The soldier took the weapon placed in his hands and fired. The grenade hit the target's shield and exploded on impact, sending the man flying over the side of the bridge with bone-breaking force. Immediately, the soldier exchanged the grenade launcher for a MAR rifle, and stepped to the concrete barrier. He followed the man's trajectory with his eyes–he was crashing into a tour bus. The soldier took aim and fired into the bus, spraying bullets into the metal frame like confetti.
The crack of gunfire, a shattering noise–he ducked behind the concrete barrier, tugging his now-useless goggles off his face. He hesitated for a few seconds, letting his eyes adjust to the light, and then he was on his feet, tearing the earth apart with metal and fire.
April 8th, 2014, 1:18 PM
The scream of the trauma alarm shattered the air, freezing muscles and tightening nerves. Immediately following it was the eerily calm voice over the PA, which spoke two words.
"Code Orange."
Ashton Tyler looked up, her head moving in sync with the half-dozen Med-Star Hospital interns in the room. Their instructor, Dr. David Mason, had just finished performing a demonstration of measuring blood pressure and heart rate. Ashton, who had been acting as the assistant instructor, was about to repeat the process on another student when the message had blared out of the PA. Her hand was frozen in place, clutching the bulb-like extension of the sphygmomanometer. Everyone had lapsed into a stunned silence, listening, looking for guidance.
'All available operating rooms must be cleared immediately,' the PA continued, 'There are over a dozen casualties; injuries include bullet wounds, severe lacerations, bleeding, and third-degree burns. Paramedics are en route to the ER, but are being slowed by heavy gunfire. Arrival is in approximately twelve minutes.'
A panicked murmur rippled through the interns. Gunfire. Mason's eyes widened.
'What do we do, sir?' Ashton inquired, barely heard above the murmuring of the others.
'Get all personnel from other wards down into the ER, now. We'll need as many operating and treatment rooms open as soon as possible, with enough staff for each.' His orders were given out with military-like crispness.
'Right away, sir.' Ashton stepped out into the hallway, keeping to the right to avoid any oncoming traffic. Her hurried pace brought her to the ER–already a chaotic blur of lights, colors, and sounds. Policemen and hospital personnel tried to keep order as frightened civilians–relatives or friends of the injured–milled about like clothing tossed around in a washing machine. Bypassing most of the crowd, Ashton slipped into the trauma area. A muffled shout–there was a gurney being wheeled right towards her. Oh, God. Ashton thought, not swearing. It's a child!
She couldn't have been more than twelve at least. She was whimpering feebly and moving about; a paramedic had his hand firmly on her upper arm as blood gushed from her chest area.
'Bullet wound just below the left rib!' The paramedic had to shout to be heard about the cacophony. 'Take her, quickly! There's more coming–'
Ashton reached out and grasped the cart rail with clammy fingers. Suddenly, she realized that there were three or four other pairs of hands holding on as well–the rest of the trauma team. She stared across into the face of their on-site trauma surgeon, Dr. Cole. The girl was still moaning and struggling.
Calmly, he assessed the situation and gave each of them their respective assignments. Ashton injected sedative into the little girl's wrist; she stopped thrashing and became completely still. Meanwhile, the other assistants had secured the airway, checked for breathing, and the ER technician was rattling off a set of vitals. Dr. Cole thinned his lips grimly.
'Not good. Ashton, get me three units of O-negative blood. Run them in as soon as possible.'
A breathless nod, and Ashton departed to do as he asked, muttering frantic prayers to herself. This girl was too young. The way the blood had stood out against her pale skin…
Minutes later, Ashton had procured the blood and it was pumping steadily into the girl's veins. They were rushing into the operating room, away from the confusion of the ER and into a tomb-like silence. Ashton poured brown antiseptic over the injured area, and Dr. Cole began cutting.
As he opened her up, he asked the technician again for vitals. The girl's blood pressure had improved only marginally since the blood infusion. Ashton kept her eyes glued to the patient's torso. Dark blood coughed out of the wound, spilling onto Dr. Cole's gloved fingers. Someone cleaned away the wound with a surgical sponge, turning it scarlet in seconds.
