"Does he have a chance?"
"Nah, we've lost him."
The paramedics disappeared into the building, wheeling in the comatose Deputy. The odds were stacked against the man on the stretcher, but one doctor inside wasn't willing to give up. They'd notify his family later on the news, either good or bad. Now it was time to start their work, and revive a life.
Gerard sighed. It had been a matter of days since Newman had been shot, and killed in his mind. The case was closed. The story was over. There was little more to do besides wait for the young Marshal's body to be release for burial. Slowly he reached the van where the rest of his team stood, waiting. Leaning against it, they fell into silence.
"You know you owe me an apology," Cosmo stated, barely glancing over.
"I know," Gerard paused, "but I don't even like you."
The group relaxed into laughter, and collected themselves for a toast to their friend.
The doctor stood and watched through the doorway his patient, listening to the rhythmic tones of the heart monitor. There had been little hope for the man, a guy that still had some essence of boyish charm about him. Even lying in the bed, unconscious, wounded, he looked alive, and not on the threshold of death. The ambulance ride over, though almost killing him, brought him to the hospital with just enough left in him to revive and place on support. With any more luck, he might just pull through and into the real world again. He was still young, still strong.
Noah Woodrow Newman. His mind raced trying to recall anything to hint him on what was going on. He could hear a beep, steady, quiet but strong. There was other sounds flooding his ears. An inhale, exhale of his own breath, but forced, and windy through him. He wondered what was going on.