A Dog in Sand

Boldt and Babcock reached the back end of the cave-in only minutes after it had happened, his radio miraculously sparking back to life seconds before a plume of dust billowed down the tunnel and briefly overcame them. Dispatch called a general alarm over the radio that an officer was down, buried in a cave-in. An address was called out. Babcock, reading a GPS in hand, said to Boldt, “That’s us.”

Then, from somewhere ahead, they heard the sound of rock against rock. Someone was digging!

Believing Matthews buried, Boldt dived into the pile and started tossing anything large enough to grab. Babcock called him off, condemned him for nearly burying them as well, and instructed him to carefully remove the larger debris and only from the tunnel’s very edge-to stay below the cover of an overhead beam whenever possible. By directing him in a controlled and determined manner, she saved John LaMoia’s life.

When they reached him, LaMoia was frantically digging in the wrong direction-into the collapse. Boldt seized his legs and pulled. LaMoia gasped for air, retched, and coughed. Dazed and disoriented, he would not stop digging-as frantic as a dog on a beach.

Again Boldt pulled at the man’s legs, finally stopping him.

“John! Daffy!” he shouted.

“I saw her,” LaMoia said, returning to his chaotic digging.

“Saw her!” He turned his mud-caked face toward Boldt and shouted manically, “Help me!” as he once again clawed into the pile, pathetic in his determination.

Over the radio, a male voice: “Shield nine-twenty is ten-forty-five-A, en route to Harborview.” Boldt heard it: 10-45A-Condition of Patient Is Good.

LaMoia heard this too, and finally stopped digging. Boldt held the man by the ankles, in an attempt to drag him out of there. They met eyes in the light of Babcock’s flashlight. Something communicated between them, as it can only communicate between two men who love the same woman.

“Nine-twenty,” LaMoia breathed, the white of his teeth showing behind a smile. Her.

“Yeah,” Boldt said. “I heard.”

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