Precious moments passed as Dr. Cole continued to cut and cauterize, searching for the source of the hemorrhage. Ashton kept praying inwardly–Don't let her die. Don't take her, don't let her die. Her thoughts drifted to the panicked family members that were waiting, hoping, dreading the outcome. She ached for them…
There was a collective gasp as the full extent of the girl's injury was revealed. Her liver had been completely shattered; one look told Ashton that it wasn't even partially salvageable.
'We'll have to do a transplant.' Dr. Cole announced.
'Sir, we might not have time.' the technician informed him. 'Her blood pressure's dropping rapidly–' Dr. Cole jerked his gaze up to the anesthesia monitor.
'Pulse!' he snapped. Ashton felt for one, couldn't find it. Lead had invaded her insides and sat heavily in her stomach. Don't let her die. she pleaded again.
'Should I start compressions, sir?' she asked quietly.
At Dr. Cole's assent, Ashton removed the surgical drapes and began to pound on the little girl's chest. Five minutes…ten minutes…fifteen.
'Blood pressure thirty over zero.' the technician warned. Too low. Ashton's hand faltered for a fraction of a second. She swallowed hard, pressing the patient's chest down, up, down, up, down…
Then, it was over. The technician was gently pulling her hands away from the little girl.
'It's too late.' he whispered hoarsely. Ashton distantly heard Dr. Cole pronouncing the patient's death…they were wheeling the body out to the morgue. She forced herself to follow, eventually breaking off from the others and ducking into the disinfection room. Stripping
off her blood-stained surgical gloves, she tossed them vehemently into the trash bin and proceeded to clean her hands.
It's too late.
There was nothing they could have done.
'I'll notify the family.' she volunteered, her voice thick. There was no objection. Ashton tried to clean up her appearance a little, splashing her face with cold water and patting down any stray hairs with dampened palms. This was the part she had to play: the calm, unflappable nurse, sympathetic but clearly in control. She stiffened her spine, inhaled deeply, and headed towards the elevator.
Ashton strode into the waiting room, the firm set of her mouth and her straight back exuding a quiet confidence. She paused, her eyes roving the room until she found who she was looking for. The small family of three–mother, father and a son around four years old–stood up as the nurse approached them, anxiety carving deep lines into the parents' faces. The short conversation that ensued was brief and hushed.
'I'm Ashton Tyler. And you are…?'
The parents introduced themselves and the child, who hid behind his mother and stared at the tall brunette. The Ashton twisted her hands together nervously, but caught herself.
'I'm so sorry for your loss…' she began, clearing her throat as her voice threatened to break. Carefully, gently, she broke the news to them, and then gestured back towards the door she had entered through. 'You're welcome to stay while we examine her.'
The mother was in tears, the father on the verge, the son tugging on each of his parents in turn and pleading to be held. The mother was shaking her head, gesturing to the boy; she didn't want him to see the body.
She guided the father away towards the morgue, unable to dispel the immense guilt that weighed down her heart. It had barely been a few hours since the crisis had been announced, and already three people, besides the girl, had died.
April 9, 2014, 6:27 AM
Ashton came to work the next morning after snatching three or four hours of sleep; she'd been taking care of post-op patients in the ICU until almost midnight. On her way past the anesthesia lounge, she noticed a large group of hospital staff huddled in front of the wall-mounted TV. Curious, she joined them; no one noticed her presence.
It was a breaking news report of some kind; a shaky, low-resolution video, clearly taken from a smartphone, showed a tour bus tipped on its side. There were people running everywhere, occasionally blocking the camera–someone burst out of the end of the bus, showering glass everywhere. Instantly, there was the rapid report of gunfire, dulled by the weak camera speakers to a fuzzy snapping sound. The figure got to its feet, holding something in front of itself–
The video cut off, and the screen panned to an attractive female newscaster, who began to reel off information regarding the clip. Unwilling to risk shaving time off her work hours, Ashton left the lounge, the familiar sensation of dread in her gut.
As she continued to perform her daily rounds, she found it increasingly difficult to focus. There were too many unanswered questions churning in her mind.
April 9th, 2014, 11:37 AM
It began with the noise–a painful, undulating throb that shook the walls of the hospital. Ashton, in the midst of a follow-up surgery, felt the floor tremble slightly beneath her feet. An earthquake? she wondered, wincing as the pulsing grew louder. Dr. Cole had obviously noticed also–he told her, without looking up, to go find out what was happening. Ashton gave a small 'Yes, sir' and departed. As soon as she was out of the OR, she stripped off her dirty surgical gown and gloves and raced towards the ICU. Apparently, others had the same idea. A handful of nurses and doctors were clustered around the window, craning their necks upwards like storks. Just as Ashton reached them, a shadow crossed the sky–the throbbing was worse now–there was a sharp intake of breath and a few mumbled, frightened curses. She looked out the window.
