AUTHOR'S NOTES: I had so little to do with this, I feel like Debbie
should be writing the intro note. Anyway, thanks,
everyone, for your continued support of this story,
and for your continued curses on my head. :) And now
you can aim those potatoes at Debbie, because I didn't
do anything! Okay, maybe I suggested a thing or
two... :)
by Debbie and Kacey
Benton waited, heart thudding dully in his chest,
hands suddenly clammy.
The phone was still silent, despite the surgeon's
unspoken pleas and commands. The labored breathing
that had been tormenting him for the past twenty
minutes had stopped, and now Benton was beginning to
understand the meaning of a deafening silence.
Caught in a paroxysm of fear, Benton's world was
reduced to the absence of sound on the other end of
the cell phone. He didn't see the SWAT team storm the
train-car, couldn't hear what Luka was trying to say
to him. The first thing that registered was the
gunshots over the phone. And then people screaming.
At the first shout of "clear!" Benton started running
for the train, still clutching his phone to his ear,
unable to let it go. The dash from the platform to the
train car was a complete blur to him. It seemed that
one moment he was staring at the train, the next he
was standing in a doorway, looking down at one of the
worst scenarios he could have imagined.
****
There were numerous victims laying haphazardly all
over the El car. The gunman was screaming in pain,
shot in the leg and the arm by the SWAT team. 'Good,'
Benton thought, 'I hope it hurts like hell!' He was
glad the scumbag was still alive to stand trial.
He didn't immediately see Carter. He saw Luka out of
the corner of his eye: he was moving toward the front
of the train where two bodies lay, one leaning up
against the seat of the car.
"Sir! SIR!" A lady was yelling and grabbing his arm.
"Sir, are you a doctor?"
"Yes," Peter answered distractedly, searching for
Carter. She proceeded to drag Peter down to the
opposite end of the car. "My son has been shot!
Please, you have to help!" Benton found himself
forcibly moved to the opposite end of the train. He
had now lost sight of Luka and had yet to see Carter.
The noise and commotion in the train car were almost
deafening, screaming and crying everywhere - Benton
felt as if he had just walked into a war zone.
He looked down on the seat of the El, and there was a
child, very small and very lifeless. His eyes stared
out vacantly at Benton; they would see no more. He had
been shot through the head; there was nothing Peter
could do for him. He put his hand to the child's neck,
no pulse. He laid his hands on the child's chest, no
movement. He leaned over, and looked at the child's
head. He had already seen the gray matter on the seat
of the train. The kid probably never knew what hit
him. God, he hoped so.
Peter turned toward the mother, "I'm sorry," he said
simply.
The woman dropped to her knees in front of him, "NO!
NO! You have to do something! Please!"
The surgeon put his hand on the mother's shoulder.
"There's nothing I can do, I'm sorry."
Benton slowly disengaged himself from the sobbing
woman, and made his way toward the front of the train
where he saw more victims, and Luka leaning over
another, familiar body.
"Carter..." Benton's voice was soft, but so keenly
horrified it cut through to Luka over all the
commotion.
"I have him, you go and triage!" Dr Kovac yelled, not
looking away from his patient. Peter stood
stock-still, gazing at the lifeless body of his former
student. "You GO!" Luka shouted again, this time
glancing up at the surgeon. "Go! Triage! Now!" Luka
could tell by the shocked expression on Benton's face
that triage was the best thing he could do. It was
rudimentary, and the surgeon could probably do it with
his eyes shut. Whether he could do it with his mind
completely focused elsewhere was something the
Croatian doctor didn't have time to consider.
Numb, Benton made his way down the crowded train car.
He started taking pulses and assessing the seriousness
of the various injured passengers, looking back every
few seconds to see what Luka was doing, and attempting
to discern if Carter was still alive.
It didn't look good, Benton thought as he catalogued
the victims mechanically; in fact, he could not
envision anything looking less good. He had dissected
corpses with more color than Carter had. Benton
checked his watch, then cursed himself for not looking
at it before. He had no conception of how long it had
been since that last breath on the platform... Five
minutes, ten minutes - the relativity of time. He had
no reality-based idea. It could've been one minute or
ten; it felt like forever. Oh God, how long had it
been? Was he breathing now? Was he alive? Benton
clenched his jaw and willed himself to believe that
Luka Kovac could handle it, that Luka Kovac would not
allow Carter to die on the floor of a train car.
Speaking in a voice which seemed oddly detached from
his thoughts, Benton instructed a policeman on how to
slow the bleeding on one woman's arm, automatically
patting the nervous, white-faced cop on the back as he
moved on to the next victim. He glanced across at
Luka again, hating the attending for doing this to
him. A section of his brain knew that this was the
right course of action, that he would not be capable
of treating Carter to the best of his abilities. And
he knew that right now Carter needed the best ability.
Looking down, the surgeon could see that his hands
were trembling as they reached for the man's wrist.
What if Carter was dead? Or worse, what if he was
dying and Benton was standing just a few feet away,
taking some damn stranger's pulse?
Benton paused for a second, squeezing the wrist in his
hand so tightly that the man protested. Then the
surgeon forced all thought away. Thinking wasn't
helping Carter and it wasn't helping the other
victims. Kovac was competent, even good - Benton knew
that. The Croatian doctor would be able to save
Carter, if anyone could. So Benton shut down, blocked
Carter out of his mind, blocked everything out of his
mind, and, emotionless, went back to work.
"Sir!" Luka yelled at the man sitting behind him, "I
need for you to come here!" The man was moving in a
sort of slow daze. "Come on!" Luka ordered him, not
unkindly. "Hold pressure here!" Luka showed the man
the sucking chest wound on Carter's chest. "Don't move
your hand, keep pressure on this, okay?" The man
nodded his head; he understood. Luka moved Carter's
body completely down to the floor. "YOU hold onto
that, I'm going to roll him over, okay?" The man
nodded again.
