The screen door banged open against the siding, and two paramedics in dark utility pants hurried in carrying an orange trauma kit and a folding cot.
Behind them came a Chesapeake patrol officer with a silver shield pinned over his left pocket.
His nameplate read Marcus.
His face was weathered, and his graying hair was cut in a high military fade.
“Captain Miller?” Marcus asked, his eyes taking in my dress uniform before dropping to the frail bundle in my arms.“Logistics officer, United States Army,” I said.
“This is my daughter, Lily.
She’s been alone in this house with no water and no supervision since Tuesday morning.”
The lead paramedic knelt beside me on the hall runner and pressed his stethoscope to Lily’s chest.
“Lungs are clear, but her heart rate is one-forty.
Mucous membranes are completely dry.
Let’s get her into the rig for an IV bolus right now.”
