by Tarah Benner
Between our regular twelve-hour shifts and all the extra research hours we’ve been logging to impress the Progressive Research Unit, we’ve been running ourselves ragged. Most of our conversations consist of yawns and impatient snapping in the tunnels.
Part of me thinks Health and Rehab makes the internship program a pressure cooker on purpose. Forcing interns competing for top positions to live in close quarters with very little sleep must be good training for the demands of being a full-fledged doctor.
Back in higher ed, the competition would have thrilled me, but right now I just find it tiring and a little gross. I could really use a shower — or at least a little deodorant — but there’s no time. I just run my fingers through my hair and yank it up into a messy ponytail.
Without waiting for Caleb, I fly out into the brightly lit tunnel and try not to look as though I just rolled out of bed.
“Lyang!” barks a voice from behind me. “There you are! What the hell took so long?”
It’s Dr. Watson, the most impatient asshole in the medical ward. Of course he would be on call tonight.
“Sorry, sir. What’s going on?”
“Emergency Fringe retrieval,” he snaps.
No shit.
“Did they say if they’ve been injured?”
“No. They’re still too far out to know for sure, but Eagle Eye says they’ll be chambered in just a few minutes. You and MacAvoy should head down there to get them. Page me immediately if you need assistance.”
“Yes, sir.”
I know I’m supposed to wait for Caleb, but I’m just too anxious. I grab the first gurney I can find and summon an automatic wheelchair to follow me onto the freight lift. You never know which one you’re going to need.
Just as the doors start to close, I spot Caleb running frantically around the ward and roll my eyes.
It’s not that he’s a bad guy. In a less competitive section, we might even be friends. But since there’s only one spot available in Progressive Research, that makes him just another kiss-ass who needs to be eliminated.
On the ride down to the ground level, it’s all I can do not to think about a wounded Harper draped over Eli’s shoulder. She got lucky the time he was shot, but I’m not sure how long her luck can possibly hold out with such frequent deployments.
As soon as the lift doors open, I rush down the tunnel toward the postexposure chamber. There’s already a hazmat suit and a mask waiting for me. I unzip the thing in one motion and pull it off the hook to slither inside.
It’s much more difficult to get it zipped back up once I’m wearing it. My fingers feel clumsy in the attached rubber gloves, and I can’t see what they’re doing outside the suit when my face is encased in plastic.
Finally I secure the hood and rush into the secondary chamber to meet them. Through the small window in the door, I can see several shadowy figures crowded in the radiation chamber. It’s too dark to distinguish their faces, but it looks as though there are more than two people in there.
When I press my face closer to the glass, I hear frantic shouts and a high-pitched whimper.
Harper.
I wait with bated breath for the compound doors to shut. As soon as the green light flashes on my side of the chamber, I frantically stab the door release to let them inside.
Three people rush toward me, and I press myself against the wall to make room. All the movement and body heat is a little disorienting, but I try to focus on the awkward shape to my right.
“We need to get her to the medical ward!” somebody yells.
The voice is male — low and terrified — but it isn’t Eli. The man is stooped to avoid bumping his head on the low ceiling, and he’s hunched over as if he’s carrying a heavy bundle.
Then he steps into the light, and I see that the voice belongs to Eli’s tall, hulking fighter friend — Miles, I think.
He doesn’t look so tough right now, though; he has the same helpless look I’ve seen on the faces of people in the medical ward who are about to lose their loved ones.
Cradled in his arms is a small redheaded girl with milky white skin. She’s trembling and breathing hard, and sweaty curls are clinging to her forehead.
I scan her body for signs of injury, and my eyes land on a dark bloodstain spreading near her abdomen.
“Gunshot wound?”
“Yeah,” says Miles, looking at me as though I hold all the answers to the universe.
Somebody brushes past me, and in the harsh blue light, I can just make out Harper’s ashen, tear-stained face. I give her a quick once-over and feel a tiny surge of relief that she seems unharmed.
“It’s my friend Lenny,” she says, choking back a sob. “You have to help her. She’s lost a lot of blood.”
My heart feels as though it might beat right out of my chest, and my breathing speeds up.
They warned us about this — getting sucked into the panic. They train us to stay calm and respond to an emergency with a clear head, but nothing could have prepared me for the paralyzing fear and pressure.
From the look on Harper’s face, it feels as if I’m single-handedly responsible for the life of the girl in Miles’s arms, and the prognosis doesn’t look good.
Suddenly, my mind flashes to one of the first operations I assisted with after the explosion in Systems. A man who’d been buried in the rubble was bleeding out on the table. I was having a panic attack in the operating room, and my overseeing physician had said, “When we don’t have peace, we rely on process.”
A calm feeling washes over me as I picture Dr. Fey’s kind, capable face, and I know what I have to do.
“We need to decontaminate you first,” I hear myself say to Harper.
“Are you serious?”
“The gunshot wound is her most pressing problem — not yours.”
Harper looks as though she wants to put up a fight, so I push the button for the shower and shove her under the spray. She cringes as icy water pounds down on her, soaking her to the bone.
“Give her to me,” I instruct Miles.
