TenguTango

Dead men tell no tales.
Original poster
This thread poses as the principle body of work for my developing Future Ambulance work.

Recent changes:
  • posted Chapter: Old Fashioned, third entry.
  • substantial formatting change.


This thread is for:
  • me
  • my chapter entries
I encourage comments, criticism, and feedback in the Future Ambulance (Discussion thread).

This thread is largely static. I may edit past entries.

Thank you for reading and for your time.
 
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TenguTango

Dead men tell no tales.
Original poster

Premise

You hear sirens. Moments later, flashing lights weave through traffic. An ambulance speeds by you, up the street, and stops around a corner. As you turn the corner you are stabbed and robbed. You bleed out. You watch as EMTs exit the ambulance, prepare a stretcher, and approach you. They have come to collect you at your time of death. The Future Ambulance attends to death situations before they happen.
 
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TenguTango

Dead men tell no tales.
Original poster
Chapter
Old Fashioned
An evening breeze blew through a city which stood in contrast to a​
frigid environment. Early autumn whisked away the spark of spring
and summer and announced the beginning of patient withdrawal. The
light of restaurants and cafes staved off the cold with patio seating
crowded below iridescent heat lamps. A dozen off-the-clock workers
bustled in chairs and at windows of every other store with a shared
resolve - others give you strength.
A house for one or two awaited them.​
An ambulance idled on a quiet street. Workers trickled by on foot​
with deflated expressions as they made their way home, alone. Cieran
whistled into the breeze as it whispered through the driver-side
window. Lights of instruments blinked occasionally on the dash aside
intermittent radio static.
Cieran whistled a tune that was half-formed in his head. He​
couldn't quite recall the song. Fragments of a melody blurred with
intelligent guess-work. He mused absent-mindedly and mouthed
lyrics to himself. He wasn't sure if he knew the words, so he sung his
own lyrics.
At some time, the dash lit up and the radio squawked instructions.​
Cieran switched on the ignition and the engine sputtered to life.
He levered the ambulance into drive gear, engaged the siren and
emergency lights, and sped through the city. The wind rushed
through the driver-side window at speed which circulated through the
driver's cabin and ruffled Cieran's hair. His EMT jacket was a simple
comfort. The sound of the engine whipped as the ambulance passed
parked cars. It grew louder and more impatient as the streets
narrowed toward his destination. Pedestrians gawked at the
ambulance on its way past before losing interest.
Cieran muted the siren on approach. The emergency lights strobed​
as he surveyed the street. It was virtually deserted. Cieran stiffened his
jacket collar, silenced the engine, and stepped out of the vehicle. It
was quiet enough that he could hear himself breathing.
 
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TenguTango

Dead men tell no tales.
Original poster
This part of the city lacked the apparent vibrancy of the main​
streets. The windows steeped in shadow were not remotely welcoming.
An overhead neon sign offered a facsimile of comfort. It was a bar.
He opened the the cargo doors of the ambulance, the bay light​
flicked on momentarily, and he checked the mobile stretcher. Wheels,
straps, brace, and struts ready. After a good shake to ensure it would
deploy when invited, he shut the cargo doors to begin his search for
the callout.
The bar seemed to be a good place to start. Cieran headed inside.​
A hum of low chatter could be heard from the doorway. Dim​
lighting and errant smoke made his eyes water until they adjusted. A
bar extended on one wall and a number of small tables filled the room.
Eight or so customers and a handful of staff fluctuated between the
bathrooms and kitchen.
 
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TenguTango

Dead men tell no tales.
Original poster
"Nurse Ratched is back!" called a customer from across the room.​
"Someone go look for Grant, he's passed out again."
Vicious laughter called back.​
One customer replied, "Grant isn't here, you git. He left when you​
were shooting your shot with the bartender."
The laughter intensified.​
"Yeah, get a grip."​
"Maybe you've had too much, Gale.'​
"Get your own ride home, then," Gale sneered at the others then​
eyed Cieran from head to toe, "What is it, then, Ratched?"
Cieran shot a glance over his shoulder and above Gale's head.​
There were no obvious alternatives.
"I'm with the ambulance." Cieran flashed his jacket with an​
apologetic look. "How are things going tonight?"
"Just peachy, mate," said Gale, "I've had just about enough of​
these clowns. No respect."
"Are you going to drive?" asked Cieran when Gale prepared to​
leave.
Gale looked away and didn't answer.​
"Does it bother you if you don't have their respect?"​
Gale looked troubled, like the words wouldn't form.​
"The things they say don -".​
"What does it matter if you say the wrong thing!" interrupted Gale.​
"It's not important what they say!", spat Gale with a disturbed look.
Cieran eyed Gale. Then it was a lack of self-respect because​
Gale had said the wrong thing.
"I th -".​
"I'm taking the cab. Whatever," Gale said and brushed past Cieran.​
Gale left keys at the bar on the way out.
The previously vocal customers watched the interaction and​
muttered to themselves, but did not get involved.
Cieran stared after Gale with a perplexed look. Gale had left for a​
taxi and 'Grant' was long gone, so Cieran needed a new approach.
 
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