My day started off like a typical one – getting ready for work as a paramedic for the shady town that is Gotham City. As evening is approaching, I know that my assistance will, unfortunately, most likely be needed. I finish pulling my pristine white collared button-down with my station's emblem over my shoulder, quickly securing it by buttoning and tucking it into my pants. I lace the belt through the loops, ensuring that the weight of my necessary medical supplies in the cargo pants won't accidentally cause any wardrobe malfunctions. I lace up my issued shoes and deftly throw my hair into a tight, sleek ponytail that reaches halfway down my back; short wisps of my honey-blonde hair float near my ears. Since I'm on-duty tonight and not on-call, I exit my apartment in a less shady district of Gotham and head for my Chevy Cruze that's four years old.
The drive from my apartment to the station is relatively long since the evening rush of traffic of Gothamites trying to get home before the criminals go out on the prowl has begun. Even though the drive is about seven miles – which is too far for anyone to walk, especially at night – I arrive at my station in 20 minutes.
"Hey, Eve," a voice calls to me as I exit my car after parking it behind the station. I turn my head to see my long-time friend, Devyn. She and I quickly bonded, since we're the only two female paramedics in our station and we both graduated from our classes and got promoted at the same time. She always insists on calling me by my nickname and not my real name.
"Hey, Dev," I automatically go into what we call our 'para-walk', similar to a business walk where you're half-jogging/half-walking.
We hug briefly before heading toward our home-away-from-home; swiping our issued ID badges to enter the building. I never quite understood the security concerns behind having to make us use encrypted ID badges just to enter the station, but I guess you can't be too sure.
We enter the meeting room to find Battalion Chief Reed Flanch talking to Captain Dan Boone, Lieutenant Rob Nox, and Fire Chief Arden Lowe. The majority of our station's EMT-1s, EMT-2s, and EMT-paramedics, and firefighters are already in the room, seated, and waiting for the usual pre-shift meeting to begin.
"As usual, we have to remind you all," Bat. Chief Flanch's eyes quickly scan the room, "radio us should the Batman make the mistake of making his presence known to you."
This is something that I never have understood in the four years that I've been in this battalion in Gotham. Why on earth would they still insist on apprehending the man who has brought down someone like Carmine Falcone, Two-Face, hell, even the Joker? He's done so much for Gotham and the city just thinks that they can chase him out. I fold my arms tightly across my chest, forcing myself to not show any emotion. I know that he supposedly killed Two-Face, but there had to be something more to it than that – shit, Two-Face was even Harvey Dent, Gotham's District Attorney at one point; and it's not exactly a secret that he courted his Assistant, Rachel Dawes. A rumor even went around that they got engaged at one point. Anyway, Dent fought to end crime in Gotham, not make it even more prominent.
I ramble in my mind, my thoughts taking me away from my job momentarily. That is, until Devyn nudges me with her bony elbow, causing me to blink out of my reverie. She knows me too well, she knew that I was completely zoned out. I send her a very small, curt nod and see the corner of her mouth curl upwards slightly from my peripheral vision.
"Evangeline Price, EMT-Paramedic," I raise my head, making sure that my presence is known to my superiors. "Ambulance three."
I nod my head in confirmation of this information, praying silently that I'm with a good group of people tonight.
"Devyn Ambruster, EMT-Paramedic. Ambulance four. Sorry, girls, we need your talents split tonight."
Devyn and I look at each other and shrug slightly. Honestly, it's a compliment because that means that we're going higher into the ranks in our battalion. We secretly hand-hug under the table, both of us knowing what this means for our careers.
"Not a problem, sir," I respond politely, earning a curt nod from the superior.
"Good. Then you won't mind having EMT-1 Christopher Lowell with you tonight. You can show him the ropes, and he can learn from one of the best," Battalion Chief Flanch half-smiles.
Great. The new hire. I smirk slightly, appreciating the challenge. A few minutes later, the meeting ends and everyone has their assignments. For all I know, this could either be one of the longest nights of my life. Or the last.
Batman stands alone on a ledge of one of the many hotels of Gotham City; his long, dark cape billowing in the air current as he scans the area below. He is stooped over, his hand firmly planted on the ledge, the other across his knee. He is laying on one of his shins, his other foot flat on the ledge. His eyes scan for anything unusual, but it seems as though Gotham's criminals and low-lives have yet to come out of hiding.
