Chapter 183

I just want to get through

Groaning and groggy, Patrick opened his eyes trying in vain to focus. His first few attempts to open the door were unsuccessful and in a peak of frustration, he lifted his legs and delivered a heavy kick sending the door swinging from its hinges. Stumbling from the car, he fell into the ditch before getting to his feet again.

"Smitty" he croaked in the darkness, trying to make himself heard over the incessant blaring horns. "Smitty, are you okay?"

As his eyes began to regain their focus he could see the other car had jackknifed theirs, ploughing straight into the driver side door. His shoulder ached and he called out once again for his friend.

"Dude, you okay?" came a voice, not Eric's.

Patrick turned and saw a teenager staggering from the second car. He had a large gash on his forehead and blood was trickling down his face; he reeked of alcohol.

"Are you drunk?" he hissed.

"Dude, just chill" he slurred.

A flash of light caught Patrick's eye and turning his head back to the car he saw flames beginning to lick at the underside of the car. Panic gripped his heart as he raced on unsteady feet back up the ditch and towards the car.

"SMITTY!" he cried.

Getting no response, he raced around to the driver's side and saw his friend slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious; his face, or what he could see of it, was streaked with blood. With the other car practically melded into the door, there was no way for him to get him out on that side.

He ran around to the passenger side and oblivious to the rising flames and thickening smoke, crawled inside and tried to rouse his friend. With a shaky hand, he pressed to fingers to his neck in search of a pulse.

"Please, please, please" he whispered. Relief washed over him briefly as he felt a thready but present heart beat.

Taking hold of his neck and head and bracing them as best he could he carefully moved his friend to a sitting position. He winced as he saw the cuts and bruises; the air bag had not deployed and his head had slammed directly into the steering wheel.

Glancing over his shoulder and peering through the smoke, he saw the other driver standing there, staring off into space.

"Call 9-1-1!" he yelled at him. "NOW!"

The driver seemed to snap out of it and taking one look at the car, flames climbing higher, took off running down the road.

"Fuck" he hissed under his breath.

His eyes stung from the combination of smoke and perspiration dripping down his face. Racing against the advancing fire and worried about the possibility of explosion if the flames hit the gas line, Patrick laid his friend down as carefully as he could and started to pull him from the car. There was little to work with to protect his neck from possible injury and he swallowed thickly, practically biting through his lip as he started to tug him from the car.

It was slow moving as he was pulling more than 200 pounds of dead weight. His lungs filled with smoke and he coughed and choked in an effort to expel it. Visibility was non-existent and as he finally managed to free Eric from the car, his footing slipped and the two of them tumbled back into the ditch with his friend landing on top of him, knocking the wind from him.

Gathering what strength he had left, he pushed him off and tried to lay him carefully on the ground. Shrugging off his jacket he laid it over his chest.

"Don't you dare go into shock, do you hear me?" he barked hoarsely.

Patting his pockets in search of his phone, his breath shortened as he found them empty. The highway was relatively deserted and without a phone, he was at a loss to figure a way out for them. Dropping to his knees, he crawled along the grass hoping to find it.

The flames engulfing the car produced an extraordinary heat and he found himself dipping his head as close to the grass as possible to suck in some kind of fresh air. The further he crawled along without finding the phone, the tighter the vice grip around his heart. He would have little chance of accurately assessing his friend's internal injuries and without any medical supplies at all, he wasn't sure what he would be able to do for him.

A glint of silver flashed and whipping his head around, Patrick crawled quickly towards it; he pounded his hand along the ground until he felt the cold metal underneath. Rearing back on his heels he flipped the phone open and sighed in relief as a signal appeared. Punching in the numbers, the wait for an answer felt like an eternity. When he finally got an operator, he barked orders at her, telling her where they were, the extent of injuries, confirming that he was a doctor and an airlift to Manhattan General was necessary. The operator calmly reassured him that help was on the way and she would alter the EMTs about the need for airlift.

