County General Hospital - 11:53 AM "Randi, is anything happening?" Kerry asked, walking around the end of the admit desk so that she could see the television. "Nothing in a while, Dr. Weaver," the clerk answered. "Not since they announced that we have a raving lunatic on staff in the ER." Dave Malucci flinched at her words and looked up, expecting to see two angry faces staring at him. He was pleasantly surprised to see that they were instead smiling softly in his direction, and he smiled back. "Hey," he said with a shrug. "Gotta be me, ya know?" Kerry chuckled lightly, feeling almost overwhelmed by the sense of unity that had settled around her staff in the past hour and half. "We're all raving lunatics sometimes, Dave. Just try not to be one in front of a TV camera next time." "Any word on Carter?" Luka asked, joining the group at the desk. "Nothing," Dave answered, pushing himself away from the counter he had been leaning against. "There've been a few more shots fired, but no one else has come out." "So we've got nothing more coming in?" "Not at the moment, no," Kerry answered. "How is that last load of minors going?" "Almost done," Luka answered, taking a seat behind the desk. "Dr. Chen is just waiting on one last set of x-rays on an ankle injury. The rest have already been treated, and most of them have been picked up already." He paused, not really wanting to know the answer to the question he was about to ask. "How are the others? How do we stand now?" Kerry sighed, remembering none-to-fondly her last discussion with Romano. He was still holding her responsible for Benton's absence from the hospital, and had even begun attacking Peter and Mark's field work on the patients that had been sent up. "We've seen 32 major traumas so far; 56 minors. We've sent 20 up for surgery; 16 are in recovery and 4 are still in the OR. We've had 5 admitted to Medicine or the ICU. And we've lost 5 here, with 2 DOA's." "Only seven," Dave thought out loud. "Well, that's not so bad...really." He looked up when he felt everyone staring at him. "It could have been a lot worse, when you think about it," he stammered. "I mean, it's bad, but it's not as bad as it could have been..." "It's not over yet, Dave," Kerry interrupted softly. "The last count from the school has another 185 people unaccounted for. They don't know for sure how many are still in the building, and how many either ran away before they could be counted or skipped school to begin with. And we don't know how many of those could be injured..." "Or how badly," Abby put in. They all turned to look at her; she was standing behind the board, looking through it at them. None of them knew how long she had been there, but she'd obviously been listening to the conversation for a while. "After all, we know for a fact that there's at least one person in that building with at least one bullet hole in him." Shoving her hands down into the pockets of her scrub jacket, she turned silently and walked into the lounge. No one at the desk spoke. Abby's words had hit home with all of them. None of them had forgotten about Carter and the situation that he found himself in, but none of them had been willing to speak about it since they had heard the reports that the last time he had been seen the gunmen were chasing him down the third floor hallway. They couldn't stand the speculating any more. Luka started to stand to follow Abby, but Kerry owed him for chasing Dave down earlier. "I'll go speak to her, Luka. You stay out here and keep an eye on things." Luka nodded and resumed his seat, turning back to the television as Kerry made her way around the desk and to the lounge door. "Abby?" Kerry pushed the door open slowly, expecting to hear Abby crying. "Abby, are you all right?" "I'm fine," came the soft answer from the end of the couch behind the door. Kerry stood back and allowed the door to close, then pulled a chair away from the table and sat down opposite the nurse. "Abby?" Abby looked up at her for a few seconds, and then back down at her hands. "I'm sorry," she blurted out. "I know that I should be concerned about the patients, but I can't be. I can't even concentrate right now. Every time I see one...every gunshot, every broken bone, every..." she trailed off, her silent weeping suddenly stealing her voice, her lips unable to form the words, the images in her mind too vivid to escape. "Every time one of those people, one of those kids, dies, Dr. Weaver, all I can think of is John. Every face that I see lying on a gurney is his. Every voice that I hear asking if they're going to be all right is his. And it's wrong. I should be able to shut him out of my mind while I'm working, but I can't. I'm sorry." "Abby, you don't have anything to be sorry for. Your level of patient care hasn't suffered from this. You're still doing your job; we're all doing our job." She paused to make certain that the nurse