It was huge. The massive floating aircraft slowly drifted over them, its engines rending the air, sending shockwaves of sound through the surrounding buildings.
'What are they?' someone breathed. They? Ashton blinked, momentarily confused, then directed her gaze out over the Potomac river. There are three of them.
She needed to get back to Dr. Cole; reluctantly, she dragged her eyes away from the aircraft, but not before noting that there was anti-aircraft weaponry studding their hulls.
'Sir, I'm not quite sure what's going on.' she said frankly, back in the OR. She described the aircraft as best as she could, as Dr. Cole's expression flickered between disbelief and confusion. His hand was poised above the patient's open abdomen, the surgery driven from his mind for a moment. Then, he turned back to his work, muttering vehemently under his breath.
It wasn't until later that they heard the explosions.
April 9th, 2014, 12:36 PM
The soldier dove smoothly into the water, staring into a endless depth of murky blue-green. He could feel the bones in his dislocated shoulder grinding against one another; he gritted his teeth against the pain.
There he was–the man on the bridge–but he was sinking fast. Too fast. The man's eyelids were shut, arms limp and useless. Blood leaked from his wounds in thin, feathery strands, dissipating rapidly.
The soldier swam closer with a few powerful strokes; reaching out with his metal hand, he grasped the man's collar and pulled. His lungs were craving oxygen–he still had to make it to the surface. His shoulder burned…darkness clouded his vision as his senses were overwhelmed with agony. He kept moving, swimming upwards with what little strength he had left, metal knuckles clasped tight to his burden.
Then, they broke the surface. Struggling to keep the man's head above the water, he kicked and paddled furiously; it seemed an eternity before his feet touched solid ground.
Once he could stand, he dragged the man the rest of the way to shore. Dropping him loosely onto the damp sand, the soldier wavered, eyes glued to the man's face. Was he breathing?
The man coughed feebly, water dribbling out of his mouth. Satisfied, the soldier turned to leave. His steps were unbalanced and fragile…
April 9th, 2014, 1:14 PM
Natasha peered out across the water as the helicopter cruised over the Potomac. The wind from the chopper blades whipped her hair around her face, obscuring her view. Brushing red strands out of her mouth and eyes, she squinted down at the small islet just beneath them.
'Anything yet?' yelled Sam. Natasha shook her head.
'No–' She was about to say more, but stopped. 'Fury, take us lower!' she shouted into the com.
The chopper's elevation decreased. The beach of the islet came closer into view–a prone figure was sprawled across the sand. A thrill shuddered through her spine. 'I think I see him! Right on your 3:00.'
The seatbelt dug into her neck as the helicopter turned and lowered abruptly. Yes, that was him. The red, white and blue of his uniform was unmistakable–though, she noticed with alarm, there was much more red. Dark red.
'Is he alive?' Sam demanded.
Her breath caught for a moment. 'I-I'm not sure. He's not moving, and there's a lot of blood…'
Sam's fervent curse could be heard above the noise of the chopper blades.
April 9th, 2014, 1:37 PM
Ashton flinched inadvertently as the trauma alarm gave a prolonged shriek. That was the seventh time in the last 48 hours…she hauled herself to her feet, trying to quell the less-than-gracious thoughts running through her head. She'd just gotten out of the OR after assisting another lengthy, difficult surgery. Combined with sleep deprivation and the fact that the mysterious aircraft had been exploding over their heads for the past twenty minutes, the events of the past few hours had taken a toll on her stamina.
Stepping out into the hall, she noted that there was an unusual commotion surrounding this particular patient–there were several nurses and doctors lining the walls. Who was that they were rolling in?
'It's…no. It couldn't be.' breathed a nurse behind her.
'Clear the halls please–' came the paramedic's irritated command. As Ashton strode forward to relive the paramedics of their charge, a few of the hospital personnel reluctantly began to filter out. Dr. Cole materialized beside her, and the rest of the trauma team arrived mere seconds later. The trauma patient was a man in his late twenties, blonde, incredibly well-muscled. There were two gaping holes in his abdomen, oozing blood, as well as a deep gash in his shoulder that penetrated to the bone. The paleness of his skin and rapid pulse indicated that he'd already gone into shock, but his wounds were already partially healed over. Ashton knitted her brows in confusion.