Snapping the phone shut he crawled back to Eric, doing his best to stay lower than the flames. He wanted desperately to move him – move both of them – as far from the burning cars as possible but he feared the damage he might inflict if he moved him again. Reaching him, he immediately put his fingers back against his neck and nodded his satisfaction at feeling his pulse. Dipping his head to Eric's mouth, he listened to his breathing and grimaced slightly at the uneven, laboured sounds he was producing.

Moving behind him, he cradled his head in his lap and did his best to keep his neck immobile. "You listen to me Smitty. There is only one acceptable outcome here and that involves you waking up and being fine. You don't get to check out" he told him. "You're my best friend and you don't get to check out. I….I want you to meet my baby, I want you to spoil my kid rotten. Hell, I'll even let you buy them a drum set but you're going to have wake up for that to happen, okay?"

As a doctor he had spent his entire professional life staring death in the face and he never flinched but he lacked that same bravado when it came to his personal life. Death meant destruction to him. His only experience with it had left his life in a pile of rubble and he was incapable of accepting it again.

The distant wail of sirens pulled him from his thoughts and he looked down at his friend. "Ya hear that Smitty? Help is on the way. I told them to send an air lift too – nothing like travelling to the City in style, right?"

Hearing the car doors slam, Patrick sat up straighter and yelled, "DOWN HERE!"

The EMTs and two police officers ran down the embankment while the firefighters set about dousing the cars.

"Where is the helicopter?" Patrick demanded.

"It's on its way" one of the EMTs told him, kneeling down beside Eric. "Give me the bullet," he asked.

Patrick relayed all the details again and the EMT nodded gratefully as he started an i.v. on Eric. The second EMT put his hand on Patrick. "Why don't you let me take a look at you?" he suggested kindly.

He shrugged him off. "I'm fine."

"Your shoulder is dislocated" he pointed out. "I can either reduce it here or I can immobilize it but you shouldn't have it just hanging like that."

Blinking in disbelief several times, Patrick turned and looked at his shoulder and was shocked to find it out of its socket. If he had to guess he thought it probably happened as he pulled Eric from the car but he was amazed that he had not felt it.

He coughed several times, choking on the thickness still inside his lungs. "I don't want it reduced in the field," he finally said, watching as Eric was rolled on to a back board with his head and neck immobilized.

"Okay," the EMT replied gently. "But why don't you come over here with me and I'll brace it for you."

Gingerly rising to his feet, reluctant to leave his friend, he let the EMT slide his arm underneath him and help him out of the ditch. He was surprised at how rubbery his legs had become and sank gratefully onto the ambulance bumper. He bit down on his cheek as his arm was braced but waved off all other attempts to deal with his wounds and lacerations.

He exhaled slowly as he saw the helicopter descend from the night sky. The police officers and the EMTs carried Eric from the ditch and placed him in the helicopter. Patrick got to his feet and shuffled over.

"I'm going too"

"We still need your statement" one of the officers said.

"Well then I guess you better follow me to the hospital" Patrick snapped climbing in.

"We'll meet you there Doctor Drake" the other officer replied.

*****

It was a short ride to Manhattan General and Patrick did his best to keep up with the trauma team as his friend was whisked away. He hovered outside the room and watched as they worked on him. His ankle was definitely fractured, there was little doubt he had a concussion but it was the extent of his other injuries that worried him.

He peeled himself from the wall as the doctor bustled out of the room.

"What's the diagnosis?" he demanded.

"Fractured ankle, several facial fractures, rib fractures and a concussion."

"Surgery?"

"He needs a plate for his cheek and a few pins in his ankle."

"No internal injuries beyond that?" he queried, suddenly aware of the throbbing in his shoulder.

The doctor shook his head. "No. He's very lucky, as are you. Both of you have polluted lungs and we're going to give you some respiratory therapy to help with that but on the whole you are both lucky to have escaped."

"Thanks" he rasped.

"Now, why don't you get yourself to an exam room so your shoulder can be looked at?"

Patrick nodded. "I will. I just have one more thing to do."

Shrugging, the doctor returned to the trauma room to prep his patient for surgery. Patrick reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Scrolling through the address book, he found the number he needed and dialled.

"Alexis, it's Patrick. You need to get on the next flight to New York"