CHAPTER 2: Pratt

Neela and I sat in silence in front of the spot where husband—and my best friend—was laid to rest. The wind softly whistled past us, making the dreary day even chillier than usual, especially at this time of year. I don't know about Neela, but if I could've had just one wish, it would be for Mike to stay in Chicago. He was a really good doctor, a wonderful husband to Neela, and the kind of guy that anyone would want as a friend. If there was one person at County that I could've always counted on to have my back, it was Mike. I knew he had his reasons for going back to Iraq, but it still sucked that he wasn't with us anymore.
"Are you okay, Neela?" I finally asked.
"No, Greg, I'm not," she murmured, in a voice that was even softer than the wind. "Is this something I never get over?"
Hearing that question made me feel like my heart was about to split in half. I didn't even want to think what Neela was going through, and I wouldn't wish something like that on my worst enemy. Honestly, I wanted to just let all my feelings out, but I had to stay in control for her sake.
"No," I said. "This is something you find a place to put and let it make you stronger. Then you go on living your life, 'cause that's all you can do. That's how he would've wanted it."
"I don't know if I can."
I was about to say something else when my phone rang. And as fucked up as this sounds, part of me was actually glad to be interrupted.
"Yo," I answered. "Whoa, slow down; what happened?...What!...Oh, my God!...Is anyone hurt?"
"Greg, what's wrong?" I heard Neela ask. I glanced up to see her running over to me.
"Okay, Frank, I'm comin' in right now," I said, and quickly hung up. Then, as we hurried to where the limo was parked, I told Neela, "There's been a shooting at the hospital. Jerry took a couple hits. They're trying to stabilize him."
"And Abby?"
"Found in a pool of blood. Frank wasn't sure about anything else. Listen, I'm dropping you off before I go in."
"Oh, no you're not!" Neela barked, then said to the driver, "County General, as fast as you can."
Seconds later, we were in the backseat of the limo as it sped away from the cemetery. And I'm talking really fast, like something out of The Dukes of Hazzard. Thankfully, I was able to shut the door in time.
By the way, I should point out that the song playing on the radio was "Beautiful Day" by U2. You're shittin' me, right? I thought incredulously. Nobody in their right mind would call a day like this beautiful.
But, I digress.
"God, I don't believe this," Neela said to no one in particular. "First Michael dies, now this?"
"Yeah, I know," I agreed with a sigh. "Crazy, huh?"
It took less than a minute for us to arrive at County, and let me tell you, it was total chaos. There was broken glass all over the ambulance bay, which was barricaded and blocked off by a pretty big crowd of cops, news people, paramedics and other passersby. Choppers were flying overhead. Doctors and nurses were running all over the place helping those who were hurt or shaken up. When we came inside, we saw that the Admit area was in shambles. The computers and the board had been blown apart by gunfire, blood was everywhere, the walls were riddled with bullet holes, and the windows to the waiting area were all but gone. Amazingly, the security doors were still working.
Then I saw Frank. He'd just gotten off the phone after telling someone we were closed. "Frank!" I called. "We came as soon as we heard. What the hell happened here?"
"Sam's jailbird ex," he answered in disgust. "He and one of his buddies came in after a sparring match, and they left with Sam, but not before turning the ER into a shooting gallery."
"Where's Sam?" Neela asked anxiously.
"Every cop in the city is lookin' for her. Oh, by the way, I know this isn't a good time to bring this up, but I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry for your loss. Gallant was a good guy."
"Thanks, Frank."
"You bet."
"How're Abby and Jerry?" I wanted to know.
"She's good. We're sent her up to OB, just to be safe," Weaver answered as she passed by with someone from Psych. "And Jerry is redlined to the OR."
"Is he stable?"
"They're working on him."
"I'll go up with her," Neela volunteered.
"Fine. Pratt, you stay here and help triage," Weaver ordered. And she was gone in a flash.
"Keep me posted!" I called after Neela. She nodded, and hurried down the hall to meet up with Abby.
Just then, Frank came running up to me. "Pratt!" he shouted breathlessly. "They found Sam."
I damn near jumped out of my skin when I heard those words. "Wh—where is she? Is she all right?" I stammered.
"Units 43 and 44 are on their way over here right now. They got her and her kid."
"Okay, I'll go check and see if the Trauma rooms are open!"
