On day four, you wrote a post about losing something. Today, write about finding something.
Today’s twist: if you wrote day four’s post as the first in a series, use this one as the second installment — loosely defined.
The officer sat behind the wheel of his squad car with an obscenely large soda from the gas station in one hand and his radar in the other. He was monitoring his favorite speed trap to finish out the end of his shift. It was shortly after 8:30 in the evening and he was off at 9. Just then his radio squawked to life.
We have an 11-80 at the intersection of Broad and Keswick. Who is in the area?
“Great, there goes quitting time.” The officer muttered this to himself before addressing the voice on the radio. He was only a few blocks away and would doubtless be the first on the scene of the accident. Flipping on the lights, he pulled out into traffic and headed to the busy intersection of Broad Street and Keswick Drive.
As soon as he turned the corner a block away, he could easily tell why the call had gone out as an accident with major injuries. There was a light colored truck stopped against the brick store front on the opposite side of the street. The damage didn’t look too bad there but it was the silver minivan setting in the middle of the intersection that really worried him. He could see that the driver’s side of the vehicle had been crushed nearly to the other side.
At once he stopped the car and went to check on the man in the truck. When the officer got to the door he flung it open and was immediately hit with the strong smell of alcohol. The driver was breathing but unconscious. He was bleeding from a minor wound to the head, but he seemed stable. The officer called for additional units and medical teams before turning his attention again to the disabled van in the street.
People were beginning to gather and the officer had to fight through a circle of people to get to the driver’s door. Inside was a young woman, probably in her early thirties, trapped in an impossible tangle of metal and leather. There was a cut on her left thigh that was bleeding heavily and an apparently broken arm. The officer tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. They would need the jaws of life for this one. The officer prayed it wasn’t too late.
By the time the paramedics were taking the young woman away it was after 10:00. The driver of the other vehicle had been taken by ambulance over an hour ago to a hospital where he would be treated for his injuries then held in police custody. The dirtbag had blown a .389. He had bigger problems to face than a gash in the forehead.
The officer was left standing beside the torn-apart wreckage of the minivan. The young woman had been alive when they took her away by air, but he knew she was in very critical condition. Weary, the officer leaned his head against what was once the door frame of the van and gazed inside. It was then that he spotted the very thing that must have brought this young woman out and into this path of destruction. Reaching over the mangled driver seat the officer reached down and retrieved the container of infant formula from where it had rolled out of the grocery store sack.