Phantom Read Free Page B

thing. They
might as well be here to collect a load of old newspapers. What did
they handle most of the time-gunshot wounds, stabbings, drunks?
They might well know what to do with those cases. But asthma?
Forget it.
    "She needs oxygen," Michael heard himself
say. "At least give her that."
    The ambulance men exchanged glances, then
nods, and one of them went out to get an oxygen tank.
    "I don't know if it'll do any good," the one
who remained said. "But we'll give it a try." He looked at the
inhaler again, as fascinated as a man who has just discovered a
whole new life form.
    "Don't you have a set procedure for dealing
with asthma attacks?" Michael asked.
    "Too many pops," the man muttered.
    Ned's eyes were on his
mother's. She looked like a trapped animal, eyes ricocheting around
in their skull sockets, breath coming in short, husky grunts. It
seemed like she was a hundred million miles away. They have her, Ned
thought. She's here, but they have her.
    The other uniformed man came back into the
hallway with a long metal tank and a plastic face mask.
    "Mrs. Covington, we're gonna give you some
nice fresh air now, okay dear? Just relax and breathe it all in
nice and deep."
    Before the mask reached her face Linda was
squirming and thrashing, twisting her head away and striking out at
the three men around her.
    "Aw Jesus Christ, this is not like anybody
with asthma that I ever seen. What the hell has been going on
around here?" the ambulance man asked accusingly.
    Michael ground his teeth like someone trying
to bite through a two-by-four. Something was pushing harder,
closer. Something ugly. The thought formed: irreversible brain
damage.
    "She needs oxygen," Michael said furiously.
"She has had a severe asthma attack and her brain is starved of
oxygen. Now give it to her."
    Michael jumped on his wife and pinned her
arms to her sides. One of the ambulance men held her head while the
other one slapped the mask to her face and turned on the oxygen,
Linda writhed in agony and shrieked like a grievously wounded
beast. They wrestled to keep her in place for a long minute, two.
She roared and brayed and howled, and finally wailed with
diminishing strength, She looked like one of the earth's dying
creatures at the end of the world. When it was all over she
subsided on the floor. Her face was streaked, her hair and
nightgown drenched with sweat. She was a heap of bones in a flimsy
bag of skin. Only Linda's eyes were still alive, racing
feverishly.
    "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay." The words
rattled off her tongue in a rush. "I'm tired, I'm so tired."
    "I bet you are," one of the ambulance men
said with a smile. "I'm tired, too."
    "Linda, honey!" Michael exclaimed. He could
hardly believe that she might actually come out of It.
    ''I'm tired, so tired," she repeated. .
    "Sure you are, honey,” Michael said. "You're
going to be all right, but you have to go to see the doctor
now."
    "Okay, but not yet," Linda said wearily. "I
want to rest here for a little while."
    "You rest, honey, that's right. We'll move
you."
    "No, don't move me yet." A hand fluttered
weakly. "In just a few minutes ... " Her eyes closed.
    "Lookit that, she's asleep," one of the
ambulance men said after a minute.
    "Wish I were," the other remarked.
    At last they were able to shift Linda into
the wheelchair and fasten a restraining belt around her. They were
ready to go.
    "Do you want to come with us?"
    "Yes—oh, no, I can't," Michael said. "We
have a child sleeping in there." He gestured towards Ned's room,
without noticing that the door was open a crack.
    "Just as well," one of the ambulance men
said. "Nothing you could do at the hospital anyhow."
    "Get some rest now," the other advised. "You
can see her later."
    Michael was smiling as he stood by the door
and watched them go, which seemed strange to Ned. True, his mother
hadn't flown away or disappeared, but she was gone all the same.
How could his father look so happy?
    Michael walked into the living room and
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