“Drive!” I tell Jim to get us out of here now after hearing the metallic impact noises to the back of the rig. The dark streets of the killing fields become a blur as Jim accelerates away from the shooter and adrenaline floods my system while narrowing my field of view to a small tunnel with a blurry periphery – it’s the definition of “fight or flight” response.
I’ve slumped down in my seat a bit, unconsciously lowering my profile in the rig and putting more metal between me and the outside world.
“Anyone hit?” Communication is truncated to just specifics as Jim chirps the siren through a few stop signs and gets us out of the area. “I’m good,” comes the answer from Don behind me – the closest one of us to the shooter. Jim is the definition of concentration as he deftly maneuvers the rig through the hood, “Good.”
I pick up the radio, “Medic-40, priority traffic.” I really hope I’m keeping my voice calm.
“Medic-40, go.” The stoic dispatcher comes back quickly.
“Medic-40, we’ve taken shots to the rig. Relocating now, Code-4, non-injury. Shots fired at our previous staging area with four suspects heading east.”
“Medic-40, copy that, sending PD now, go with suspect descriptions.”
“Medic-40, four suspects, African-American, ages 15-18, one in a white hoodie, three in black hoodies. One black hoodie has white skeleton bones on the front and back.” I think I just described half the population of my mostly urban county.
I help Jim navigate to the well lit commuter train parking lot, hoping it’s a little safer than our last location. I heard our supervisor requesting our location from dispatch who has been watching us on the GPS and gives him our new location.
As we get out of the rig to check the damage, police cars start to show up. City PD, county sheriff officers, and the commuter train officers followed by our supervisor. Descriptions of the suspects are given again and the officers race off to canvas the area. I doubt they’ll find the shooter as all of the suspects were wearing the uniform of the hood: sagging jeans, black hoodie pulled over the head. You can never pin a crime on one person when everyone dresses the same.
An inspection of the back of the rig shows three impact points to the metal. They are small circular impacts that chipped the paint and dented the metal but didn’t go through. Given the distance of the shooter we’re assuming it was a small caliber pistol. Fortunately bangers are notorious for shooting with the gangsta-sidewise grip and usually can’t hit anything. In this case they did hit us and that’s really messing with my head. There was a time when everyone in the hood had an unwritten rule: no kids and no ambulances. It seems that rule is no longer in place – we saw that memorial to the kid today and we just got shot at.
I’ve had my body armor on since the last GSW we went to so I guess I was somewhat protected but it’s really just random happenstance that I was wearing it at the time when I got shot at. Yes, I have good instincts, and take every precaution. But honestly this could have happened anytime of the day or night. The rule of thumb for staging is to be 6-10 blocks away without a clean line of sight to the scene – and that’s exactly what we did. But it’s hard when we’re in the middle of the killing fields and there’s twenty blocks of unsafe hood in every direction. I doubt the shooter had any connection to the assault we were staging for. I suspect it was just a random, spur-of-the-moment crime of opportunity. Like so many things in EMS I I’ll probably never know the reason for this act or even the final outcome. As usual I just showed up for the exciting middle part – however unwilling that participation may have been.
The end result of all this excitement is an hour spent filling out paperwork and making police reports.