'Two bullets to the lower back, one to the thigh, and a lacerated shoulder. It'd been over an hour before we finally got to him.' the paramedic listed.
'How is he still alive?' the technician marveled, as they wheeled the cart towards the OR.
'I'm still missing something.' Ashton confessed. 'Who is this guy?'
'Oh, didn't you know?' grunted Dr. Cole. 'He's Captain America.'
April 9th, 2014, 8:24 PM
Ashton jerked her head up, grimacing at the sudden pain in her neck. She'd almost nodded off…again. Rubbing her eyes, she tried to focus on watching the still form of Steve Rogers, which was a little bit entertaining in itself. He wasn't going to wake up for a while yet, but she couldn't afford to fall asleep; she was in charge of monitoring him post-op.
A small sigh escaped her lips at the memory of the last few hours. The surgery had been a nightmare–successful, but nevertheless, a nightmare. The shoulder had been easy enough; a few stitches and the job was done. The bullet wounds were another story. The legendary 'super soldier serum', while keeping Rogers alive long enough to get into surgery, had also caused his body to heal around the bullets, which had embedded themselves in his viscera. The trauma team had been forced to re-open the injuries in order to get at the bullets and remove them–a messy process that no one was eager to repeat.
Ashton shifted her position and tried propping her chin up on her fist; this quickly became uncomfortable, so she folded her arms instead. Just keep your eyes open until they tell you to leave.
'…you don't understand, I'm his friend. ' The voice echoed from the hallway outside the ICU. Ashton perked up slightly; that twangy and accented baritone was unmistakable. What's he doing here? she mused.
'I understand completely, Mr. Wilson. However, I must repeat that no one is allowed to visit him right now.' That was the charge nurse, Fontaine, speaking. By him, Ashton assumed she meant Captain Rogers; hospital security had been tightened ever since he came. Curious, she got to her feet and made her way towards the entrance of the ICU.
'Is there a problem, ma'am?' she inquired, quelling a smile as Sam Wilson twitched slightly at her presence. Fontaine stared down her nose at Ashton.
'Aren't you supposed to be watching the patient?' she replied, in clipped tones.
'Yes, but–'
'Then kindly continue.' She turned away and continued talking to Sam, who was staring at Ashton, recognition dawning in his eyes. 'As I was saying, I shall notify you as soon as we're accepting visitors–'
'Excuse me, Nurse Fontaine, but I know this man personally and can vouch for his behavior.' Ashton said coolly. 'I can assure you he means no harm to any of the ICU residents.' She made eye contact with Sam. 'Right this way.'
Sam smirked a little as the charge nurse reluctantly let him pass. 'Thanks.' he murmured to her. Ashton responded with the obligatory 'you're welcome', accidentally letting some of her exhaustion slip into her words. They made their way over to where Steve was sleeping.
'I haven't seen you since–' Sam began.
'Riley.' Ashton cut him off hastily. 'I know. I remember.'
They'd arrived at Steve's bedside, Ashton making no further attempt at conversation. Sensing her extreme discomfort, Sam switched topics:
'How is he?' He nodded towards Steve.
'He'll live.' She sounded relieved. 'It was a tough procedure, but he came out alright.'
'Ah. Good.'
There were several awkward minutes of silence, during which Ashton reseated herself by the bed. Sam couldn't help but notice how much she'd changed…Riley's kid sister, all grown up.
'Do you know what happened?' Ashton's question took him by surprise at first. 'You know, who tried to kill him?'
'What? Oh…' Sam chewed his lip for a second. 'I'm not sure.' That wasn't completely true, of course, but he wasn't certain how much to tell her.
The only sound was the hum of the medical equipment.
'Ashton?' Dr. Cole strode into the ICU, startling them both. 'Your shift's over.' he told her, completely ignoring Sam's presence.
'Thanks.' Ashton mumbled, getting to her feet. She hesitated a few seconds, uncertain, before turning and giving Sam a brief hug. It felt strange, after not doing it for so long. 'See you around.'
'Nice to see you too, Ash.' he replied softly.
He watched her until she'd turned a corner and was out of sight.