I rushed down the hall and found Morris, Neela, Ray and Dr. Dubenko wheeling Jerry out of Trauma 1. "How is he?"
"Stable for now," Morris called over his shoulder. "He's goin' upstairs. Oh, and Frank called his mom. She's on the way."
"Good deal. Hang in there, Jerry! Ray, I need your help. They found Sam and her kid."
"Are they okay?"
"They're bringin' 'm in. Let's go!"
When we got back to Admit, I heard the ambulances arriving from outside. "Both Trauma rooms are clear!" I shouted, then motioned for Malik to follow us to the bay.
Both ambulances had already arrived by the time we got out there, but they couldn't pull into the bay because it was still blocked off. Luckily, two of the cops moved a couple barricades and passed them through. "What do we got?" Ray asked as the doors to one of them flew open.
"28-year-old woman, multiple lacerations to the face and both hands, double compound fracture to the upper-left humerus, complains of left-side rib pain, mid-quadrant," Pickman answered. "BP's 101/93, pulse ox 89, GCS normal."
When they wheeled the patient out, I checked, and sure enough, it was Sam. "How're you feeling?" Ray asked.
"I'm okay, but my ribs are killing me," she moaned. I could tell she was forcing herself not to cry. "Where's Alex?"
"In the other rig," I told her. "I'll go check on him, okay?"
"Thanks, Greg."
As soon as Sam was wheeled inside, Malik and I hurried to the other ambulance. "13-year-old boy, diabetic, forehead laceration, multiple bruising to the face, torso and back, possible concussion," the EMT reported. "He was unconscious at the scene, but started to come around when we gave him dextrose. BP's 95/77 and holding, pulse ox 92, GCS improving."
I looked down at the kid. He was awake, but completely out of it. I shone my penlight in his eyes to check his pupils, which were reactive, and he was breathing normally. "What's wrong with him?" I asked as I applied a pressure dressing to his forehead.
"His mom said they were kidnapped from here a little while ago," the EMT answered. "God, I can't even imagine what he must've been through."
"Me neither. Okay, let's get him to Trauma 1!"
When we got there and moved Alex onto the table, the ultrasound showed no internal damage, and his neck was clear, too. Other than some bruises here and there, he looked okay, but we still didn't know about his head. "Malik, call Radiology and see if they're open," I commanded as I carefully removed the collar from Alex's neck.
"Good to go!" Malik said less than a minute later.
"Okay, get him over there; I'm gonna check on Sam."
No sooner had Alex gone did I enter Trauma 2, where Ray was removing the collar. "How you guys doin' in here?"
"Good breath sounds bilaterally," Ray said as he took off his stethoscope. "And her pupils are fine."
"What about her ribs?"
"I just finished the ultrasound," Haleh responded. "There's no internal damage, but she's gonna need sutures for the cuts on her hands and the one over her right eye. And Ortho definitely needs to fix that arm."
"Bleeding's under control, and her neck's okay, too," Ray added.
"Where's Alex?"
"He's goin' to Radiology, just in case," I reassured Sam. "There's nothing broken; and he's awake, but pretty dazed."
"Oh, my God," Sam sobbed when she heard that. Like me, she was worried that her son could have a concussion.
"Sam, it's okay, honey," Haleh said soothingly. "Alex is in good hands. Right now, we need to get you taken care of."
"Where's Luka?"
"He's up in OB with Abby. Coburn's with them. And don't worry—he's breathing fine, thanks to the albuterol."
"Thanks, Haleh. All of you, thank you so much."
"Don't mention it."
"Ray, Greg," Sam said as Haleh started to wheel her out of the room, "if Alex and I come out of this okay, I owe you a cheeseburger."
"You got it," I chuckled. "And FYI, I like mine with the works."
"Deal."
After they left, it was just Ray and me in the room. "You okay, Greg?" he asked.
"For the most part. You?"
"I'll manage. How's Neela?"
"She's hanging in there. I'd still give her some time to herself, though."
"Oh, absolutely. Well, I'm gonna go finish triaging, and then go up and see how Jerry's doing. Can I get you anything?"
"Naw, I'm good. Thanks."
"Anytime," Ray nodded. And off he went.
I'm not a deeply religious man, at least not in the traditional sense. I never have been, and probably never will be, but I still thought I'd say a prayer for my co-workers. And believe me, this was one of those times where they—no, all of us—could really use God's help.