Critical Condition (8 page)

“Has he shown any trouble breathing? Choking? Difficulty swallowing?” Nora asked.

“No. None of that.” The mother frowned. “But—”

“You need the coin back.”

“If he swallowed it, it’s going come out the other end,” Jim said, examining the boy. “Equal lung sounds, no signs of airway obstruction.”

“It’s very valuable, been in my husband’s family for generations.”

“Let’s see if he swallowed it first,” Nora said. “Shall I order an X ray, Doctor?”

It was a trick question. Before Jim could answer, the head of the ER, Mark Cohen, joined them. “I hear we’re having a team-building exercise,” he said with a grin. “Thought I’d observe.”

Jim shuffled his feet.

“Doctor?” Nora handed him the chart. “Your orders?”

“Wait. First let me complete my history and exam.”

Nora gave him an encouraging nod—finally, he was learning. Most of ER diagnosis was best done by listening and paying attention to your patient rather than blindly ordering tests. It was an art that up until now Jim had shown little talent for.

“Did you see him put it in his mouth?” he asked Nicky’s mother.

“Well, no. But one second it was there and the next—poof.”

“Any choking or trouble breathing or talking after?”

“No, I had to chase him down.”

“Then let’s not rush to expose him to an X ray if we don’t need to. First, let me check the usual suspects.” Jim positioned Nicky on his mother’s lap and had her wrap her arms around the boy in a bear hug. “Hold him still.” He checked the boy’s nostrils and ears. “They’re clean.”

“So do we need an X ray?” the mother asked. She was looking at Mark and Nora more than Jim. There was an uncomfortable silence, and Nora thought she might need to answer.

“No.” Jim said. “Give me a minute.” He ran out. Nora craned her head out the alcove and saw him rush across the waiting room and through the glass door to the security office. Bingo.

“I think you’re good for Lazarov,” Mark said to Nora with a wink. “I should assign you two to work together more often.”

“Bite your tongue.”

Jim returned carrying a black object that resembled a cricket bat. “This is a metal detector. Do you know what the coin was made of?”

The mother frowned. “It was gold-colored, but I’m sure that was just gold foil or paint. It’s very old. Maybe nickel or lead?”

“We should be able to find those. Let’s see. Go ahead and take his clothes off.”

“Can I leave his Pull-Up on? He’s not quite potty-trained yet, and when he gets excited—”

“Sure, no problem.” Once Nicky was nearly naked, Jim positioned him standing in front of his mother, arms up in the air. “Okay, Nicky, listen to the machine.”

Starting at Nicky’s feet, Jim slowly moved the wand up the boy’s body. A faint whistle sounded as he crossed the belly button region, then silence. Jim sat back on his haunches and frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. If he swallowed it, it can’t already be down that low in his intestines, and if he aspirated it, it should be near his sternum.”

He tried again, waving the wand over the front of Nicky’s body. Same results.

“Is that bad?” the mom asked, worried. “He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?”

Nicky just laughed.

Nora avoided eye contact with Mark for fear she’d start laughing as well. “Um, Doctor,” she said in a meek tone. “Maybe you should try down his back.”

Jim nodded and tried once more. This time when he reached the buttocks area the wand began to whistle and buzz. He smiled and looked up at the mom. “I think we’ll be needing to take those Pull-Ups off after all.”

“Oh dear. He just switched over from diapers and he’s fascinated by them,” the mother said, her face flushing with embarrassment as she fished the St. Nicholas medal out of the Pull-Up. At least it was clean. “He thinks they’re like an extra pocket. I’m so sorry.”

Usually Jim would have chewed a parent out for wasting his time, but not today. Nora wasn’t sure if it was Tillman’s threat, or because Mark was standing there supervising, or if the little urchin had charmed Jim, but today he just smiled and said, “No problem at all.”