Bruce Wayne smirks to himself. His fear of bats is shared amongst some now; however, just as Gordon predicted, escalation has occurred. Indeed, GCPD got semi-automatics, the thugs have started getting automatics – cops got bulletproof vests, more and more criminals now have Kevlar. Luckily Bruce knew that there are weak points in Kevlar, not to mention the fact that he relies on hand-to-hand combat anyway.
"Master Bruce," Alfred Pennyworth's voice brings Batman to reality. "It appears as though there has been yet another break-out at Arkham Asylum."
Bruce groans lightly. This is the second time in the matter of a month.
"Perhaps, sir, it would be most prudent for Wayne Enterprises to donate a generous amount of money in order to upgrade their security," Alfred deadpans in his thick English accent.
"Possibly," Batman rasps. "Who is it this time?"
"Our anarchist friend the Joker, sir."
At this point, Batman leaps off of the eave, activating the shape-memory fibers that allow him to glide over the City. He knew where he was headed – Arkham Asylum. Time to question them. Again.
"So, Evangline, why did you want to be a para?" Christopher Lowell asks me. Devyn and our friend Jonathon Lawson both send me a quick glance, knowing that this is a sort of sensitive question for me.
Unfortunately for me, Christopher either doesn't sense my hesitation and slight bristle or just completely ignores it. I clear my throat.
"Long story short, I don't want others to go through what I have," I fold my arms in front of my chest, hoping that newbie will drop it.
He chuckles. "Of course, that's why we're all here. There's something more to it than that, though, right?"
"Perhaps another time."
I rise from my chair a little forcefully, doing my best not to glare daggers at him.
"Eve…" Devyn starts after me. I see her nod to Jonathon, who obviously says something to Lowell, whose eyes widen slightly and then narrow in realization.
Only Jon and Dev know what happened to me, why I decided to go into the career that I have. I lost my mom, Anne, in a car accident when I was 15, and while my grandparents tried to help my dad, he eventually claimed his own life in the following depression. My bitterness never really alleviated, knowing that my dad left me alone to my own devices. My grandparents took care of me until I turned 18, where I insisted on moving out on my own. No college education, no work experience made me desperate. In my despair I wandered into the station and became a volunteer firefighter and have since moved up the ranks. My life turned around really only when Devyn found me crumpled on the floor, succumbing to an overdose of painkillers. She saved my life, literally and figuratively. I can't stand to tell that story to anyone because it brings back too many memories and all of my shame.
I take a deep breath, lacing my fingers together and tossing my hands behind my head. I close my eyes.
"Eve…" she begins again, her hand gently rubbing my arm.
"I know. I overreacted back there."
I open my eyes and see Devyn peering at me, concern in her eyes.
"It's been a long time, hon."
I sigh. "I know, I just –"
We don't get to finish our conversation as suddenly the alarm system in the station blares.
"Station 17 Code 1, R12, R24, R25 – AA, two victims."
Shit. A shooting at Arkham.
We all listen to the two beats as they soon announce the ambulance to go en route.
"A3."
"Be careful out there, Eve," Devyn squeezes my shoulder to reassure me.
I nod, clearing my thoughts. I need to focus on this run.
I sprint to my ambulance, and I see Jon and Christopher burst through the door into the garage. The two men leap into the front, Jon in the driver's seat, Chris in the passenger seat. I fling myself into the back. The garage door opens and we peel out onto the streets of Gotham.
"This is 17-3 en route – ETA six minutes," I hear Jon's voice crackle through my radio.
"10-4, 17-3. Priority one," the dispatcher replies.
Immediately, the sirens and our lights sound and shine, and I feel the boost of acceleration.
"Evangeline, radio GCPD for me will you?" Jon's voice calls to me from the small window separating the back from the front. I nod curtly.
I switch my radio's frequency to match GCPD's, and immediately radio. Jon's got to focus on driving, and I don't know if Christopher knows what to do – this is his first call to Arkham.
"GCPD, this is Station 17 A3. En route. ETA five minutes."
"Copy that." a tired voice responds.
