Page 34 of Resuscitation
The door from the ambulance bay opened and Mohawk Guy—Brick—along with another of Mercer’s men emerged. Mercer flicked his cigarette ash. “All good?”
“Communication problem taken care of, boss,” Brick said, giving Sara a sidelong look.
“Good. Leon, check on the hostages. Brick, get in there.” He nodded to the treatment room. “Keep an eye on Connor.”
The two men left.
Sara pulled both fists into her belly, pressing hard. It was the only way to keep from lashing out. “Wayne,” she gasped. “You killed Wayne. Why?”
Mercer stepped forward, his hand holding the cigarette raised close enough that she felt its heat on the skin below her eye. It took everything she had to hold her ground. “Anyone not working to save my brother’s life is expendable. So, maybe you best get back to work, Doctor.” He spat out her title as if it was a curse. “Now!”
Sara stared at him. The cigarette edged closer to her face. “No. Not until you promise no one else dies. I’m responsible for these people.”
He flicked the cigarette away, but she had the distinct impression that he would’ve preferred to grind it into her eye. The only reason he hadn’t was that he needed her. That was her only leverage.
“I think you have it wrong, Doc,” he said. “I’m responsible for who lives and dies. Don’t you forget it.”
Sara played the only card she had in an all-or-nothing gamble. After all, he’d kill them all as soon as Connor was dead—or even, if by some miracle, Sara did save him. Mercer wouldn’t leave any witnesses alive. “If you want us to keep helping your brother, I need assurances?—”
He held up a hand. “I like you, Doc. You play hardball, just like me. Okay. Your people are safe. Their lives are in your hands. Now, go. Save my brother.”
Sara jerked her chin in a nod, sealing their devil’s bargain. Then she returned to her patient.
When she re-entered the trauma bay, she saw that the guy with the mohawk, Brick, actually didn’t seem very interested in what they were doing for Connor—that, or he was more squeamish than his appearance suggested. He was in the corner where Connor’s clothing and gear, along with Luca’s body lay, sorting through Connor’s stuff.
She turned her back to him and joined Nick and Kelly at Connor’s beside.
“No improvement,” Nick murmured.
Sara agreed. If anything, Connor was worse, his BP dropping as he slipped further into shock.
“Are they gonna kill everyone? I think they might kill everybody,” Kelly blurted.
“Try not to think about it. Take a breath,” Sara said. “Focus on Connor. Hypovolemic shock, but we have nothing to transfuse.” Stating the problem out loud always helped get the team back in sync. “I’m gonna need to open him up, find where the bleeding’s coming from. But I can’t?—”
“Without pain control,” Nick finished for her. “Think we might have that covered. Sorta.”
Kelly turned to the head of the bed. “I found the old nitrous set up in the equipment closet, behind some backboards. Not sure if it still works.”
“No, no, that’s a good start,” Sara told them. “Nick, get it set up—fifty/fifty mix of O2 to nitrous oxide. Kelly, mix me an epi drip and get it started at a mic a minute.”
They turned to their jobs, seemed relieved to have something to keep their minds off the world beyond their patient.
Sara moved to Connor’s head. “Nick’s going to switch your oxygen mask for nitrous oxide?—”
“Laughing gas?” he asked.
“Exactly. I need to remove the dressing and explore your wound. I don’t have any pain meds, and I don’t want to try to knock you out for intubation.” She could have figured out a possible combo of meds from the crash cart or even paralyze him without sedation—the very definition of cruelty, since the patient would feel all the pain, but be trapped inside their own body, unable to move. But she knew there was no way Mercer would allow her to render Connor unconscious. Who knew how many of her people would end up dead if she tried?
“It’s okay, Doc.” His tone was so trusting that Sara felt guilty for even contemplating what she was about to do in these primitive conditions.
“It’s still going to hurt,” she warned him. “But maybe you won’t care as much.”
“I’m good. Do what you need.”
She glanced at the nearby IV stand where Kelly was hanging the epi drip. Epinephrine was pure adrenaline, it could buy them time, but it wasn’t the answer to Connor’s problems. For that, he needed blood and an operating room and to go back in time.
But it would create the illusion that he was stable. Hopefully, enough to convince Mercer.