He gives me a skeptical look but transfers Lenny to my arms. I nearly buckle under her weight, but it’s manageable. She’s smaller than me, and the rush of adrenalin helps.
As my arms close over her small frame, her breathing starts to come a little faster — as though she fears I might drop her. But I stab the door release with my foot and stagger out to place her on the gurney just outside the chamber.
“Decontaminate,” I shout to Miles, not taking my eyes off Lenny as I lay her on the crisp white sheet. Maybe it’s the sickly light from the chamber, but she looks much too pale. She needs to go through the decontamination shower, too, but I worry she doesn’t have time.
I can’t see her abdominal wound clearly, but the blood is seeping through her uniform at an alarming rate. I press my hands down and apply pressure to stem the bleeding, and a look of agony flashes over her face.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “You’re okay.”
I hear the shower running again. Yanking down the zipper on my suit to access my interface, I page the medical ward for immediate assistance upon arrival. I don’t bother stripping off the suit completely. I’m going to be in trouble, but I can already feel process breaking down.
I’m not ready for this.
“Help me push,” I yell to Harper.
I can’t see her, but the gurney starts moving toward the megalift.
The doors open, and Caleb rushes out — nearly careening into our gurney.
“What’s going on?” he splutters.
“GSW,” I pant. “Take care of the others.”
Caleb freezes on the spot, but I don’t have time to worry about him.
Miles appears on my other side wearing just his shorts. Droplets of water are sliding off his tattooed chest, and he’s trembling slightly.
The sight of a man his size on the verge of a breakdown causes a lump to form in my throat, but I shove it down and keep moving.
“I can ta
ke it from here,” I say gently. “Go with Caleb.”
“I’m comin’ with you,” he growls.
“Just until we get up to the medical ward. Then they’ll take her into surgery.”
We crowd onto the lift, and Caleb just stands there — paralyzed by the responsibility that’s been thrust upon him. I hear some garbled instructions coming through my interface, but all I can think about is the warm gush of blood under my gloves and the pale, broken girl on my gurney.
As the lift doors close and we shoot up toward the medical ward, I give Lenny a cursory examination. Then her eyes drift closed, and I start to panic in earnest.
“Lenny. Lenny! Stay with me.”
She doesn’t move.
Harper’s face blanches, and I swallow down the bile burning in my throat.
Lenny is still bleeding profusely, and she’s dangerously pale. I can’t lift my hands to check her pulse, but I can tell she’s in serious cardiac distress.
After what seems like an eternity, the lift dings, and Harper shoves the gurney forward into the ward.
That’s when all hell breaks loose. Nurses rush forward to usher Harper and Miles into separate exam rooms, and another pack of them shove me aside to rush Lenny to an operating room. There’s a flurry of hands unsnapping her shirt and sticking monitors onto her chest, but I already know she’s in serious trouble.
I feel the sting of separation as the gurney rolls away. I start trailing after them, but a sharp yell calls me back to reality.
“What in the hell are you doing?”
I freeze.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Dr. Watson growls, striding toward me with his white coat billowing behind him like a cape.
That’s when I remember I’m still wearing the hazmat suit and I’m elbow-deep in Lenny’s blood.
I open and close my mouth several times, but no words come out.
His watery blue eyes flash. “Lyang! You’re contaminating this entire unit!”
“I had a gunshot victim!” I splutter. “I couldn’t decontaminate her without delaying treatment, so —”
“She hasn’t been decontaminated either?”
“N-no.”
Watson swears loudly, and those telltale angry creases appear on his forehead. They’re the lines he gets just before he berates someone in a very humiliating public fashion. “She hasn’t been decontaminated? She hasn’t been —” He sighs. “Is this your first day, or are you just stupid?”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“You’re sorry? You’re sorry. You just put this entire ward at risk! And for what? One first-year Recon operative who’s just going to die on the table?”
An alarming amount of heat is radiating from my body, and I clench my fists together to stop them from shaking. I can barely see Watson’s livid expression through the tears accumulating in my eyes, but I can hear the hatred in his voice.
I’m going to be put on probation for sure. I might as well say goodbye to Progressive Research. If Watson has his way, I’ll be taking urine samples for the rest of my life.
“I have half a mind to tell you to hand in your scrubs and hoof it down to Operations right now.”
Horror flashes through me. I couldn’t have screwed up this badly — not badly enough to get me thrown out of Health and Rehab, surely.
But then the lift doors fly open, and an eruption of shouts forces Watson to put his rant on hold.
Eli strides out of the lift, followed by a frazzled-looking Caleb. He’s stripped down to a pair of boxer briefs, and Caleb is just in his scrubs. Eli is clutching his rucksack to his chest like a life preserver, and I’m caught between the urge to laugh, cry, and check out Eli.
“We have to get you to an exam room,” says Caleb.
He tries to pull the rucksack out of Eli’s arms, but Eli twists out of his reach easily.
“And you can’t take that with you. It hasn’t been decontaminated!”
“That’s my cadet you just wheeled off!” yells Eli. “I want to see her.”
“You can see her when she gets out of surgery,” says Caleb, an annoyed edge to his voice.
“What the hell is this?” Watson splutters. “Can none of you do your job?”
Caleb whirls around. As soon as he sees me and Watson, his face goes bright red.
“Uh . . . he’s just a little hysterical, sir.”
“I’m not hysterical,” snaps Eli.
“I need to take this,” says Watson.
Eli jerks out of his grip, but between Watson and Caleb, they manage to successfully peel the rucksack out of Eli’s death grip.
“Who the hell are you?” Eli barks at Watson. “And where’s Harper?”
“Cadet Riley was just admitted, but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait to see her.”
“This is bullshit.”
Under any other circumstances, I’d find it hilarious that a patient was standing in the tunnel in his underwear yelling at Caleb and Watson. But this is Eli. In the few interactions I’ve had with him, I’ve learned that he’s a little unpredictable when it comes to Harper. And right now, he looks frantic.
“Eli, I’ll take you to see Harper as soon as she’s been debriefed,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
His steely gaze softens a little, but I can feel Watson’s cold glare burning a hole in my back.
Finally, Eli yields and allows Caleb to steer him toward an exam room. He should be in a wheelchair. It gives me some satisfaction to know that Caleb is going to get a lecture later, too, but it’s nothing compared to the browbeating I’m about to receive.
“Decontaminate now and scrub up for Riley’s exam,” Watson snaps. “Then meet me in my office at twenty-two hundred so we can talk about your dangerous stupidity.”
He breezes away, leaving me standing there in my hazmat suit.
For a second, I don’t think I’m going to be able to move, but I force my feet to shuffle down the tunnel toward secondary decontamination.
I lock myself in the little shower and try to extricate myself from the suit. But as soon as I’m alone, all my scared, angry tears start pouring out.
My sobs echo back at me off the white tiled walls, and my gloved fingers fumble uselessly at the zipper running down the front of my suit. Usually we pair up to take these off, but I can’t have anyone witnessing my meltdown.
I keep struggling with the zipper long after the shower cycle has stopped, and once the last water drains from the sloped floor, I cringe at how pathetic I must look.
Sinking down onto the cold tile, hopelessness swamps me.
Maybe I’m not cut out for this. After months and months of work, I don’t feel any closer to being considered a legitimate doctor or researcher. All those sleepless nights, extra shifts, and dirty bed pans were for nothing. One stupid mistake was enough to destroy my job prospects.
Then I think about Harper and how she’s going to react when she learns that she’s lost her friend. I don’t know for sure that Lenny’s heart stopped, but she didn’t look good. And if she does die, Watson’s going to make me break the news to Harper and Eli myself.
After all that, nothing I did mattered. Lenny was always going to die.
A soft knock on the shower door pulls me briefly out of my misery, but the voice on the other side is the absolute last one I want to hear.
“Sawyer?” calls Caleb. “Are you okay?”
“Go away, MacAvoy,” I blubber. “I’m not in the mood.”
The door rattles briefly, but then he stops. “I’m coming in,” he calls, a note of hesitation coloring his determined voice. “You decent?”
I groan.
There’s a brief pause, but then the door opens. Caleb is standing just outside the shower, looking exhausted but not unsympathetic.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” I say, gesturing to my suit. “You’re going to have to decontaminate and rescrub all over again.”
“I don’t mind,” he murmurs, kneeling down next to me and reaching for
the zipper.
His expression is warm and calm as he tugs it down, and my overheated body welcomes the rush of cool air filtering through my scrubs.
Caleb takes my hands and helps me into a standing position so he can pull the suit down to my ankles. It’s much trickier than putting the suit on, since the plastic suctions to every inch of exposed skin.
“I heard Watson yelling at you through the lift doors,” he murmurs.
“Who didn’t hear that? Now everybody thinks I’m an idiot.”
“Are you kidding? You’re the smartest intern here by far. No one thinks you’re an idiot . . . least of all me.”
From the tone of his voice and the set of his jaw, I can tell he isn’t just saying those things to make me feel better. He genuinely believes them.
I let out a long sigh and deflate against the shower wall. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Because you had a shit day,” he answers quickly. “And because I think you did the right thing.”
“Not according to protocol.”
“Fuck protocol,” he snaps. “That girl would have died if you’d followed protocol.”
My heart sinks. “I think she did die.”
“No, she didn’t.” He sounds surprised. “They’re still working on her in suspended animation.”
“What?”
I don’t want to believe him. It seems too good to be true. And I can’t allow myself to feel any false hope. That will just make the blow of failure that much more painful.
“Yeah. I saw them wheel her in there with the crash cart. They’re going to try to bring her back after they operate.”
My heart rate picks up a little, and despite my best efforts, hope beats down on me like a warm ray of sunshine.
I’m also a little bit excited. I’ve never seen this procedure performed, and I want to be there when they do it.
“You wanna go watch?” Caleb asks, correctly interpreting the eagerness in my eyes.
I glance back up at his face and crack a smile.
“Okay. Hang on.”
Caleb reaches up and hits the button to run the decontamination cycle again. I cringe as cold water pelts us both, and a strange feeling of intimacy creeps over me as I watch the water soak through his scrubs and rain down on his face.
