[A really short chapter today. But next time will be a really long one. The usual case of a very long chapter which was most sensibly split in two rather unevenly.]
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Susan stepped into the elevator and pushed "one". She was thankful that it was empty, and she leaned against the wall and took a deep breath -- allowed herself, finally, the luxury of wiping her eyes, letting herself shiver just a little.
This wasn't happening. It was a nightmare. Strangers came into the ER, bleeding and dying. Not friends. Not people she worked with every day.
She had left Luka in the very capable hands of the pre-op nurses, and it was reassuring to have learned that Anspaugh would be doing the surgery. There weren't many hands at County more capable than his. But still, hers and Carter's cheerful words to him notwithstanding, she knew well that Luka was a long way from being out of the woods.
And Abby. She had to be ok. But logic, bitter, irrefutable logic told her that this wasn't likely to be the case.
Doris had said that they'd heard the shots, at least some of them, as they'd pulled up to Luka's building. It had been a matter of minutes before he'd been on his way to the hospital. But Brian had gone to Abby's first. She could have been lying there (lying anywhere ... they didn't even know where she was!) for an hour or more.
And Luka's injuries showed, quite clearly, that Brian had been a pretty good shot. It was pure luck that the second bullet had missed his heart; and pure luck that the paramedics had arrived moments later. Was it even possible that Abby could have survived this long?
Stepping out the elevator into the ER, she noticed an odd hush about the place. The usual bustle of nurses and doctors and medical students was absent ... or at least greatly reduced. The board was backing up, and patients in chairs and in exam rooms had been largely forgotten. Carter and Kerry, and quite a few of the nurses and residents were standing around the desk, staring at the radio -- as if willing it to come to life. No-one said anything. No-one knew what unit had been sent to Abby's. All they could do was wait.
After what felt like days, but was really only moments, the radio finally crackled to life. "County base, this is 31." And for another long moment no-one moved. No-one reached to pick up the mic. Susan was just about to do it when Haleh picked it up.
"This is County base, go ahead 31."
"We're enroute with a 14 year old boy ... auto vs. pedestrian ..." And Susan stopped listening. She saw everyone else wilt slightly as hope and anxiety gave way again to numb fear.
When 31 finally signed off, they all looked at each other. Who was going to take this one? Nobody wanted to leave the radio, nobody wanted to be occupied with another patient when Abby finally arrived. Maybe they didn't need an attending for this one. 31 had said that the boy was stable, with good vitals and his only apparent injury a tib-fib fracture. Surely a resident could handle that.
As if he'd read her mind, Pratt said, "I'll go wait for this one."
God ... what was taking so long? What if she wasn't there? How long would it take them to find her? Maybe days. Maybe they'd never ... no, Susan wasn't going to let herself think that. It had really only been a couple of minutes. These things took time.
And again, the radio. "53 to County Base." This time everyone jumped for the radio. Carter got there first.
"This is County base. What have you got?"
"County, we're about 3 minutes out with ..." The radio fell silent for a moment. Susan saw Carter's grip tighten on the microphone, his knuckles were white with the strain. Then, all attempts at proper protocol abandoned, the paramedic continued, "We have Abby. She's alive."
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Susan stepped into the elevator and pushed "one". She was thankful that it was empty, and she leaned against the wall and took a deep breath -- allowed herself, finally, the luxury of wiping her eyes, letting herself shiver just a little.
This wasn't happening. It was a nightmare. Strangers came into the ER, bleeding and dying. Not friends. Not people she worked with every day.
She had left Luka in the very capable hands of the pre-op nurses, and it was reassuring to have learned that Anspaugh would be doing the surgery. There weren't many hands at County more capable than his. But still, hers and Carter's cheerful words to him notwithstanding, she knew well that Luka was a long way from being out of the woods.
And Abby. She had to be ok. But logic, bitter, irrefutable logic told her that this wasn't likely to be the case.
Doris had said that they'd heard the shots, at least some of them, as they'd pulled up to Luka's building. It had been a matter of minutes before he'd been on his way to the hospital. But Brian had gone to Abby's first. She could have been lying there (lying anywhere ... they didn't even know where she was!) for an hour or more.
And Luka's injuries showed, quite clearly, that Brian had been a pretty good shot. It was pure luck that the second bullet had missed his heart; and pure luck that the paramedics had arrived moments later. Was it even possible that Abby could have survived this long?
Stepping out the elevator into the ER, she noticed an odd hush about the place. The usual bustle of nurses and doctors and medical students was absent ... or at least greatly reduced. The board was backing up, and patients in chairs and in exam rooms had been largely forgotten. Carter and Kerry, and quite a few of the nurses and residents were standing around the desk, staring at the radio -- as if willing it to come to life. No-one said anything. No-one knew what unit had been sent to Abby's. All they could do was wait.
After what felt like days, but was really only moments, the radio finally crackled to life. "County base, this is 31." And for another long moment no-one moved. No-one reached to pick up the mic. Susan was just about to do it when Haleh picked it up.
"This is County base, go ahead 31."
"We're enroute with a 14 year old boy ... auto vs. pedestrian ..." And Susan stopped listening. She saw everyone else wilt slightly as hope and anxiety gave way again to numb fear.
When 31 finally signed off, they all looked at each other. Who was going to take this one? Nobody wanted to leave the radio, nobody wanted to be occupied with another patient when Abby finally arrived. Maybe they didn't need an attending for this one. 31 had said that the boy was stable, with good vitals and his only apparent injury a tib-fib fracture. Surely a resident could handle that.
As if he'd read her mind, Pratt said, "I'll go wait for this one."
God ... what was taking so long? What if she wasn't there? How long would it take them to find her? Maybe days. Maybe they'd never ... no, Susan wasn't going to let herself think that. It had really only been a couple of minutes. These things took time.
And again, the radio. "53 to County Base." This time everyone jumped for the radio. Carter got there first.
"This is County base. What have you got?"
"County, we're about 3 minutes out with ..." The radio fell silent for a moment. Susan saw Carter's grip tighten on the microphone, his knuckles were white with the strain. Then, all attempts at proper protocol abandoned, the paramedic continued, "We have Abby. She's alive."