Bring the Thunder

Jeff was headed southbound on Hwy. 101, the weather was perfect and the traffic relatively light, all things considered. In a couple hours as rush hour began to pick up, the number of cars on the roadway would significantly increase. Consequently, so would the number of traffic stops, as well as the potential for accidents. Casually checking the left rearview mirror, he noticed the white sedan moving up. This was nothing unusual and he didn’t think too much of it, except that it had been steadily keeping pace with him while remaining about five car lengths behind for nearly three miles. Jeff was moving an even 65 miles per hour, so for other cars to go a little over the posted speed limit was no consequence. It was only unusual in that most people, he had discovered, didn’t want to risk passing a police vehicle. The sedan pulled even with him and appeared to match his speed. This got Jeff’s attention, and he made a point of observing the small car using his peripheral vision. As the rear door of the 4-door sedan drew even with him, all hell broke loose. It doesn’t take long for hell to appear, and, once seen it usually disperses just as quickly as it came. The male scooted forward on his seat and a weapon appeared. Before Jeff realized what was happening, he felt a sharp, painful sensation in his left thigh. Instantly immobilized, he didn’t realize at the time that he had been tazed. Completely incapacitated by the 50,000-volt shock, his hands left the grips and he fell off the motor to his right. Jeff hit the sun-heated pavement hard, rolling numerous times until he finally came to a stop … face down, in the right lane. The motor’s momentum kept it upright for another 54-feet before it began to wobble, a movement that would soon lead to its demise. Toppling onto its side, the 850-pound motorcycle skidded well over 100 feet, showering the roadway with rooster tail’s of bright yellow-orange sparks. With the requisite five seconds completed, the driver of the white sedan punched the accelerator and sped off. He was long gone before anyone realized what had happened. A semi-tractor trailer had been coming up behind Jeff. When the driver saw what had happened, he smashed the palm of his hand down on the horn and left it there. Deftly, he managed to veer into the center lane just in time to avoid running over the downed officer. The driver of the car behind the semi saw the body of the officer lying in his lane. Immediately, his foot crashed down on the pedal, slamming on the brakes. His pick-up fishtailed slightly, but he was able to stop in time. Leaving the truck in the lane, he turned on his flashers, swung the door open and ran to the officer. The pick-up driver’s goal took precedence over the cacophony of squealing brakes and honking horns that was taking place behind him. Other drivers, oblivious to the possibility of an accident, slewed their cars to the left and right of the roadway hoping to avoid the debris field. “Hey buddy,” the man said as he bent over Jeff’s prone body, but there was no response. The man was versed well enough in first aid to know that the accident victim should not be moved. But neither could he just leave the officer lying in the roadway. It was one of those times when it merely comes down to making a judgment call and hoping for the best. Gently, the man eased Jeff onto his back. Then placing his hands under Jeff’s arms, he put his back into it and lifted the officer’s torso clear of the ground. Stepping backward, he dragged the unconscious officer out of harm’s way. Now completely off the freeway, the soles of Jeff’s boots left twin gouges in the dirt as the man dragged him onto the grass and away from traffic. The citizen pulled his cell phone from his hip pocket, quickly dialing 911. Just then another two men ran over to where he was kneeling beside the officer. “Shit, what a mess! Is he okay? Do you need help? Has this been called in?” “I’m calling 911 right now,” the driver replied. “Can you get this guy’s bike off the road?” “Sure,” both men replied, and off they dashed. “I’ve got flares in my car, I’ll put some out,” another good Samaritan offered, and off he ran. “I’ll direct traffic,” an older gentleman offered. “I used to be a cop. You just never forget.” “Thank you, sir,” the driver said as he stayed with the unconscious officer. “911, please state your emergency,” the dispatcher said, picking up the call. “I’ve got an officer down here!” “What is your location?” “Southbound, Highway 101, just before Chandler Boulevard.” “Thank you. Can you put the officer on the phone?” “He’s out cold, honey.” “Okay. I have units responding now.” “Thanks. You want me to punch him in the chest and do CPR or anything?” “No! Uh, no,” the dispatcher repeated, calming a bit. “Is he breathing?” “Doesn’t look like it,” the man replied, shaking his head. “Please feel for a pulse.” “How?” “Put two fingers to the side of his neck, just below the jaw and feel for the pulse,” the dispatcher directed. “Okay, hold on,” and the driver did as instructed. “Yeah … yeah, he’s got a pulse.” “Good. Do not punch him.” “Whatever you say, honey.” “Can you tell me what happened?” “He took a header off his bike, that’s about all I know.” “Where is the motorcycle?” “It’s in traffic, but a couple good Samaritans are moving it out of the way. I got another guy putting out flares, and another is directing traffic, which is starting to back-up something fierce.” “Thank you.” Just then the driver heard sirens and glanced northward to see two SCPD black and whites fast approaching.