THE DOPPELGÄNGER RADAR
“Did you see the weather channel on the TV back there?”
“Back where?”
“At the gas station. There was this big-ass red spot coming right at us, but the TV feed froze.”
“Not a cloud in the sky.”
“How do you know it was the Doppler radar or the weather or whatever? Maybe that red spot was something else. Have you seen these new, high-tech Fish Finders? They find more than fish. Crabs, pirate ships, the endless parade of Marching Chinese . . . ”
“What the hell is that? Marching who what?”
“It’s a propaganda thought experiment they came up with during World War II to scare Americans. Uncle Sam swore that if the Chinese people lined up five abreast and marched into the ocean, this platoon would never, ever stop. Because by the time it got to the end, they’d have had babies big enough to keep on marching.”
“Anyway. Just take it easy on the corners when the storm hits. We’re still missing some tread on these tires.”
“We’re fine.”
“Fifty bucks says you roll this thing.”
“How are you doing back there?” the driver yells to the old man on the gurney.
“I’m fine,” the old man says, annoyed.
“I know you’re fine,” the other paramedic says. “That gurney is for people who aren’t fine, not a free taxi service so you can go to the gas station and get cigarettes.”
“Come on, Jack . . . ” the driver says.
“Come on nothing, Rick. We know this guy,” Jack snaps. “Just like his wrinkled ass knows our routes, knows the insurance, knows which crew has seen too much of him this week.”
Jack reaches to turn off the siren, but Rick stops him.
“You know when it's time for a paramedic to quit?”
“When?”
“When they start losing . . . patients.”
“Zing!”
“Get it?”
“Oh, I get it. I don't need to see the word spelled different to get it.”
“Good.”
The old man clears his throat with some effort.
“Just because you drive this meat wagon around in circles all night don’t give you the right,” he says. “You shouldn’t talk to us like that.”
“Like what?” Jack asks.
“Like you’re not down here with the rest of us.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean, you miserable old fuck?”
“That’s enough,” Rick sighs.
“Bullshit,” Jack says. “Ten dog attacks today alone, and we’re carting around this fool.”
“Don’t worry,” the old man says. “I’m sure you’ll get plenty more.”
***
“So, what’s up with all these dogs anyway?” Rick asks, watching the old man walk in, then turn around and walk out of the emergency room, lighting up a smoke, not even trying to fool them.
“Let’s find out,” Jack says, putting the CB back in its holster.
“Don’t you want to go in and get your hand checked?” Rick asks.
“Barely scratched me. That old bastard wasted his last tooth on me. An old man’s fingernails are a lot more dangerous than his rotten teeth.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have shoved him,” Rick mutters, turning on their siren and stabbing the gas.
They park just past the comet trails of blood on the pavement, then rush toward the girl unconscious in the grass. Jack has the trauma dressings and tape. But after one look at the bites, he runs back to get the intubation kit, too, along with his bag of shots, or the “Halloween bag of suckers” as Jack calls it; Fentanyl, Versed and morphine. He’s relieved to see her chest moving.
“Did you see a dog?” Jack asks a kid on the scene stuffing an ice cream bar in his face.
“Huh?”
He checks her injuries. Deep, ragged bites on her forearms, massive tissue loss on both legs. He checks her eyes for a response, then her blood pressure. Rick gets the gurney off the back and compacts the legs and wheels to prepare to load her up.
“I don’t like her eyes,” Rick tells Jack. “Shock. Or worse. Be ready when we move.”
“Where are we on the map?” Jack asks. Rick seems confused by the question, then understanding washes over his face.
“Yeah, let’s get her out of here before they crash the party.”
Too late. Another ambulance comes flying in hot. There’s no siren on this one, as this truck’s been converted into something a little different. The side of the box reads:
“Highway Wildlife Services.”
Under that, a smaller, handwritten sign:
“Nuisance Wildlife Control Operator. Skunk Specialists!”
“There’s no dogs, sorry,” Jack tells the guys that hop out as he rolls the girl back to the double doors. He leans down to her ear. “Ma’am, did you see the animal that bit you?”
“Jack, what the hell?”
“Sorry, it’s just . . . I just think something strange is going on here. I mean, does that look like a dog bite on her calf? Or does it look like someone wanted it to look like a dog bite?
“Just clear her leg so we can close it up. You’re driving.”
“That ain’t no dog bite,” one of the Animal Control guys offers. Former paramedics themselves, they’re always in the way, but today Jack surprises them by wanting to chat.
“That’s what I’ve been saying, man!” Jack agrees. Then to Rick, “Let me stay in the back. I could ask her some questions like—”
“Dude, you’re scaring me. Get up front.”
“But was she really attacked by a dog?” Jack asks, blocking Rick from climbing in the back. “I mean, who saw a dog?”
“That kid saw a dog.”
“No dog,” another voice says.
“What the fuck are you . . . ” Ricks starts, exasperated. “Okay, tell me this. How do you fake a dog attack?”
“Well, first you’d still need a dog.”
“I thought you said there was no dog.”
“That kid saw a dog.”
Rick slams the doors and throws stones out of there. He checks the sky for rain and still sees nothing, so he takes the corners hard.
“Jack, obviously you think you have some idea of what’s going on here. Why don’t you share this theory.”
“I don’t. But we’ve got what? Twenty bites in as many hours? I think people are confusing dogs with something else.”
“Like what?”
Jack doesn’t answer. He’s blowing on a stethoscope and checking his own chest. Rick starts laughing.
“Hey, you know how they say dogs start to resemble their owners, or people start to resemble their dogs?” Rick asks. “You know, they always say pets are like doppelgängers, right? Maybe that’s what’s happening.”
“That makes no sense.”
The girl on the gurney starts convulsing, but Jack does nothing to help her. The driver turns around in a panic.
“What the fuck are you doing?! Check her pulse.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Do your job!”
“No pulse.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I don’t have one either.”
After a moment, the girl stops moving, and Jack crouches down next to her. He pulls a sheet over her face so there’s something to fall to the floor when she sits back up. He hopes this will finally scare his partner enough to roll the ambulance on the next turn.