Disturbance

SEVENTEEN

Josh Enwill, one of the four guards sent on this trip, sat back on the narrow bench seat. The prison could hardly afford their absence in these underbudgeted days, but the warden didn’t want to take any chances where Nick Parrish was concerned. Bad enough that their regular ambulance had broken down months ago-there was no money to repair it.

There had not been any problems with this ambulance company, though, and it did have experience in transporting dangerous patients. This was not your typical ambulance. The walls of the van were thick and windowless. The van was separated from the cab, where the driver and Stan Rawls, another guard, sat.

They would be followed by two more guards in another vehicle. Josh could remember times when twice as many guards would be detailed to a trip like this. Luckily, Parrish was in no condition to put up a struggle.

Even so, the ambulance had been searched before the prisoner was loaded into it. Parrish was secured on the gurney, although there seemed to be little need for that-he was barely conscious. In the middle of the night, Parrish had fallen, screaming, to the floor of his cell. He received a brief examination by the prison doctor, who decided that he was out of his depth, and that the person who was best qualified to evaluate Parrish’s spinal problem was his surgeon at the prison hospital. So Parrish was loaded up with painkillers and strapped onto a support board. He was now being transported back to the prison hospital where he had spent years before being transferred just a few weeks ago.

Josh didn’t have a problem with Parrish. You worked around the prison population, you knew you weren’t keeping an eye on angels. He knew Parrish’s history, and that he had attacked both men and women. But in the short time Parrish had stayed at their facility, he hadn’t caused trouble. He could even be charming. Which didn’t fool Josh for a minute.

It was going to be a nine-hour drive. Josh was back here with Parrish and one of the paramedics. Air-conditioning kept it cool, but Josh was worried that he’d get carsick. Maybe Stan would switch with him.

The paramedic didn’t seem bothered by it. He was a friendly young guy, full of curiosity about Parrish but professional. He had red hair and wore black, heavy-rimmed glasses. Geeky kid.

Josh hated not being able to see the road or where they were. The ambulance, which was about the size of a mail truck, had a specially reinforced patient compartment with no access to the driver’s compartment. Which made it safer for prisoner transport but not much fun to ride in. Josh was just wondering why they couldn’t have put in a few small windows near the tops of the side panels when the ambulance braked and swerved sharply.

“What the hell?” the paramedic said, as they were thrown side to side, almost landing on top of Parrish.

They heard a loud explosion behind them.

Josh got to the intercom before the paramedic did. “What’s going on?”

“Something in the road,” Stan said, his voice strained. “It looked like a dead animal, but it must have been rigged with a mine or something. I’m trying to reach the car. I think they hit it.”

Josh heard the sound of a door opening.

Stan shouted, “Don’t-Hey! Come back here!”

“We’ve got to help them!” the driver said.

“Goddamn it, no! Don’t go out there! Bring those keys back here!”

Josh had just pressed the talk button to tell Stan he was going to radio for help when something heavy struck hard at the back of his head. He never heard the shots that killed Stan.