Like a shot

The tube hurt worse going in than the bullet did.

Washington County Sheriff's Deputy Taylor Reed remembers little of the pain of the bullet. The first clue was his left arm, the one he had been using to balance his readied rifle, no longer held that weapon steady and instead dangled at his side. He used his right hand to spot check the way up the other arm. He was fine below the elbow, his first pats told him. He found blood closer to his shoulder.

That's when Reed knew he had been shot.

The .38 special bullet went through his arm and armpit, meaning neither Reed's bullet resistent vest nor tactical vest stopped it. The bullet then careened through his chest, breaking ribs, collapsing a lung and stopping just before a vertebrae.

That part happened fast. The tube inserted in the hospital? Reed remembers it vividly. Doctors inserted the tube to help drain fluid that kept his lung from full function. The tube was maybe a half inch wide, and Reed remembers clearly it going in through his side, pushing up against his cartilage with only local anesthetic to protect him. For about four days, Reed carried around a bucket that captured the fluids. It reminded him of Tony Stark and his car battery in the comic book movie "Iron Man," except this was far more real.

Reed was left with a scar and a bit more wariness. Four months after getting shot, he returned to duty Jan. 5, the first day his doctor would allow it.

A true rookie

Reed never planned on being a law enforcement officer. He wanted to be a journalist, and that may help him if he decides to turn his story into a book. He also wanted to be a firefighter. Several people he knew were firefighters, so he looked into that profession. Hiring managers told Reed, who grew up on a dairy farm near Prairie Grove, that he needed more experience outside the farm. They had a point, Reed said. His only experience with law enforcement up to that point was the time he got pulled over on a Sunday morning on the way to church.

He began work as a dispatcher for Washington County in 2007. After a time working with the deputies in the department, he received encouragement to apply for a patrol position. It wasn't firefighting, but it did seem like a good fit because he respected his colleagues. He started on patrol in 2009, and in 2010, he earned a partner, a Belgian Malinois named Coty.

Their patrol often includes covering zones, but he's often also allowed to patrol high-crime areas needing extra attention. Some nights are boring. Some nights hint of danger, and "you question why a sane person would ever do this," Reed said.

Then came Aug. 20 of last year.

Officer down

Near the end of his shift that night, Reed and several other deputies responded to a call on a county road south of Elkins. The situation was grave before deputies arrived. A woman called to say her son had shot her husband. Reed parked up the road, leaving Coty in the car. A dog like Coty is a nonlethal force, Reed said, and because shots had already been fired at the scene, this didn't seem like a nonlethal situation. The idea was simple: They wanted to apprehend the man accused of the shooting. They suspected he was inside.

Reed remembers how black the night was. The officers came in quietly.

As two of the five deputies walked around the outside the house, Reed stood in a nearby, open-air carport providing security for them. He watched. He was walking backward from his position when he saw the muzzle flash in his direction. He returned fire. So did the other deputies.

He later learned it was the female caller who pulled the trigger. She assumed the motion outside was her son returning to the home. Dispatch had talked to her earlier in the night, but the conversation ended before officers learned the accused shooter had left. That man, Sam Hill, was later arrested at his home. He was charged with capital murder in the fatal shooting of his adoptive father, Allen Hill. Sam Hill is scheduled for a March 16 court date.

Reed scrambled to about half the distance between where he was shot and where he parked his vehicle. He felt woozy, and he told someone to lay him down on the road because he didn't want to pass out standing up. Another of the officers on the scene, who happened to be a former paramedic, assisted him.

A waiting game

A co-worker asked if he wanted to notify his wife that he was in the hospital. Reed said no, he didn't want to wake her. That won't go over well, said his fellow cop. She'd kill you, not the bullet.

An officer went to the couple's home to deliver the news. The officer told Bethany Reed that her husband should be fine. But she also knew notifications like that are handled with kid gloves. Bethany Reed knew her husband would be fine when she could hear him chatting before she entered the hospital room.

He stayed in the hospital for about a week. Reed remembers lying on his back in the hospital, wondering why it felt like he was lying on a marble. Turns out, it was the .38 slug. It came out during surgery, but it is being kept as part of the ongoing investigation.

Reed required time to recover, mostly because his doctor wanted to make sure his broken ribs healed fully.

"He's been ready to come back for months, mentally and psychologically," said Tim Helder, Washington County sheriff.

And he had a job any time he wanted one, Helder said. He has a toughness Helder seeks in all of his deputies.

"He's the real deal," said Helder, who can only recall a handful of serious injuries to Washington County deputies in his 35 years in law enforcement. "He didn't let the shock get him. He convinced himself he was going to be OK."

Back to business

It's one thing to convince yourself everything is all right. It's another to convince those closest to you. If his wife ever told him not to go back, that's a secret between the two of them, Reed said. Those four months meant a lot of free time to care for their daughter, Taylen, who will be a year old on Feb. 9.

"It was really tough to tell my daughter bye," he said.

Leaving her was the hardest part of returning to duty. But he has colleagues in the department who count on him, and there's also Coty, who would run out of the house and sit by the cruiser, ready for patrol.

During his hiatus, Reed watched several major news stories about police officers. Law enforcement officers clashed with protesters in Ferguson, Mo., and Cleveland, Ohio, after accusations of excessive force in both cities. Then, two police officers in New York City were gunned down in their car. He knows all officers are under increased scrutiny when they fire their weapons. He never blamed the woman who shot him.

"She was protecting herself," he said. "I hope it doesn't bother her."

Reed asked that no charges be brought against the woman. The investigation into the incident as a whole continues. Reed is barely part of that. He showed up, was there for maybe 20 minutes or so, got shot and left.

He could have been a statistic. The woman could have been killed, too, and officers returned fire without injuring her.

That combination, Reed said, was "the grace of God. Or luck."

Getting shot will make him a better officer, Reed said.

He has attended more than one FBI training seminar. All of them prepare law enforcement officers for the reality that they will be shot. He believes the training now.

Reed said a prayer the first time he got back in his SUV and went out for patrol. Twice in his first week back, he responded to a call where a gun was present. He listened much more closely than he can ever remember for the faintest sounds, like a twig breaking nearby.

The night in August stays with him, something beyond the scars.

"Something good becomes of every situation. I always believe that," Reed said. "I got to stay home with my daughter."

And he gets to stay around and watch her grow up, too.

Kevin Kinder can be reached by email at [email protected] or on Twitter @NWAWhatsup.

NAN Our Town on 01/15/2015