Police Commissioner Jim Gordon quickly arrived to Arkham Asylum. As soon as his squad car is parked he flings open his door and marches up to the Warden.
"What happened here?"
"See for yourself," he gruffly responded. Immediately the two men set off to enter the large, imposing building that holds the criminally insane. "Two of our security guards have been shot, all by our escapee – Joker."
Gordon runs his hand through his hair and groans.
"We should have an ambulance on their way."
Just as Gordon finishes his sentence, his radio crackles to life.
"GCPD, this is Station 17 A3. En route. ETA five minutes," a feminine voice notifies him.
"Speaking of…" Gordon presses the button on the shoulder piece of his radio to respond. "Copy that."
Gordon steps back outside to direct the ambulance when they arrive, but he wasn't entirely sure if Batman would make an appearance. He probably would, but he imagined that he would keep to the shadows this time.
He walks over to this squad car, noticing that a forensics unit has recently arrived and is unloading their cases to see just how Joker escaped this time. He nods to them as they pass.
"Commissioner."
Jim Gordon whirls around, his heart beating frantically.
"Christ, Batman…"
Gordon's met with a silent gaze, and a slight smirk on the Caped Crusader's face.
"Two security guards are injured. He got out easily," he answered vaguely, figuring that Batman would understand by 'getting out easily.' It's not exactly Joker's MO to break out and only leave two victims – last time he did, he hurt three times that just because he could.
He sees Batman nod in response. He read between the lines, like usual.
Lights and sirens from the approaching ambulance pierce the night air. Gordon turns around in surprise.
"I hope they got here in time," he murmurs to himself. He turns back around.
"By the way –" He's gone. Again. "Never mind."
As soon as the ambulance parks, I throw off my seat belt and burst out of the back door, clutching our three medical bags to me. Jon and Christopher approach, and I launch the bags toward them. Jon catches his like the pro that he is, but Christopher makes a grunt, wind whooshing out of his lungs a little, and nearly drops the bag. I expertly swing mine over my shoulder, balancing it carefully.
"Commissioner Gordon," I speak to him, seeing him walk quickly up to us.
"They're inside."
The three of us sprint into the Asylum, and enter the scene.
"17-3, on the scene," I quickly update the station to our location.
"10-4, 17-3."
"Standby."
"Standing by."
I quickly assess the two security guards, noting the uniforms.
"Bulletproof vests?" I ask to no one in particular.
"Yes, ma'am. We've equipped all guards with them. Whole lot of good they did, though. Joker still almost killed them."
"With all due respect, they are still alive," my voice drips with the seriousness of the situation. The comment just succeeded in making me angry.
"Jon, Christopher – take one. I've got the other," I make the call.
The two men nod and step to one of the injured guards.
I step to the other one, and notice his breathing is labored slightly. A pool of blood has formed under his armpit. I can only assume that means he was shot or stabbed in the shoulder.
"Sir, my name is Evangline. I'm a paramedic, you're going to be okay."
I place my bag near my patient's head and set to work, slipping my gloves on my hands to protect myself.
"Can you tell me your name?" I question my patient as I take out my pen light to begin my assessment. Beginning with a quick neurological assessment is pretty much always my first step anymore.
"Steve Gandom," he groans.
"Okay, Mr. Gandom. Do you know where you are?"
"Arkham Asylum."
"Yes, that's right."
I continue my examination quickly, making sure that he isn't losing too much blood in the process.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
"Joker took my gun – used it on me."
"What caliber?" I rush to my bag searching for gauze, forceps, and a pair of fabric scissors.
"It's a 9 mm Smith and Wesson."
"Okay. I need you to stay as still as you can for me. I need to look at your shoulder."
"S-sure," he grunts.
I cut the sleeve of the issued uniform to expose the wound. He hear him wince slightly as I apply slight pressure to the wound sight.
GCS of 15. That's excellent.
"Mr. Gandom I need to apply pressure to this wound – I can numb your pain so that we can get you to a hospital where a surgeon can take out the bullet."
"Evange! Status 1!" Jon shouts to me, his and Christopher's patient has stopped breathing and needs CPR.
"Roger…!" Steve breathes out in shock. "You gotta save him!" he grabs me with his good arm and shakes me.