Luka pulled up John's shirt; he didn't see an exit
wound. The bullet was lodged somewhere but without
x-ray equipment there was no way to tell where. Luka
slowly moved Carter's body onto his back. "Do you know
CPR?" the attending asked the man, who shook his head.
"Okay, you just put your hand on this, okay? Don't
move your hand!" Luka pumped John's chest, and counted
in his head. He hyperextended Carter's neck, placing
his mouth on that of his friend and colleague, trying
to will the resident’s chest to move but knowing the
only reason it did was because of the breath he had
just given him.
"Don't you die!" Luka mumbled under his breath as he
moved to pump John's chest again. He heard sirens
vaguely in the distance. The screaming in the train
had turned to sobs of agony, and the quiet of the
dead. Luka had seen more than his share of wartime
injuries: this was very similar to the events of home
country. He would never get used to this - not in an
urban area, not in his country, not anywhere. He just
didn't understand why someone would do this. He
continued CPR, willing his breath to keep John Carter
alive until they got to the ER.
Benton had come up behind Luka silently; he had
triaged almost every victim he could. There were
numerous gunshot wounds, one heart attack, and five
dead, including the baby. Tearing his eyes from the
sight of Luka working on Carter's unresponsive body,
the surgeon looked out the window, and saw the flash
of the ambulance lights.
"The ambulance is here," Peter said quietly. Then,
swallowing hard, he continued, "Any pulse?" He didn't
really want to hear the answer, he knew he already
knew what it was, but he had to ask anyway. He was
distantly aware that he should be helping Luka, but he
couldn't; it didn't even occur to him that he could
move of his own accord at the moment.
"No, not yet," Luka said hoarsely in between breaths.
"Go get the paramedics!"
Benton seemed to come out of his daze somewhat. "HEY!
Over here!" he shouted at the paramedics. They hurried
inside the train. Luka's face was showing the strain
of performing CPR as long as he had by himself. The
paramedics took over, letting Luka sit back for a
moment and catch his own breath. He thanked the man
that had been helping him, who only looked relieved
not to be needed any longer.
There was no cardiac activity whatsoever as they
hooked the electrodes up to John's chest: no pulse, no
respirations. They had him intubated in seconds.
Luka took control of the ambu bag, continuing to
breathe for Carter. The paramedics worked rapidly and
efficiently, starting the IV, and injecting the
Epinephrine to try to get some kind of rhythm going.
The EKG showed nothing.
"Give another amp of Epi," Benton ordered tersely,
receiving a concurring nod from Luka which he didn't
see. The paramedics looked at one another: they were
the doctors. They gave another, again with no result.
"Charge to 200! Clear!"
Luka let go of the ambu bag momentarily as they
administered the shock. Blood gushed out of the wound
on Carter's chest, and Luka moved to apply pressure to
the wound. The resident was losing blood, and fast,
but Luka didn't have the equipment necessary to do
anything about it. The EKG continued to show no
cardiac activity. Luka quickly gave the ambu bag
another push.
"Charge to 250 and CLEAR!"
The paramedics administered a more powerful shock, as
Luka met Peter Benton's dead, blank, unblinking gaze.
"Give another amp of Epi....." Luka said, then they
saw the blip on the monitor.
"Wait! He's got a beat!" Benton said, watching as the
scene unfolded before him. He couldn't control this.
He had no idea how long Carter had been down, or if
they should even be performing "heroic" measures.
Looking at his watch, he berated himself again over
how stupid he had been not to check the time on the
platform. Now he couldn't even remember what time it
had been the last time he looked at his watch. Benton
shut his eyes tightly, and told himself that they were
doing the right thing. Carter had a chance... Peter
had to take it; he couldn't let his friend die here,
like this.
"Okay, we have a rhythm, let's move him out!" The
paramedics lifted John onto the backboard and out of
the train car.
'Sure,' Benton thought, 'he has a rhythm, if it can
even be called that, but how long was he without
oxygen?' He didn't want to bring Carter back only to
live as a shell of his former self, a living,
breathing vegetable. But it was out of his hands. It
was out of his hands the moment he walked onto the El
car. It was out of Carter's hands the moment he
boarded the train. It was so arbitrary, just like the
other time. Benton fleetingly wondered how random
things could conspire against Carter with such a
vengeance.
After a very brief, very brutal verbal argument, Luka
rode with Carter in the ambulance, while Benton stayed
at the scene to instruct the newly arrived paramedics
on which victims were stable and which needed to be
transported first. It took Peter Benton less than ten
minutes to help the paramedics, then he raced back to
County.
What the hell did the greater good matter anyway? he
wondered angrily as he viciously pummeled his way
through the unyielding crowd of curious on-lookers.
If Carter didn't make it, and Benton had been delayed
because Luka ordered him to stay behind -
The surgeon shook his head, not wanting to concentrate
on thoughts of revenge, especially against the person
who had managed to keep Carter alive this long. Kovac
had been doing the job; it wasn't his fault that the
job involved a friend this time, again. Besides, none
of that was important, as long as Carter was still
alive. And if he wasn't... The last thing Benton
wanted was for the younger man to die alone. He knew
his parents had left him alone, the women in his life,
all left him again, alone. He couldn't stand the
thought of Carter dying alone.
Benton picked up his pace, and entered the ambulance
bay doors, very much out of breath, looking around
quickly to see which room had the most activity. He
knew Carter would be there. It had been maybe twelve
minutes, thirteen tops... They wouldn't have called
it yet.
Part 7