County General Hospital - 11:03 AM Robert Romano was not a happy man. He stormed out of the elevator and down the hallway toward the admit desk in the ER. He found it deserted, with the exception of the clerk girl, what was her name again? Brandy? Andy? She was staring at the television that hung in the corner above Chairs and didn't notice him approaching. "You!" he called out, trying to get her attention. "Me?" she asked slowly, not turning to look at him. "No, the other painted-up ex-con behind the desk. Yes you!" She turned then, her dark, narrow eyes blazing fire. "What!" "Where's Weaver?!" he demanded. Someone had some serious explaining to do. Robert "Rocket" Romano was running a surgery department that was short one surgeon, and he intended to tear a hole in whoever was responsible for it. "Trauma One, trying to sew up some little girl's face," she spat back, choking back the sob that threatened to escape with her words. "Thank you," he answered curtly, turning on his heel and marching toward the trauma room, his scrub gown trailing behind him like a diminutive Darth Vader. "Screw you," Randi said to his back, loudly enough for him to hear. Romano raised his hand in acknowledgement of her words, but did not slow his pace. "Cindy, it's going to be all right." Kerry's kept her voice soft and soothing, trying to calm the sixteen year old girl on the gurney in front of her. "We've called down a plastic surgeon to have a look at you, and I'm sure he'll be able to fix your cheek." "What about my ear?" the girl asked in a trembling voice. "It's possible. We've got the best plastic surgeons in the state here..." Her words were cut short as the doors to the trauma room burst open and Robert Romano strode in. "Dr. Weaver, I'd like a word with you." "Not now, Robert," she answered shortly, turning her face back down to Cindy. "We called your parents, like you asked, and they should be here soon. They can stay with you when the plastic surgeon comes, if you'd like." "Yes now, Kerry!" "No! I'm busy." "Well, now that you mention it, so am I. In fact, I'm very busy. In fact, I've already performed two surgeries personally, both lifesaving procedures I might add, and my surgical service has performed another thirteen. We've still got three running right now, and who knows how many more coming up before the end of the day. But you see, I've got this little problem, Kerry," he continued, not giving her a chance to respond to his first statements. "I'm one surgeon short. Now the last time anyone saw him, he was coming down here for a consult on a leg fracture. And in the midst of everyone having a really busy day, I'd just like to know WHERE THE HELL IS PETER BENTON?!" "I'll be right back, Cindy," Kerry said softly to the young girl before turning and grabbing Romano by his arm, pushing him out of the room. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" "I just told you what the hell is wrong with me, Kerry. Or weren't you listening? You guys are sending these people up left and right, and I don't have enough surgeons to cover them all. Do you know what's going on up there? Do you have any idea? I've got third year residents performing solo because there are no attendings to send in with them. I NEED Benton! I've paged him twelve times in the past forty-five minutes, and he hasn't answered me yet. Now where the HELL is he?!" "He's not here, Robert." "What do you mean, he's not here? Of course he's here. Where else would he be?" "He left. He went with Mark in the chopper to the scene. You think you're having a rough time upstairs? Some of these people are coming in with surgical procedures, lifesaving procedures, I might add," she continued, throwing his own words back at him, "already done! You're cutting them open and sewing them shut again in an operating room, Robert. He's doing it in the middle of the street. And if it weren't for him being there, half of the people you've treated wouldn't be HERE!" "Well why the hell didn't you tell me you sent him to the scene?" "I didn't send him. Today was my day off; I came in in answer to a page. He was already gone when I got here. He and Mark went in the chopper as soon as the Sheriff called for it." Romano thought for a moment, and then narrowed his eyes. "Why did Peter go? Why didn't Green take that foreign fellow, Malgucci, with him?" Kerry sighed. "He went because Carter's there." "Dr. Carter's where? At the school? Well that doesn't make any sense. If we already had one doc there, why did two more go?" "Because Carter isn't outside," she answered, through clenched teeth. Robert Romano found himself suddenly speechless, and his expression changed from one of anger to one of concern. "Dr. Carter's in the building? In the school? With all the shooting going on? How did that happen?" "He was there for your diversity program," Kerry responded, her voice suddenly much softer. "He was in the guidance office talking to some students when this all started." "How do you know that for certain? Has anyone seen him?" "The first victim who went up to surgery was the guidance counselor. He told me Carter saved his life, broke out a window and had the kids climb out and carry him to the ambulance. And yes, we've seen him." "Seen Carter? When?" "On the television," she answered, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes again. "He had a chance to get out, but he didn't. He went back in." "Well that was stupid," Romano remarked, reverting back to his usual bitter self. Kerry glared at him. 