was listening to her, and then continued. "This isn't easy for any of us. We're all worried about him. And we're all thinking about him. But right now, we do need to concentrate on the patients that we have coming in. I don't know for sure why he didn't leave when he had the chance, but I'm sure that he knew what he was doing. He wants us to help these kids. He doesn't want us to be so worried about him that we forget why he's in there." "Why did it have to be him?" Abby asked, leaning back on the couch. "I don't know," Kerry answered honestly. "But it is. And right now, he's the only chance those kids have of getting out of that building. And if they're injured, we're the only chance they have of surviving. He knows that. I think he's counting on it." "I know," Abby whispered. Kerry let the silence hang between them for a few seconds, then leaned forward and placed her hand on Abby's knee. "He's going to be all right, Abby. Just believe that, and you'll be fine." "Dr. Weaver!" Randi's frantic voice startled both women as she burst through the lounge door. "Dr. Weaver, something's happening!" They stood and followed her back to the admit desk, freezing as they saw the scene playing out on the television in front of them. "Another mass evacuation," the announcer was saying. "We believe that...yes, yes, it does appear that this is a mass evacuation of the second floor of Building One, the building that they gunmen have been concentrating on. We're seeing multiple casualties this time; we've not seen this many at one time since the beginning of the siege earlier this morning. We're trying to get someone to the evacuation area to find out just what's happened, but the police are keeping everyone away for the time being. We're seeing the doctors on-scene moving toward the group now. Ladies and gentlemen, please stay with us. We'll get the information to you just as soon as we have it..." "County General, this is Cook County Sheriff. Respond!" Kerry grabbed the microphone and spun to the board. "This is County General, we read." "County General, be advised, mass casualties heading your way. Medevac is leaving scene with the first of the criticals." "How many?" Kerry asked, trying not to look back at the television, watching as her staff jumped into action immediately. Luka and Dave had already headed for the roof to meet the first helicopter when it landed; Haleh and the nurses were bustling around making certain that everyone had gowns, gloves, and goggles; Randi was already on the phone with the blood bank, ordering O-neg and putting them on standby for more. "We don't know, County. We've not gotten a number yet, but there are a lot of them this time. I'm right beside your docs, though, so as soon as they..." His voice trailed off, and Kerry could hear someone shouting at the man on the other end of the radio. "Say again?" he shouted back. "County Sheriff, what have you..." "Hold on, County. I can't hear you!" the man shouted at the muffled voice she was hearing. "Tell her that he's all right!" came the reply, much louder this time. The voice was Mark Green. "Doc, what the...?" "Tell Weaver that Carter got a message out, and he's all right! But he's got 30 more inside with him, all critical!" That was all she understood, as Mark moved off again, and she could see him in her mind, running back toward the sudden eruption of mayhem. "County, be advised..." "I heard him, County Sheriff. We are implementing mass trauma protocol. Send us what you've got. We'll be ready. County General out." She threw the microphone down on the counter and reached for a gown, walking down the hallway as quickly as she could, shouting out the news she had heard as went. "Carter's all right, but he's got mass casualties on their way to us. Let's get our heads in the game, people. We've got a job to do!" The distant sound of thumping rotors grew louder as the first of the medevac choppers made its landing on the roof. Harry Truman High School (outside) - 11:58 AM Chaos was an understatement. Panic was an understatement. And as Mark Green looked around at the scene in front of him, he realized that the depths of Hell itself was an understatement. Bodies lay strewn across the street, their blood seeping from their wounds, soaking their clothing, beginning to pool on the pavement. MedEvac choppers were landing in and taking off from every available space. Doctors, paramedics, EMTs, fireman, and policemen ran around like ants swarming on a disregarded jellybean. Ambulances weaved their way through the human maze, retrieving the most seriously injured and speeding away with them. Sirens blared and lights flashed. Doctors shouted to each other, and to be heard over each other. Reporters and news helicopters hovered everywhere, trying to get the best shot or the most exclusive interviews, their well-intentioned concern for information insuring that they were constantly