"The power's out in the whole house." Said Steve, flicking the light switch up and down pointlessly. "Where are the candles?!" he barked. "Dad? You went to the kitchen to get them, where did you put them?"
"They're still in there. I never got them." Mark's reply was just as brusque, though not through anger but frustration.
Steve made his way blindly through the room, bumping clumsily into furniture, the familiar surroundings seeming alien in the darkness. He stretched his arms out in front of him, somewhat reminiscent to a child playing blind man's bluff and carefully felt his way into the kitchen. He groped in through the gloom until he found the worktop, then slid his hands along feeling for the change in texture which indicated the cool stainless steel of the sink. In the drawer to the right was a box of candles. He pulled them roughly from the drawer along with a packet of matches, a lighter and a small torch. Flicking the torch on he strode back to his waiting father, dispensing with the careful steps.
Candles lit, Mark returned to his unconscious patient, struggling to assess him properly in the flickering half-light the candles shed throughout the room. Shadows fluttered across the floor and the air was hot and oppressive.
"How bad is it?" Steve stood back, able only to observe as his father and Amanda knelt over Jesse, their hands stained, bloody. Amanda pressing a dressing onto Jesse's abdomen as Mark listened attentively to his chest.
"The wound is deep," he said, pulling the stethoscope form his ears. "He's lost a lot of blood. It's most likely that the knife has penetrated right through the abdomen, possibly lacerated his spleen. His pressure is dangerously low and his heart is beating very slowly. His breathing is…" he took a steadying breath, "shallow and I think his left lung has been perforated – it sounds like there's a small pneumothorax. We need to get him into a hospital…"
"Mark, the phones are out and the road up to the house is flooded, how are we supposed to get out of here?" Her voice broke, and she turned her eyes back to Jesse not bothering to stop the tears from trickling down her cheeks.
The three were silent for a moment. The severity of the predicament was clear to them all.
Mark was first to break the silence. His face set in steely determination.
"We'll do our best. We'll keep trying the phones. When the rain stops, we'll get Jesse out of here… He's going to be fine… First things first. We need to get some fluids into him to replace what he's losing. Get his pressure back up. I need… I need some tubing and some kind of funnel. I've got a canula in my bag…" he paused, obviously searching his mind for the equipment he would need, "but we haven't got an IV bag. Amanda, put some water on to boil, then add some salt and let it cool. Steve we need some kind of tubing."
Tubing? Steve thought, puzzled as to where he was supposed to find surgical tubing or indeed anything resembling it.
"Dad, where am I supposed to… Wait! I'll be back in a minute!" Seizing the torch from the table he rapidly made his way through to the garage, the volume of the rain increasing what seemed like tenfold as it pounded onto the thinner garage roof. His eyes searched frantically what he needed and finally spotting it he grabbed it and ran back to his awaiting father.
"Will this do?" He held aloft a baseball cap, two clear plastic tubes sprouting from the top in which an empty drinks can was lopsidedly placed.
A wide smile erupted on Mark's face. He had bought the hat for Steve after one of his many injuries, most of which he incurred in the course of his work.
"That will be perfect. We just need to sterilise it, and the funnel." He indicated towards a large kitchen funnel perched on the coffee table.
"Any high-proof alcohol will do, and Steve?" he called to the back of his retreating son.
"Please hurry."
***************
The makeshift saline IV, though a strange sight to been seen, was functioning adequately. The sterilised kitchen funnel was taped firmly to the short length of plastic tubing which in turn was taped to the canula protruding from the back of Jesse's hand. The cooled salted water flowing freely, the funnel balanced upon the stand of a lamp, the light itself having been discarded.
Leaving Steve and Amanda to keep check on their still inert friend Mark left the room. The hallway was dark - the candle's glow did not reach this far and the absence of streetlights left an almost complete blackness. He rested his head against the wall, the cool surface soothing to his brow. His clothing was still damp, and he felt uncomfortable, his skin tingling and his stomach churning. He's going to die the thought churned through his mind over and over again, He's lost too much blood, we got to him too late. The mere thought of losing Jesse felt like it was choking him from the inside, I'm a doctor Mark thought to himself I'm a doctor, and I'm his friend, and I can't save him.
After taking a few deep breaths Mark poked his head around the corner of the wall to check the stability of the situation, and finding no change he felt his way slowly to his bedroom to change his clothes, the cool darkness providing the respite he desperately needed.