DISCLAIMER: I do not own BBC Casualty or any of its characters.
A/N: Hey all. Here is Chapter 3! There's some mild injury and peril ahead, but if you've seen the episode you already knew that. Just going to say now that I only have basic first aid knowledge and little to no knowledge of paramedic training or physics, so we may need to take artistic license into account! As always, enjoy x
UNTIL WE GO DOWN
- Hold Your Breath -
Pain. The only thought that comes to mind. Abundant and intense. His eyes, glazed and lidless, stare through the cracked windscreen without focus. An odd metallic smell drifts through the stagnant air, unwelcome and jarring. There's a disconcerting shade of red smeared across the glass, another on the palm of his hand where he'd braced it against the dashboard.
It's not long before he realises it's blood.
Gravity pulls in the wrong direction, heavy and unpitying. The world, he slowly realises, is off-kilter. Gradually, his gaze trails to the black marks that curve over the road. There's a vehicle opposite - a lorry - surrounded by a flood of scattered cargo. The dark blue hood glistens in the sunlight, but the air is thick with the promise of rain.
The world shifts again, and the horizon disappears almost entirely. In the wing mirror reflection above: a muddy grass bank and the swirling depths of a fast running river.
A shudder runs through him; a tremor of momentary panic. Sweat beads on his brow, the palms of his hands numbing as he grasps for some sense of calm - a seemingly impossible commodity in such a situation.
Focus returns in abundance as he registers the figure beside him, bent at an awkward angle.
"Pravi?" His throat is thick with disuse as he calls her name, rough and scratchy like sandpiper. Her face is pale - too pale - and her arm twists across her torso as if still waiting for the imminent impact. "Pravi, can you hear me?"
A pause, and then the even rise and fall of her chest. With expert speed Dylan's eyes roam over her, taking in any visible injuries: a laceration to her right cheek and a dislocated, if not broken arm. Probable concussion too. Her eyelids flicker.
"What-"
"It's alright. Everything's going to be fine," he says, the words brash but reassuring. "We've, um, we've had a bit of an accident, I'm afraid."
The paramedic blinks, staring incredulously at the large crack in the windscreen.
"A bit?" Pravi echoes. She yelps as she puts pressure on her wrist. "Ouch. I think that might be broken."
"Yes, um, I think you're probably right," Dylan nods. "How're you feeling? Aside from the arm, obviously."
"Honestly? I feel like I've been in a boxing match," Pravi grimaces. "My head is killing me. I'm sure I'll live."
"Alright." He glances again at the wing mirror. They can't afford to move. Not yet. Not until he can ascertain the ambulance's integrity. "Just stay still for the moment. Take a few breaths."
He can feel it now: the onset of shock. The slow but inevitable rush of adrenaline that will eventually creep into his every bone and sinew. A dull, throbbing ache in his left shoulder signals either muscular tearing or a mild dislocation, if he's lucky. Pain skitters over his temple, down the ridge of his nose. The familiar tang of blood graces his lips. Salty, sweet and bitter.
Concentration, it seems, is in short supply.
"Help." That's it. "We need to call for help."
His phone, having been in his hand at the time of impact, has wedged itself between the dashboard and the windscreen. Carefully, Dylan reaches for it but, as he does so, poised to dial for the emergency services, the final flicker of battery life fades. He stabs the keys in annoyance.
"Right, uh... Let's try the radio instead." He flicks the switch. Static is the only audible response. "No. That's not working." He turns to the paramedic. "Pravi, where's your phone?"
She looks around blearily, her face scrunched in confusion as if waiting for the object in question to materialise out of thin air.
"I, um..." She shrugs, winces as she cradles her forearm against her chest. "I don't know."
"Well, when did you last have it?"
She thinks for a moment.
"Oh wait. Yeah. It's probably in my bag."
"And where's your bag?" Dylan presses.
"In my locker," Pravi replies. "In the ambulance station."
Marvellous.
He flips his phone shut, stuffs it into his pocket. The case is still warm with residual energy; his reply to her messages resting on his fingertips.
Faith.
Twisting around, Dylan fumbles for the compartment hatch handle and slides it open. Her seat is empty, the seatbelt hanging limply to one side. Medical supplies litter the floor, covered in a sparkling blanket of fine glass. At the far end one of the ambulance doors swings like a pendulum on its hinges, revealing the cold waters below. A few metres drop at most. Enough to cause further damage.
Bolstered by a newfound urgency, Dylan swallows and looks further inside. There. Curled up in the left-hand corner, pressed against the wall.
"Faith?"
He cannot hear the rhythm of her breathing. Seconds pass without response, and his worry rapidly increases.
"Faith, if you can hear me the radio isn't working and my phone's ran out of battery. But we're going to get help." He turns back to the paramedic, stifles a groan as his shoulder protests vehemently. "Okay... I don't think we're going to be able to break the windscreen. We'll have to climb out through the door."
"You're kidding, right?" Pravi's eyes widen with alarm as she looks up at the route of escape he has suggested. "Please tell me you're kidding."
"Sadly, not," Dylan replies, blinking through an unexpected rush of weariness. "I'll, um, I'll climb up first, and then... Do you think you can climb out with your arm?"
