Tuesday Tales: From the word DANCE

Welcome to this week’s edition of Tuesday Tales, the on-going blog where a small group of authors share their works in progress with you. Each week, we write to a word or picture prompt. This week’s prompt is the word DANCE. I’ve had to adjust it a bit to fit my post.

As you know, I’m working on a modern historical novel titled, The Blue Dragon. Today’s scene comes from the prologue, and explains how my heroine got injured.

Canadian armed forces personnel served in Afghanistan until 2012. Many of them were there in support positions, working in battlefield hospitals,tending to all of the soldiers of all nations who joined the fight against tyranny.  Many lives were lost, the bodies traveling along the 401, a stretch of road which was renamed the Highway of Heroes. Others were wounded and came home to try and pick up the pieces of their lives. All of them are heroes in my book.

Here is today’s scene.

“Son of a bitch! Hang on. We aren’t too far from the hangar. Our guys will return fire any second. It’ll—”

The ground exploded in front of the ambulance, sending rocks, dirt, and chunks of cement into the windshield, raining glass down on the occupants of the front seat, blood replacing what had once been clean shaven faces as the shock wave violently shook the vehicle. A second blast from the back tossed the heavy metal Humvee into the air like a toy. Acting on a surge of adrenaline, Sam stretched as far as she could without unfastening her lap belt, scrambling to shield her patient.

“Keisha, look after his legs,” she cried, grabbing the steel bar that secured the stretcher to the ambulance floor and crimping her fingers tightly around it. Using her body, she covered Newman’s head and injured hands while cabinet doors opened spilling medical supplies everywhere.

As if in slow-motion, the ambulance hit the ground hard and then tilted to the right, before tumbling over and over again, like some demented gymnast, shoved by an invisible power, unable to stop. Gripping the bar tightly, Sam forced herself to turn her head slightly to see if Keisha was covering the lower torso, but the ambulance doors and Keisha were gone.

As the vehicle rolled, metal and glass broke free. Pain filled her as God alone knew what slammed into her back, dancing along her spine before settling on her upper legs. She refused to move, refused to let go. She was a nurse and her patient was her priority.

With each flip, like a Slinky going down a flight of stairs, the ambulance bounced, its roof groaning as the side walls compressed, gravity exerting and releasing its hold on the steel vehicle.

When had the seatbelt opened? Where was her seat? Heedless of the pain, Sam clung to the rail for dear life, doing what she could to protect her patient and herself. She was prone across the stretcher, when one of the ambulance walls gave way, the roof crashing suddenly onto her lower torso and legs. The pain blinded her, but she gripped the steel bar, knowing that if she let go, both of them would die.

Roof caved in, the vehicle came to a stop. Pinned between Newman, who amazingly was still breathing, and the metal, she relaxed her grip and let blackness claim her.

That’s it. Thanks for visiting. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.