A loud honking and the squeal of brakes came from outside. Mark moved out into the waiting room and cleaned the fog off one of the picture windows, staring out at the driveway. “What the—”

GINA HUNG UP AFTER CALLING AMANDA AND stared at the closed door to Mark Cohen’s office. Now that Jerry was safe, it was tempting to simply sit here in Mark’s oh-so-comfortably-broken-in chair, soaking in the peace and quiet like a spa treatment. Her muscles drooped and her eyelids slid shut as she slumped back. God, maybe she could finally sleep, even if just for a few moments.

Gasping, fighting the urge to vomit, Gina collapsed forward, resting her forehead on the desk. She hated how the flashbacks sneaked under her guard, catching her when she was most vulnerable.

Ignoring the hospital’s rules, Mark’s personal space, and state law, she fumbled a cigarette from the pack in her pocket and lit up. Inhaling the poison slowed her breathing and steadied her nerves. Exhaling the cloud of toxins helped banish the bad memories.

Who said smoking was all bad?

She didn’t finish the cigarette—there were only three left in the pack. Instead, she savored two more drags, feeling the nicotine race along her nerves, soothing the adrenaline overload the flashback had caused. Then she tamped it out against the bottom of her shoe and carefully slid the remaining half of a cigarette back into the pack.

Suddenly she felt clearheaded, closer to her normal self. Enough so that she realized that as nice as a vacation here closeted behind Mark’s office door seemed, she really needed to be out in the hospital keeping an eye on Harris.

Gina left the office and returned to the nurses’ station. The ER was empty except for Jason. It felt unnerving, eerie. Like the moment in a horror movie right before the stupid babysitter decides to open the basement door.

Jason looked up and anticipated her request—one of the many reasons he was so good at his job. “You looking for Mr. Personality again? Nora caught him barging into exam rooms and threw him out. He stomped off toward the cafeteria.”

“Thanks.” Gina turned away. As she reached to her left for the silver button to open the double doors leading out of the ER, the noise of a car horn honking filled the air, followed by the screech of brakes slipping, the clamor of breaking glass, and a crash that rocked the building.

It was a car.

Coming right at them.

The car ripped through the outside wall, the waiting room, the inner wall into the ER, and the wall in front of the nurses’ station, stopping a mere two feet in front of Gina, its snow-covered headlights winking at her.

Looked like a BMW 6-series. Her mother had one just like it.

Dust filled the air. Then the tinkle of glass as the overhead light bulbs shattered and rained down on them. Then came the whine of metal snapping as the rectangular fluorescent light fixture swung loose, dangling by an electrical cord, followed by a cascade of ceiling tiles.

“Son of a—” Gina was surprised to hear her own voice over the kaleidoscope of noise. She steadied herself as the front of the nurses’ station collapsed, leaving Jason sitting on his chair surrounded by chaos and looking stunned.

“Jason, get into triage and clear it of any patients, see if anyone’s hurt. I’ve got the car.” She coughed against the dust, heard Jason calling a trauma code. He was standing, the phone to his ear, staring at the car that now occupied the space where the wall once stood—where Gina had been standing not ten seconds earlier. “Jason, go!”

The clerk started and ran past the crumpled car hood and pushed through the door to the waiting room. Gina made her way to the driver’s door of the now-totaled car, which was pinned shut by the remnants of the wall.

The driver was hidden behind the front and side air bags. Gina raced around to the other side, her shoes slipping in the puddles of melting snow the car had dragged in. The passenger door was more exposed, though not enough for Gina to open it. But the window was cracked, barely hanging on.

She grabbed a phone receiver from the nurses’ station and used it to finish breaking the window. The glass rained down in small pebbles. She cleared as much of it as she could, then pushed the passenger-side air bags out of her way. The car’s interior was filled with smoke and powder—residue from the air bags deploying. Still no sound or movement from the driver.

Adrenaline urging her on, Gina copied a move she’d seen the medics do—they made it look easy, but as she climbed in feet first, she caught her ankle, banged it good, then almost fell out again before she managed to leverage her weight into the passenger compartment. Her braids caught on the upper seat belt anchor, and she lost some hair yanking herself free.

Finally she could reach the driver. She shoved an air bag out of her way and got her first look.

It
was
her mother.