"Don't worry," I reassure him, throwing a glance over my shoulder to the three men.
"Chris – chest compressions, now."
Jon is already getting the AED out of the med bag. Chris, however, is hesitating.
"Chris!" I shout, making him jump in response. "Compressions!" I glare.
He shakes his head, realizing the situation he's now in and immediately begins chest compressions on Roger.
"You're doing great, Chris," I encourage him. I can see that fear of the unknown in his eyes. I used to be like that, too. He spares a glance at me, not breaking the rhythm of his compressions even while Jon attaches the shock pads and finishes setting up the AED on their patient.
"AED is charging – clear," I hear Jon utter.
I strategically set myself in front of my patient, Steve, just in case his friend shouldn't make it.
"If I support you, do you think you could walk to the ambulance?"
He lazily nods his head to me.
"Okay," I turn around and I watch Christopher jog to go get a gurney. Obviously Roger had taken the brunt of Joker's antics here.
"Do you need help?" Police Commissioner Gordon approaches me.
"Just to make sure he's not hurt any more. We only have one gurney in there tonight. I just need to move him to the ambulance, Commissioner."
"Okay. Nice and easy."
Together, Commissioner Gordon and I half carry Mr. Steve Gandom to the back of the awaiting ambulance. I take most of the man's weight on my own shoulder while Gordon stays at the man's uninjured side. Since Jon parked the ambulance at the base of the stairs going into the ancient Asylum, we don't have to walk far – only down the six stairs.
Steve's grunts and groans pierce my ears; it always pains me to know that my patients are in so much pain, and to know that this is caused by one lunatic in a building chock full of them hurt me deeply.
Commissioner Gordon and I set him down comfortably in the back of the ambulance, near where I would normally sit. I quickly attach an O2 meter to his left index finger and a blood pressure cuff to the uninjured arm.
"I just need to check your blood pressure, okay?"
"Alright, do what you need to do, miss."
134/76. In an acceptable range for his pain and stress. I nod and smile a little.
"Steve," I call to him to get his attention back on me. "Is it okay if I numb your shoulder for transport?"
He silently nods his assent, and I begin securing him in a prone position for transport.
I quickly search through my bag and find a syringe of morphine. After I do some quick calculations on my part of finding the right dosage for Mr. Gandom, I talk to him to reassure him some more.
"Just a quick prick and it'll be over. You may feel some pain with the initial dose, okay? I'm right here."
What he didn't expect was the fact that just before I finished assuring him that I was there for him, I quickly injected the medication into his deltoid muscle so that he couldn't tense up and brace himself for the needle subconsciously.
"You may start feeling dizzy or drowsy, but it's normal. If you have a hard time breathing, please tell me," I smile reassuringly.
"You seem to be a natural at this," Commissioner Gordon praises me.
I take off my gloves while watching my patient to ensure his health.
"Thank you," I toss a smile over my shoulder to the Police Commissioner of Gotham City. "It's unfortunate that these situations have to occur, however."
I see Gordon solemnly nod his head in agreement.
"A damn shame. We've lost too many."
"Not as much as we could have – the Batman's done some good for us, you know."
I hear a light chuckle escape.
"He'd be happy to hear that he's got at least two admirers then."
I rise to my feet, turning to face the Commissioner, feeling secure that my patient is going to be okay. But before I can talk to him some more, Jon and Christopher wheel Roger out to the ambulance.
"Evange – he's a status three," Jon informs me.
"What do we got?"
"Chris – fill her in. I'm driving. Priority one, so I hope you're steady on your feet."
The back doors slam shut, and the engine comes to life in the ambulance.
"Chris, fill me in."
"O-okay. Gunshot to the right bicep, stabbing in the throat – he's losing a lot of blood. We've got a drip going."
"Gloves, then. Now."
We both properly protect ourselves and I vaguely hear Jon radio Gotham General to the situation of our two patients in the ambulance that are en route.
We immediately set to work making sure that there's nothing in the wound tracts – Chris takes the patient's bicep and I take his throat since he was obviously uncomfortable with the location.
"I see the bullet," Chris informs me.
"Okay – leave it in there."
"What?" he looks at me incredulously.
