction of a second he was certain the man lying motionless behind the wheel was his dad. The woman behind him yelled something again, and it snapped Connor into motion.
    The man wasn’t his father; it wasn’t possible.
    Connor grabbed the man’s limp wrist and felt for his pulse.
    Nothing. A fine layer of sweat broke out across the top of his forehead. The man’s face was already turning gray, but still the resemblance to Connor’s father was striking. In quick, jerky movements Connor slid his thumb from one spot on the man’s arm to another, and finally to his neck. Still no pulse.
    He placed the back of his hand near the man’s mouth and nose, but felt no movement of air. Everything he knew about emergency treatment at an accident scene told him not to move a victim. But this man was either dying or dead. Connor spun around and brushed back the crowd. “We need space.” Then he hoisted the man into his arms and moved toward the sidewalk.
    A few yards away an ambulance pulled up and behind it a fire truck. The sirens must’ve been sounding for a while but Connor hadn’t noticed anything but the face of the man in his arms. A face he’d been running from for—
    “Step back, please.” A paramedic set down his bag, and Connor did as he was told.
    Three steps away, he stood mesmerized by the scene, watching the team of paramedics work on the old man, pounding on his chest, forcing oxygen into his lungs. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. Finally they gave up.
    “Heart attack,” one of them said. “Dead before the impact.” 30

    – Karen Kingsbury –
    They pulled a sheet over the man’s body, and everything seemed to slow down. The branches in the trees lining the streets stirred in the early afternoon breeze; one by one the onlookers returned to their cars. The drama was over; the guy was dead.
    A police officer tapped Connor on the shoulder. “Move along.” Connor nodded, but his eyes were glued to the