Page 10 of The Choices I've Made
Screams. Bloodcurdling, soul-ripping shrieks of pain ripped through the night, causing my body to leap into action. This was what I had been trained to do after all. It was what had been hardwired into my brain after years of residency and training.
Weaving through the maze of cars, I sprang into action. Dean followed suit. We ripped doors open, pulling injured people from their cars, away from the flying wreckage.
“Dean!” I yelled, pointing to a family of four who were scared stiff. “Get them out of here!”
He nodded, carrying the battered and bruised as well as the shaken to safety. The rest, however, were for me.
Grabbing anything and everything I could from the cars, I quickly made makeshift tourniquets for wounds that wouldn’t stop bleeding, I banged on chests and started CPR, as brave souls took over so I could attend to others. And I never stopped assuring them that everything would be okay.
When, in reality, I knew the opposite.
There had been an explosion on the ferry.
A ferry carrying dozens of cars.
Gallons of gasoline.
We were literally stuck in the middle of the ocean on a ticking time bomb.
It was only a matter of time before—
Another explosion sounded, making my ears ring and my heart race. Turning toward the sound of the blast, I saw complete horror.
Cars were flying through the air and into the darkness of the water.
Screams.
God, I’d never forget the screams.
Especially one in particular.
“Jake!” Dean hollered, his voice standing out above the rest. “Jake, help!”
I finished assessing a child’s small leg. “Don’t move, okay?” I said, turning my attention to his mother. “Keep pressure on his leg. Help will be here soon.”
But even the blue-eyed child, covered in his own blood, knew that was a lie.
We were all going to die here.
Even me.
But like hell I’d stop trying.
Jumping over a scrap of metal, I made my way to Dean’s cries of help. When I got there, it took everything I had not to lose my shit as my eyes took him in.
“Hey,” I said, analyzing the situation as I drew closer.
Dean’s arm had been nearly severed. How? I wasn’t sure, but I was guessing what remained of his pickup truck next to him was to blame.
Pulling the shirt off my own back, I did what I could. I tried to stop the bleeding, I checked for other wounds, and most importantly, I kept him awake, even when his dark expression told me it was the last thing he wanted to do.
I’d seen this look before, more times than I could count in my days of working as a resident in the ER. The will to live was waning. Dean was giving up. His eyes began to look skyward as he reasoned with God.
“Hey,” I said, tightly pulling the scraps of fabric around his biceps.
His focus fell back on me.
“Remember when we were little, and Terri used to bust our hides for running off to the beach?”