in the way. And yet, through it all, Mark Green managed to catch Peter Benton's smile, and returned one of his own before devoting his full attention to the injured teenager on the ground in front of him. Almost all of the students and teachers had been evacuated from the building. The police, in their riot gear, were already preparing the small teams that would enter the building to attempt to arrest the gunmen. After almost two hours, this nightmare was almost over. But there was something more important than even all of that, at least to Mark Green and Peter Benton. They both worked on with a renewed sense of purpose, their moods improved significantly by the news they had both been waiting to hear since they had first arrived. Carter was all right. Harry Truman High School (inside) - 12:03 PM Thirty-seven people lay on the floor of the library. John Carter finished his cursory examination of the last of them, and reached out to gently close the young boy's eyes, closing his own against the tears that had been threatening to fall from them for the past five minutes. He had moved from person to person, making mental notes of the injuries, and doing what small amount he could to comfort them in their pain and fear. He had also kept track of those who were beyond his meager human help. Thirty-seven people lay on the floor of the library. Nineteen of them were already dead. He still couldn't quite believe this was really happening. He lifted his head, opening his eyes and looking out across the sea of bodies before him. There was still a part of him that was convinced this was all some horrifying nightmare, and that he would wake in a few moments to find himself asleep on the couch in the lounge at work. The entire day had had an air of unreality about it; the sheer number of dead children in the library was insanity. He allowed himself to lean back against the wall, taking as much weight off of his constantly throbbing leg as he could. It was still bleeding, and he found himself hoping more with each moment that passed that the police would arrive. He knew they would now; it was only a matter of seconds before they came bursting through the doors. He was safe now, and knew that his own injuries would be attended to in the order that they merited. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, wondering again what could possibly have driven these children to do something so horrible. He thought in particular about the boy he had seen at the bottom of the stairs, about the fear and confusion in his eyes. The other two, Carter had to admit, he didn't really care what happened to. But he did hope that the boy the others had called Donnie survived. Carter thought back over his own days in high school, smiling for the first time in what seemed like days as his mind drifted back. He vividly remembered the sights and sounds of his school; the voices of his friends in the hallway between classes, the brightly colored clothes they all thought looked so wonderful on them, and the foot-high hairdos the girls had worn. He could smell the popcorn in the gymnasium lobby during basketball games, the freshly cut grass on the football field; could hear the band practicing in their isolated band room at the top of the back stairs, see the cheap paper streamers that had decorated the gym walls for dances. He let himself sink deeper and deeper into the perfect innocence of it all, and now could hear the sub-standard sound system blaring out the music that had filled his high school years. Duran Duran had been one of his favorites then. They wore more makeup than his mother did, but that had only proved how cool they truly were. What was that song that they had played at Homecoming his sophomore year? It was from a James Bond movie...Dance Into the Fire? He concentrated, calling up in his mind the words to a song he hadn't heard in years. He couldn't recall the entire thing, just random lines here and there. Secure in his belief that the police would be the next people he saw, he allowed himself to make remembering the words to that song a priority in his life. The words flooded from somewhere then, and he could hear Simon LeBon's voice in his head, singing as if from a long way off, echoing down through the years. "Until we dance into the fire That fatal kiss is all we need Dance into the fire To fatal sounds of broken dreams Dance into the fire" He smiled, letting the comforting memories engulf him. How many hours had he spent laying on his bed listening to this song? "A chance to find the phoenix for the flame A chance to die..." His eyes shot open, and he spun his head, suddenly aware that someone was standing beside him. He lost his balance and fell to the side, pain shooting down the side of his leg. As he stared down the barrel of the gun that was pointed directly at his forehead, he remembered the name of the song. A view to a kill.