"I've had worse," Pravi huffs a half-hearted laugh. "Don't suppose you've got a spare sling on you?"
"No." He digs a hand into his fleece pocket. "But I do have a safety pin. Always have one to spare just in case."
"Be prepared, eh?"
Reaching over, Dylan carefully pins the cuff of her sleeve to her jacket shoulder. It will do for now.
"Alright, that should hold it in place."
Bracing his feet against the dashboard, Dylan studies the window above. The rim looks relatively clean, the glass having been shattered upon impact. They'll need protection, he thinks through the haze, and retrieves a bottle of antibacterial gel and a spare facemask from the glovebox.
"Faith, if you can hear me, Pravi and I are going to climb out and fetch help."
The dull ache in his shoulder tightens to a sharp stabbing, and his knees shake with effort as he clambers onto the side of the chair and grips the door handle. Below, Pravi voices words of encouragement, but he has not the wherewithal to hear them. His mind is a cacophony of scenarios; actions to be taken, choices to be made. And all the while his muscles demand he relent.
Hoisting himself up onto the side of the ambulance, Dylan breathes a heavy sigh of relief. Wind, cool and soothing, licks around his body like a cocoon. The vehicle is still warm from the glow of the afternoon sun.
The road ahead is long; the road behind just as far. A river runs to the right, a wiry metal fence the only barrier between the faded yellow lines and the grassy slope. To the left: several abandoned and boarded-up buildings, and a lane of tall trees and hedgerows.
The back of beyond.
"Okay, Pravi. You can come up now."
The paramedic squints at him doubtfully, but she rises valiantly to the challenge.
"This is crazy," Pravi mutters to herself. "Ridiculous, and crazy. Do you know how many training scenarios there are like this? I mean, I know what to do in a collision, sure, but no one really tells you what you're supposed to do when your ambulance ends up on its side."
The vehicle groans and creaks as they move, navigating a path to safety.
"Well, when we get back maybe you could submit it as an idea to Management," Dylan answers. "You okay climbing up this last bit?"
"Yeah, I think so."
Supporting his arm against his chest, Dylan turns and slides slowly, painstakingly, down to the ground. Pravi follows in his steps, her mouth a tight, thin line. He steadies her as she lands uncertainly on her feet.
"Well, we made it."
"Yes," Dylan replies. "Yes, we did, didn't we?"
She presses a hand to her mouth.
"You feeling alright?"
"I, uh... I think I'm going to be sick."
A strange shuddering followed by the grating of yielding metal. Horror and disbelief.
Helplessly, they watch the ambulance gravitate backward and start to slide dangerously down the embankment. He vaguely recognises the familiar voice coming from inside, calling his name. Panic strikes like lightning and then, as soon as it had begun, everything comes to a sudden stop.
"Faith!" He races forwards, unthinking. "Faith, are you okay? Can you hear me?"
"Dylan?"
He presses a hand against the cab, exhales shakily.
"I'm here, Faith."
Metal creaking. Rushing water. Stepping closer to the bank, Dylan studies the fence caught tight beneath the ambulance. He notes the obvious state of disrepair, the murky stains of age and rust that mark the posts. On the other side of the fence: an unexpectedly sharp descent. He can reach the top hatch and slide it open if he carefully traverses the flattened fence, but not without compromising the ambulance's position. And, even if he does, it will be difficult to get Faith out safely.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes. Yes, I think so." Her voice wavers quietly. "I've got one hell of a headache. Are you and Pravi okay?"
He glances back at the paramedic.
"I've been better," Pravi offers.
"A little worse for wear," Dylan confirms, "but we're okay. The, um, the radio's not working and my phone's ran out of battery. Have you got yours?"
"S-somewhere," Faith replies. "I don't know where... It was in my hand when we crashed. I-" A lengthy pause. "I can't get to it."
"Why not?" Dylan huffs. "Where is it?"
A strange exhalation.
"It's... it's at the other end of the ambulance," she says. He can hear the steady undertone of fear in her voice, a strained shivering, and it makes his stomach churn. "By the back doors."
"Okay." He eyes the fence nervously. "Faith, listen to me. Don't worry about getting your phone. I need you to stay as still as possible."
"Why?" She asks, her tone edged with apprehension. "What's wrong?"
"We, um, collided with a lorry that knocked us off the road. There's a river running beside us and..." He may as well tell her the harsh truth. It's one thing she's always relied on him to do. "Well, there's a chance the ambulance might start sliding down towards it if you, um, if you move. But there's a fence keeping the ambulance in place." A fence he can't depend on to keep the ambulance from tipping over, to keep her safe. "Just stay as close to this end as you can."
She doesn't contend with him.
"Okay."
"Okay," he echoes.
Numbness. Fatigue. The dulling of his senses by an ever-growing pain.
"It will hold," Dylan murmurs to himself. "It'll hold."
Behind him, Pravi slumps down on the road and places her head between her knees. He blinks at her in question; she waves him away.
"Okay, Faith, I'm going to go and check if the lorry driver is alright and then see if I can find a phone to call for help. Stay exactly where you are."
He wishes he could see her face, that he could ensure she really is as well as she insists. Instead, she offers the same indeterminate reply:
"Okay."
