Love On Call

Mari raced at Glenn’s side, threading between the tables on the way to the nearest exit. Most people barely gave them a glance, used to seeing staff race off to an emergency. Glenn didn’t return the way they’d come, and Mari was quickly lost and didn’t bother trying to follow their route. She just focused on keeping up with Glenn as they jogged around corners, through a fire door, and down a concrete stairwell lit by bare bulbs in metal cages.

“You run?” Glenn asked, not the least bit breathless.

“I did,” Mari said, trying valiantly to sound as unstressed as Glenn. Her heart pounded against her ribs, but her wind was holding. Her legs were nearing jelly status, but then, she hadn’t used them much in the last half a year or so. They couldn’t have that much farther to go, could they? “I’m a little bit out of training just lately.”

“You move like a runner.”

Mari was oddly pleased by the comment but barely had time to appreciate it before Glenn pushed through another unmarked gray metal door and delivered them into the center of a tornado. A blast of disorienting noise and a flurry of rushing people sent a surge of panic racing through her. Nothing looked familiar—what was she supposed to do? After a second, Mari’s pulse calmed and she made sense of the controlled chaos in the hallway. She’d seen this before. ER staff pushed gurneys toward the ambulance bay to await the injured, pulled back the curtains on examination cubicles, and opened equipment packs. Lights came on in a big room Mari barely had a chance to glance into as she hurried by, but even a quick look was enough to tell her it was a pretty fully staffed operating room.

“What have we got?” Glenn called to Bruce, the nurse Mari recognized from earlier.

“EMS is five minutes out. Grain silo collapse.”

Glenn’s face set into grim lines. “How many?”

Bruce shook his head. “We’re not entirely sure. First report was three, then another unit called in and they’re bringing two, and we think there might be more. Could be upward of ten.” He grimaced. “Apparently a couple of people went in to try to help and ended up getting trapped themselves.”

“How many people do we have down here?”

“Never enough for this kind of thing,” Abigail Remy said, emerging from the reception area wearing scrubs and a white coat, her expression intense and hyperfocused. “Bruce, call up to the SICU and see if they can spare us a couple of nurses. Then get the respiratory techs down here—every one we have in-house. You’ll be triage.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bruce said, practically saluting. He spun on his heel and strode away.

Abby turned to Glenn and Mari. “Glenn, I want you to take the criticals, anyone that looks like they need immediate surgical intervention, get them into the trauma bay stat. I’ll call Flann and alert the OR to put a room on standby.”

“Roger.” Glenn leaned toward Mari and lowered her voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Mari said. “I’m good.”

She was. Her heart galloped with the adrenaline rush, but she wasn’t nervous and she wasn’t afraid. She also wasn’t alone, and she knew it. If she got something she couldn’t handle, she’d have backup. Glenn was here, looking solid and sure, as if she’d seen and done this kind of thing a hundred times before—because she had. Dr. Remy too. But most of all, Mari trusted her training.

“Good,” Glenn said. “You’ll take anyone who isn’t actively hemorrhaging or in full arrest. Use room one.”

“Okay—you better tell me about grain silos. What can I expect?”

Glenn’s gray-blue eyes darkened to nearly black. “Don’t see much of that in LA?”

“Try never.”

“Depends on what was in the silo, but usually corn or wheat, which generates heat, toxic gases, and a hell of a lot of dust. When the structure collapses or the contents avalanche inside, whoever’s buried will suffocate in seconds or be crushed, but they can also get sucked into the augers and mixers—meaning broken or severed limbs.” She spread her hands. “If it takes more than a minute to extract the ones who are completely submerged, their lungs will be full of dust and even if we intubate, it’s not going to be enough.”

“So blood gases on everyone,” Mari said, trying to formulate a treatment plan on the fly. This was nothing like a multi-vehicle pileup on the interstate, but the principles were always the same. “What else? Injury-wise?”

“Compression syndromes, fractured ribs, open and closed extremity type injuries. The fractures can all wait unless there’s vascular compromise.”

“Right. Airway will be the thing.”

Glenn nodded. “If you need an assist, holler. I’ll be right across the hall.”

Bruce appeared around the corner. “The first bus is here.”

Abby strode confidently into the center of the waiting staff. “All right, everyone, you know what to do. Let’s go to work.”