I keyed the mic.
“Dispatch, Unit 27. Acknowledged on the 670 construction. I’m going to use the westbound express lane shoulder to bypass the backup. Can you patch me through to Grant Medical ER? I need a charge nurse on the line.”
There was a pause. Using the express lane shoulder was a massive liability. If a semi-truck driver fell asleep and drifted six inches to the right, we’d be turned into scrap metal and confetti. But sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic watching the clock tick toward a flatline? That wasn’t an option either.
“Stand by, 27. Patching now.”The radio hissed. I kept my left hand steady on the wheel, my right hand hovering over the switch for the air horn. The concrete barriers of the construction zone loomed ahead, orange barrels zipping past in a blur of reflective tape. The road narrowed like a funnel. I saw the red sea of brake lights ahead—a solid wall of commuters going nowhere.
“Hold on, Mr. Harper,” I muttered to the empty car, as if he could hear me. “This is gonna get bumpy.”
I jerked the wheel hard right, the cruiser’s suspension groaning as we bounced off the asphalt and onto the ribbed warning strip of the shoulder. The sound was deafening—a violent thrum-thrum-thrum that rattled my teeth. Behind me, Daniel followed without hesitation. His car looked like it was shaking apart at the seams, the old struts absorbing the uneven ground with painful screeches.
We flew past the gridlocked traffic. I saw faces in the driver’s side windows as we blurred by—wide eyes, mouths open in confusion or anger. A red pickup truck honked a long, angry blast. I didn’t care. I was watching the digital clock on the dashboard tick over.
“Unit 27, I have Charge Nurse Rebecca Chen at Grant Medical for you.”
A new voice cut through the static. Calm. Professional. Tired.
“This is Rebecca. Who am I speaking with?”
