Chapter Fourteen: "9-1-1"
"Neal! Neal, stop!" Owen's arms were flailing as he threw himself in front of the distraught knight, "You're bleeding all over my drum set!"
Neal froze. "I'm… bleeding?"
"Yes!" Shrieked Kel, dropping her Yamani training and displaying sheer concern for her best friend as she grabbed him by the arm, "You're ripped out all your hair!"
"You mean … you mean … I'm … bald?"
"Yell, yes!" Owen was giggling, now that it was clear his drum set was safe, the whole scenario became somewhat humorous. "But it looks jolly good on you!"
Raising a trembling hand to touch his blood soaked head, Neal fell over backwards. Unconscious.
"Uhm," Owen chewed on his lip as he looked at the immobile knight. "What's the number you call when something really bad happens?"
Most of the Tortallans shrugged, not yet familiar with the intricate inner workings of the present, but Seaver waved his hand in the air. "It's one, one, nine!"
"No, no. That's wrong."
"One, nine, one?"
"It'shhh nine, one, one," slurred Myles, still very drunk. (He had yet to recover from drinking all of the bottles it took to make his new xylophone.)
"That's it!" Lord Wyldon exclaimed, having seen the number in his 'band director survival guide', "What do we do now? Call it?" Unfortunately, the 'band director survival guide' did not explain the concept of telephones.
"Yes!" Chorused every one, before screaming out together, "NINE! ONE! ONE!"
They waited for a minute. Then another. Then another, but nothing happened.
"Why didn't it work?"
Just as Cleon opened his mouth to say something snarky – taking over for Neal, who was still unconscious – an ambulance crashed through one of the band room walls and ran directly over him.
"That's what I call fast-service."
Authoress's Notes: One time at band camp, a guy got hit by the ambulance that came to pick up a guy who ripped out his hair!