“LaRose Freeman, what the
hell
are you doing here?” Gina asked as she stabilized her mother’s cervical spine. “Can you hear me? It’s Gina, your daughter. Open your eyes!”

Nothing. Gina checked her airway—clear. Breathing was even. Pulse rapid but strong. A small abrasion marred LaRose’s smooth, Botoxed brow line, but not enough to explain her lack of response. Head injury? Spinal cord damage?

Gina’s adrenaline revved into panic.

She turned to call out behind her, “I need some help over here!”

No one came. The nurses’ station was destroyed. Where the hell was everyone?

That was when she saw the flames snaking out from under the hood of the car.

 

 

WHEN JIM SAW THE CAR AIMING FOR THE WAITING room windows, he tackled Nicky and his mother, pushing them under the stretcher—the only shelter the alcove provided. At least that was how Nora chose to see it—although, because Nicky and his mom were between Jim and shelter, Jim’s actions may have been motivated by something less altruistic.

There was no place for Nora to hide, though, so as the car crashed through the front windows, all she could do was to flatten herself against the wall and pull the alcove’s curtain around her to shield herself from flying glass and debris.

The crash had been loud yet strangely muffled, like being under water. Then everything became bigger, brighter, as the howl of the storm joined the carnage inside the waiting room. Thuds of furniture being thrown aside mingled with the cracks of wood breaking, the ripping of drywall, and the screech of metal against metal. The sounds collided so that it was impossible to tell which came first as Nora’s brain tried to process them and put them in proper order.

The sounds were accompanied by the smells of winter, brisk and clean, and the stench of burned rubber, charred plastic, and gasoline. When the last hit Nora’s nostrils, she thrust the curtain aside, clearing her field of vision.

Dust and broken glass and pink insulation filled the air. Paper was everywhere—magazines, patient charts, lab slips. All now confetti spinning in the wind. It was like being inside a snow globe of destruction. One that also featured a car sitting in the middle of the ER, trapped inside the wall separating the waiting room from the nurses’ station.

The car had smashed right through the children’s corner of the waiting room. Thank God no kids were playing there when it happened.

But Mark Cohen had been standing there, looking out the window.

“Mark?” Nora called. When she inhaled it tasted like wood pulp and sawdust. She coughed and tried again. “Mark?”

“I’m here,” came his answer from the opposite side of the car. “Gonna need a little help.”

“I’m coming.”

Jason, the ER desk clerk, came running in. “Gina’s taking care of the driver,” he gasped, breathless as he took in the carnage. “What can I do?”

Nora turned back to Jim and their patients, the ER’s disaster protocol ratcheting through her brain. First, evacuate any non-emergent patients from the scene. “Get them and any patients left in the ER down to the auditorium. Then see if there’s anyone hurt in the ER. Grab the nurses, tell them to implement the disaster protocol.”

Jason nodded and turned to help Nicky and his mother to their feet. Nora picked her way through the rubble, carefully stepping over broken glass and skirting fallen furniture as she circled around the rear of the vehicle. Snow was blowing inside, already half an inch or more covering the debris. With it came a biting cold, impossible to ignore, even with her mind focused on finding Mark and making contingency plans to evacuate the ER.

“Mark!” she called. “Where are you?”

“Over here.” His voice came from beneath the overturned play center that had housed several video screens meant to entertain kids while they waited. “I’m stuck.”

Nora assessed the situation. The video components themselves weren’t heavy, but they’d been encased in a weighty metal and wooden frame to prevent theft. She found an opening and spotted Mark’s face.

“I’m going to need some help moving this. Are you hurt?”

“Yeah. Feels like a tibia fracture. And I think I blew my knee out. Hurts like a son of a bitch, but I’m fine otherwise.” Snow blew in between the gaps in the wrecked equipment.

“Let me get you some blankets, then I’ll grab some guys to help.” She reached through the gap and held his hand for a moment. Good strong pulse, but his fingers were cold and his lips were already blue. “Aren’t you glad we didn’t get the aquarium you wanted for out here?”

He laughed, then choked it off. “Damn, that hurts.”

“I’ll be right back,” Nora assured him. “Don’t go anywhere.”