'Chief of Staff my ass!' she thought, leaning closer to him. "So far, he's gotten eighteen more people out of that building. Eighteen people who might have died if he hadn't stayed. Eighteen CHILDREN, Robert. He's saving their lives, at the risk of his own. That's not stupid. It's the bravest thing I've ever seen." Kerry Weaver turned on her heel and walked back into the trauma room to get Cindy ready to be moved to another room until her parents arrived. Robert Romano watched after her for a few more seconds, still too stunned from what she had said to speak. John Carter was in that building, not by chance but by choice, and he was risking his own life for the chance of saving others. "Didn't know the kid had it in him," he whispered to no one as he turned and walked back toward the elevators. "Don't know if I'd have it in me." Harry Truman High School - 11:16 AM "Heads up! Another group coming out!" Marc Baker turned his head at the sound of the Sheriff's voice, and saw another group of students running down the sidewalk, right out the front door. This was the third group to exit the building in the last ten minutes. Most of them had their arms raised above their heads, as had the two before them. Three of the larger boys were carrying the injured across their shoulders; two students and a teacher. Marc pulled his PDA out of his pocket again as members of the SWAT team ran forward to escort the group the rest of the way to safety. As they rounded the firetrucks, Marc intercepted them, stepping first to the boys with the burdens. "I need your names, and theirs," he said quickly. "Tony Harper, and this is Melissa Ray." "Thank you. Take her over behind the ambulances. There are doctors over there. Leave her there, and get out of their way." Tony Harper nodded and moved off quickly, not even questioning the other boy. Marc repeated the process for the other two boys, noting with dismay that the teacher did not seem to be breathing. "Dr. Benton!" he called as he saw the surgeon appear from behind a police car. "Dr. Benton! This man's not breathing!" Peter ran over quickly, motioning for the boy who was holding the young teacher to place him on the ground. "ET tube!" he called out in the direction of one of the waiting ambulances. "We need to tube him and get him on a chopper, now!" Marc turned away from the scene in the street, touching the arm of the young man who had carried his teacher to safety in a sign that he could go on. He then returned to the group of students that still waited for him behind the firetruck. He asked their names and did a rough check of their condition. Gunshot wounds behind the line of ambulances, cuts and bruises along the side of the firetrucks, the uninjured across the street in the gymnasium. Marc looked down at the screen of his PDA, and ran a quick mental total. The list that was stored in its memory had been intended for keeping track of the pictures he'd cropped for the yearbook; in the past hour it had become something much more important. He was now using that list to keep as accurate a record as possible of who was still in the building, and who had made it out. He knew that another student, the president of the senior class, was keeping a similar list in the parking lot, for those who were escaping out the back. Occassionally one of the policemen would ask on the radio for someone on the other side to get the total number from him, and call it out to Marc. It wasn't exactly proper police procedure, but it needed to be done, and allowing the students to do it themselves kept them from having to trouble with it. Marc finished his mental addition. In the past ten minutes Dr. Carter, or John, as the students coming out were calling him, had managed to evacuate forty-nine people out the front door. And to his credit, no one had been left behind. If there were injured in the room, they limped, hobbled, or were dragged or carried out. And so far, none of them were dead. There was one boy, in the first group, who had been shot right through the chest. But it had only been a matter of minutes before the rest of his class had run out the doors and down the steps, carrying him with them. Marc knew that Raul Martinez had lived long enough to be placed in a chopper and flown to the ER at County General. He didn't know for sure, but he thought that had to be a good sign. "Heads up!" came the now familiar call, and Marc turned his attention to the next group of students running toward the street.