"That's what the surgeons are for," I try to lighten up the tense atmosphere of the ambulance. "Anyway, if you take the bullet out, it could bleed even worse. Just make sure you put firm pressure on that arm."
I watch as he carefully wraps the injured bicep with gauze and bandages and then I set to the task of tending to the three-inch long slice on the man's throat. Far too close to the jugular. I hesitate slightly and decide to only put pressure on the wound.
"Take his vitals – BP, heart rate."
After a quick moment of hooking the patient up to a state-of-the-art vitals machine, Chris vocalizes the counts while I still delicately attend to the knife wound.
"BP is 180 over 50 – heart rate 88 and climbing!"
I slam the heel of my hand into the divider of the ambulance three times, a signal that Jon and I developed over the years as our own way of saying that we're losing a patient.
Only a second or two later, Chris and I noticeably feel the ambulance increase in speed in response.
A loud, continuous tone pierces our ears. My head whirls around in response.
"No pulse – code blue at 21:56! Starting CPR!" I shout, immediately beginning chest compressions.
"Roger…?" I hear Steve croak.
"Chris – defib," I bark.
"Charging to 300 Joules," he announces.
A beep pierces the air in addition to the still continuous tone.
"Charged. Clear!"
I back away from Roger, putting my hands in the air to visually show Chris that I was completely cleared of him.
The electricity tears itself through Roger's chest, his back arching in response.
"No pulse – resuming CPR," I announce. My mind whirls around with different approaches to save the man's life. "Chris – give him an amp of epi."
I continue my compressions, my hands aching at this point at the rhythm.
"No good – charging to 360!" Chris announces.
Again, the beep announcing that the charge is complete sounds.
"Charged – clear!"
Roger's back arches once again in response to 360 Joules of electricity coursing through his body, attempting to restart his heart.
My frustration bubbles as he's still flat-lining.
"Resuming CPR – give me an amp of bicarb."
"Bicarb?" Chris asks, administering the medicine through the patient's IV line.
"Bring pH levels back," I pant, giving an extremely short answer to his question.
"What about atropine?"
Perfect! Atropine will get the heart rate back up to normal levels.
"Great – I knew you'd think of that next," I smile at him, never once breaking my compression rhythm.
The entire route from Arkham Asylum to Gotham General takes about nine minutes, and I spend about half of that doing chest compressions.
As soon as we park and I hear the back doors open, I leap onto the gurney and straddle our patient, still meticulously continuing compressions. Jon obviously radioed ahead, and three nurses and a doctor sprint down the hallway of the emergency room alongside the gurney. We head straight into a room, me still trying to desperately save the man's life.
"Doctor, charge to 380 – 300 and 360 didn't bring him back," I pant.
"Charging to 380!" I hear a nurse shout to the room.
The beep once again signaling its charge pierces my ears. I forget how much louder it is in the actual hospital.
"Clear!"
I instantly jump off the gurney and nearly collapse when I hit the floor from sheer exhaustion. Six straight minutes of chest compressions will wear you out!
The doctor on-call turns to me.
"Take a breather."
I nod my head, not noticing the beads of sweat on my forehead that are dribbling down my cheeks. I'm still panting slightly, my hands aching.
"No pulse – resume CPR," the doctor, Evan Rose shouts before turning back to me, satisfied that a different nurse is now doing the compressions so that I can rest. "When did you start?"
I rack my brain quickly, doing my best to remember. "21:56."
It's now 22:06. Ten minutes later.
The look that Doctor Rose tells me everything, and I nod in silent agreement. This is Roger's final chance at life.
"Charge to 400!" Rose shouts over the people in the room.
"Charging to 400," a nurse responds.
The last moment is a complete blur, and a moment that I always dread in my career. The final shock didn't bring him back. After eleven minutes of CPR and defib shocks, Gotham lost another citizen to the Joker.
"I'm calling it," Doctor Rose sighed. "Time of death 22:07."
A few tears slid down my cheeks as I exited the room and immediately see Jon and Chris waiting for me. I shake my head, a silent 'no', and they recognize the significance of the gesture. The three of us hug lightly, a small pillar of support.
Hey, everyone! Please let me know what you think! Comments and suggestions would be greatly appreciated. (: