by S. M. LITTLE
Last was Jordan. Her wounds were not that bad, her problem was primarily the blood loss caused by the blood thinners she was on. It took no time for her to be patched up and a transfusion of synth blood administered. She was released after a night in the hospital for observation.
After being released, Jordan returned home. Her husband had been worried sick about her and had decided to give her a special treat after the accident. After a day in the park, they returned home and relaxed in the hot tub, making sure her wound was covered with a waterproof bandage. He made a fancy dinner for two and they sat together at the candlelit table, shared a bottle of wine, and ate the delicious food. They wrapped up the night in bed together, sharing a perfect moment to end their perfect day.
Charles, upon being released, needed one thing only. He walked out of the hospital scratching himself all over from withdrawals and dying to get his next fix. He wasted no time in finding his dealer. Charles paid him the money and the dealer set up the needle. There were several others in the dingy room anxiously waiting their turn and watching as the needle was inserted into Charles’ arm. He watched with eager anticipation as the dealer depressed the plunger. Charles quickly drifted off into a dreamlike state where there was no pain. If only the dealer would have used a new needle for all of his ‘patients’, but that tapped into his profits. Instead, greed won, and all of the onlookers were shot up with the same needle used on Charles.
The last to be released was Amy. She tried to be mad at Brian for the accident, but knew it was just as much her fault. If anything, it made her remember why she had married him in the first place. She made up her mind then and there that she was going to do whatever it took to make their marriage work. Sure, money was tight right now, but quitting her job and getting away from her boss was the least she could do to try and save their marriage.
Once she was released, she headed into the office to tender her resignation. What she hadn’t factored into her plan was her boss turning on his charm one last time. One last time to be together with him, and then it would be over.
It wasn’t that big of a deal to her boss, he just wanted her before he left for Europe. Just to prove to himself that he could have her whenever he wanted, no matter what she decided. It was nothing more than placating his ego.
After all that, he loaded his bags and left for Europe, leaving Amy wondering if she really could save her marriage.
Of course, she could! He had his whores in Europe, after all.
CHAPTER SIX
NORTH LITTLE ROCK, ARKANSAS
Lucy scrambled to prep the ER. They had a gunshot victim on the way in, and it was bad. More product of the gang violence in the streets of Little Rock.
The ER was set up in a reverse ‘L’ shape, with the ambulance bay on the upper part of the ‘L’. The lobby was on the opposite side of the ambulance bay, at the bottom of the ‘L’. There were triage rooms between the lobby and the bay.
The victim, according to the reports coming in on the radio, had a severe chest wound from a gunshot. He also had bullet holes in his legs and one arm. It didn’t sound good, but Lucy was not one to give up.
The ambulance quickly backed up to the entrance of the emergency room. The back doors of the ambulance were flung open and EMTs raced the victim into the ER. They got him into a bay and as one, the EMTs and nurses transferred him onto the bed.
Lucy pushed her way into the room and took over.
“Vitals?” Lucy barked out while simultaneously checking the victim over with her stethoscope.
“BP is 85/40. Pulse slow and intermittent. He’s not gonna last long, doc!” one of the EMTs shouted.
“Get me that synth blood! I need Dr. Felson, NOW!” Lucy barked. She was operating on autopilot, barking orders and treating the victim.
It looked like the chest wound was the greatest problem. She needed to stop the bleeding quickly or this guy was going to die.
Dr. Felson walked in. “Where do you need me?”
“Legs,” Lucy shouted. She needed Dr. Felson to start taking care the lower half while she worked on the guy’s chest. “Where’s my blood?” she screamed.
“On its way!” another nurse said.
What would look like pure panic and chaos to the untrained was actually quite the opposite. Everyone knew their roles and performed them to perfection.
Lucy was diligently sewing up what she could, clipping away dead tissue and repairing the damage as she went. Dr. Felson was working away on the guy’s legs, doing the exact same thing. All the nurses kept running around, making sure the doctors had a steady supply of clean, sterile instruments to use.
A nurse came running in with a bag of synth blood, massaging it out of nervousness. She was new to the ER and hadn’t dealt with anything like this before. She was paying more attention to her surroundings, trying to make sure she didn’t bump the table or anyone else, when she accidentally squeezed the bag too tight. It wasn’t her fault, really. The blood manufacturer was in such a rush to get supplies out for the public that the company hired to make the bags skipped several quality control steps.
The bag wasn’t sealed properly at the top. It was supposed to be double heat sealed at the top but the bag had been misaligned during the sealing process. All it took was a little too much pressure and the bag exploded turning into a geyser of blood. The result was like witnessing Old Faithful erupt.
Since the nurse was holding the bag down by her waist, the blood shot up under her protective face shield and saturated her eyes. She still had a mask over her mouth, but there was so much volume that blood found its way into her mouth in spite of the mask. The eruption doused another nurse standing next to her, with similar results.
“Damn it! Get another bag quick, we’re losing him,” Lucy nearly screamed.
The nurse ran back to get another bag, but by the time she returned it was almost too late. The nurse set up the IV and managed to get the synth blood flowing into the victim.
“We’re losing him, Doctor,” another nurse shouted.
Lucy feverishly tried everything she could think of to save the man, but it wasn’t enough. The damage was just too severe and he had lost way too much blood. Lucy stopped what she was doing.
“Time of death, 3:05 pm,” Lucy calmly stated. “Guys, let’s get this mess cleaned up and get him to the morgue.” Not that Lucy didn’t feel remorse over the loss of life in front of her. She did, but a body does several things after death and the morgue was better prepared to handle that. Like it or not, there was still work to do on this man, even after death.
“Dr. Bailey, you did everything you could. The damage was just too severe,” Dr. Felson told her while they were scrubbing up.
“I know. It’s just senseless. That guy couldn’t have been over seventeen. He was still a kid,” she replied, exasperated.
“I agree. Lucy, it’s not your fault. All we can do is deal with what we are given,” Felson told her.
“Yeah, a shit sandwich with a side of crap,” she returned.
While everyone was cleaning up from the ordeal, they transferred the victim to the morgue in the basement. There he was put in the cooler until the technicians could prepare the body, and the police could do their investigation, before he would be released to the family.
It would be quite the shock for whoever opened that cooler next.
Lucy left the ER to find Greg. She’d had enough for the day and needed to vent a bit. She found him in his office.
“You look like hell,” Greg commented. “What happened?”
Lucy explained the ordeal in the ER, how the nurse burst the bag of synth blood and doused several others. She explained about losing the patient and how it made her feel. By the time she was done she was almost in tears.
“Lucy, it’s not your fault. As doctors, we are required to put aside our own emotions and focus on our patient’s health. It’s not fair, because the drain on us can be unbearable. I know this from experience,” Greg told her. “You have to rem
ember all the good you do every day.”
“Oh, like ramming needles into asses because some jock teenager can’t keep it zipped? Or put up with the same teenage brat hitting on me because, wait for it, I’m cute? I’m young?” she went off.
This sounded a lot more like the Lucy that Greg knew. That meant she was starting to regain her equilibrium. He just shut his mouth and let her vent. If Lucy only knew what he was doing at this exact moment by shutting his yapper, she would have married him. He was easily trained.
CHAPTER SEVEN
NEAR SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
Tina and Bob had been back home for several weeks since their camping trip. It had been the best trip they had ever taken to Mount Rainier. They fished, hiked, and took days to be lazy.
With their batteries recharged and a renewal of their love for each other, they returned to the daily grind. It wasn’t that much of a grind because they both were doing what they loved. If a person finds what they truly love to do and makes that their career, they never work a day in their life. Or something like that.
It was a Saturday morning. The norm for them was to sleep late and eat breakfast together. They rarely had a chance to do that during the week because of their hectic schedules. This morning would be different.
“Eggs and bacon?” Tina asked.
“Sounds good to me,” Bob replied. He walked up behind her and gave her the reverse hug she liked as a thank you. She was so easy for him to read after all these years.
Their embrace was broken up by the ringing of Bob’s phone. He released Tina and picked up his phone. The caller ID said, ‘Fire Dept’.
“Yeah,” Bob answered. He didn’t say a word as he listened to the instructions given to him.
“On my way,” he replied, after listening for a minute, then hanging up. It used to be a page was sent out in the event of a fire, but who the hell wears a pager anymore?
“Gotta go, baby. Big fire by Sammamish Park. Threatening some homes. They’re calling everyone in,” Bob told her.
“Be safe,” Tina replied.
He kissed her and headed out to his truck. The drive to the department wasn’t that long but by the time he got there all the other volunteer firefighters were there.
He quickly turned out and hopped on the engine. He always wondered if other volunteer firefighters had a Dalmatian to ride on their trucks because he thought that would be cool. Unfortunately, his department didn’t think the same way.
By the time the firefighters arrived on scene, the fire was roaring. Flames were reaching heights of more than twenty feet. Smoke billowed from the inferno, blocking out most of the sun.
The firefighters that were already there had managed to stop the fire from taking any homes, their progress helped by a change in the wind. They were trying to beat it back further away from the houses, because they knew the wind could change again at any minute.
“Fire’s turned back to the east,” the chief in charge of the scene told him. “Looks like it might jump the highway. Head over and keep it contained there.”
“On our way,” Bob replied, and took his crew to the highway. When they got there, the fire was still over a mile away, giving them some time to set up a defensive line. The highway had yet to be closed but traffic had come to a standstill as gawkers couldn’t help but sit and stare.
It made getting into the area a little tricky, but they made it to where they needed to be. State patrol was now on the scene directing traffic and keeping the gawkers to a minimum.
Bob deployed his men to several strategic spots to help keep the blaze contained. Whatever plan the chief in charge on the scene was using was working. Several different departments were on the east side, keeping it from advancing, while other crews attacked from the west, putting the blaze out.
The raging fires that were present when Bob first arrived on scene were no longer visible. Experience taught him the job was far from done but they were gaining on the blaze.
Just when Bob started feeling good about the situation, he heard a series of car crashes behind him. He turned to look and saw one car had rear-ended another one. Pinned between the two cars was a state patrol officer.
Bob raced to the scene of the accident and did a quick assessment. The officer had his leg pinned between the two cars. Bob ran over to the driver’s side of the car that was in the rear position.
“Back up, slowly!” Bob shouted. He went to the front of the car to catch the officer as the car pulled away. The officer was shouting in pain.
“Officer, try to relax,” Bob said. The car backed away, releasing the officer. He collapsed onto the pavement, blood squirting out of his injured leg. Bob quickly placed a hand over the injury and applied pressure.
Another medic arrived quickly on scene. It was his best friend and fellow volunteer firefighter, Ted.
“Ted, we gotta slow this bleeding,” Bob yelled out.
Another passerby stopped and tore his own shirt off.
“Here, use this,” the shirtless guy said.
Bob grabbed the shirt and went to place it over the wound. When Bob lifted his hand, blood squirted out of the gaping wound and landed on his face. Ted got a heavy spray near his eyes.
“Shit, that was close. Keep pressure on it,” Bob told Ted. As Ted reached for the wound, Bob talked to the officer.
“What’s your name?” Bob asked him.
“Officer Dewey. This ain’t good, is it?” he replied through gritted teeth.
“Honestly, no, it isn’t. I’ve seen worse though,” Bob reassured him. “You’ve got a severe laceration on your leg, most likely nicking your femoral artery. Paramedics are on the way. As long as we can control the bleeding, you should make it. Might need a transfusion.”
“Damn, I just got out of the hospital from a transfusion. Got that new synth blood. Felt like shit ever since,” the officer told him.
“Well, you 're gonna need more of it,” Bob told him.
The officer was in no better mood by the time the ambulance got there. The paramedics stabilized the officer and got him into the ambulance.
“You saved his life,” one paramedic told Bob.
“Just part of the job,” Bob replied.
With that, Bob went back to fighting the fire, which now was down to putting out hotspots.
Bob decided he might get to enjoy the weekend after all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA
Mike and Pete were walking away from the bar late that night. They had consumed a considerable amount of beer, along with the shots they earned from winning the betting pool. Cindy had left with Stumpy, again.
“Must not be too stumpy if she keeps leaving with him,” Pete said.
“There weren’t a lot of options for her,” Mike replied. “She’s been with every other guy there, literally.”
“Yes, and she’s not afraid to make it public, either,” Pete replied.
“No, she’s not,” Mike said as five large guys walked up behind them.
“Let me guess, Air Force, right?” a guy wearing a wife beater said. “Not good enough for the Army?”
Mike wheeled around and looked at the guys. They were large, but unconditioned. Being large only helped if you knew how to use it. From the track marks on their arms, Mike was betting they didn’t.
“No, just not that stupid,” Mike replied with a tinge of anger in his voice. This was a sure-fire way to ruin his buzz.
“Oh, you look plenty stupid to me,” a second guy said. He was shirtless and had brass knuckles in his hand.
“That a fact?” Pete challenged.
“Yeah, fact,” Wife Beater said.
As the conversation continued, the other three circled around Mike and Pete. Both men were aware of what the other guys were doing and were making note of what weapons they had. One guy had a lead pipe, another had a 2x4, and the third had just his fists.
“How hard you want to be on them, Mike?” Pete asked.
“All the way,�
� Mike responded as he lunged at Wife Beater. His massive fist connected with Wife Beater's face and caved it in. The guy was out before he hit the ground.
Pete bull-rushed Lead Pipe, knocked him to the ground and then swung at Brass Knuckles. Knuckles dodged backwards into Fist and tripped to the ground.
While Pete was playing with those three, Shirtless made a run at Mike. Mike sidestepped and whipped his leg up in a roundhouse kick to the abdomen. Shirtless doubled over in pain and landed on his hands and knees. Mike got behind him and lodged his steel-toed boot right between Shirtless’s legs, catching both of Shirtless’s boys with one kick.
Mike turned to check on Pete’s situation, and noticed he was failing into the numbers game. Lead Pipe had gotten back up and was swinging wildly. He was forcing Pete to retreat into the other two.
“Need a hand, brother?” Mike asked.
“Anytime you wanna join in would be great,” Pete yelled.
Lead Pipe heard what Pete said and turned to Mike. Mike had an evil grin on his face, waiting for the dumbass to start.
“Playtime!” Mike shouted and advanced on Pipe Guy. Lead Pipe didn’t know what to make of the situation, he thought they still had the upper hand on these two, but somehow this brute had felled two of his guys already.
By the time he figured out he needed to swing the pipe, it was too late. Mike had picked up speed and speared Lead Pipe right in the stomach. They both hit the ground hard, Pipe’s head smacking the pavement with a loud thud. Mike sat on the guy’s chest and whaled away on him until the guy was clearly unconscious.
While Mike was busy with Lead Pipe, Pete had turned around to face the last two. They both glared at Pete as they heard Mike pummeling the other guy.
“You wanted some, now come get it,” Pete spat at them. Pete was a different fighter than Mike. Mike preferred to take the fight to the enemy. Pete was more tactical, waiting for the enemy to make a mistake. He was rewarded with his patience.
Fist waited for Knuckles to make the first move, but Knuckles wanted no part of Pete. Pete was twice the size of Knuckles. The two thugs turned to look at each other and that was the opening Pete needed. Pete launched himself at Knuckles, driving an elbow into his right temple. He quickly spun to his right and swung his arm, connecting with the nose of Fist. Blood spurted out of the man’s nose and both men hit the ground at the same time.
