I take a deep breath. It smells like home.
“Jax!” Max barks, his voice cutting through the din like a knife. “Sitrep!”
Jax is standing on a chair in the centre of the nursing station, directing traffic like a conductor of chaos. He sees us. He sees Max in his white coat and me in my ruined dress shirt.
He grins. It is a feral, terrifying expression.
“Mass casualty!” Jax yells over the scream of a patient. “Bus versus semi-truck. We have twenty-two critical, twelve walking wounded, and they’re still pulling people out of the river. We are drowning in blunt force trauma!”
He points at Max.
“Max, Bay 1. Tension pneumothorax. Crack the chest!”
“On it,” Max says, shedding his white coat as he runs.
Jax points at me. He doesn't look surprised I’m here. He looks like he expected it.
“Suit!” Jax yells. “Bay 3 and 4 are overflowing. Silva is drowning in Bay 3. Get in there and make yourself useful!”
My heart stutters.Luke.
“Moving!” I yell.
I run toward Bay 3. I grab a pair of gloves from a wall dispenser, snapping them on as I slide into the room.
It is a bloodbath.
There are two patients in the room—a teenage girl with a compound fracture on the gurney, and a man in a bus driver’s uniform on the trauma table, who looks grey and lifeless.
Luke is bouncing between them. He’s trying to reduce the girl’s fracture while shouting orders for the driver. He looks wild-eyed, sweaty, and overwhelmed.
“I need a reduction team on the leg!” Luke screams. “And somebody hang O-Neg for the driver! Where is my resident or an intern? Where is Jenkins?”
“Jenkins is hyperventilating in the hallway!” I announce, stepping up to the teenage girl. “I’ve got the reduction. You take the driver.”
Luke’s head snaps up.
He sees me. He sees the charcoal suit trousers. He sees the rolled-up sleeves. He sees the gold cufflinks I haven't had time to take off.
For a second, the shockfreezes him.
“Preston?” he breathes. “You… you’re supposed to be upstairs. You’re supposed to be signing papers.”
“The pen ran out of ink,” I lie, grabbing the girl’s ankle. “And the view was boring. Traction on three?”
“Get out,” Luke snaps, his shock turning instantly to anger. “I don't need tourists down here, York. Go back to your sparkling water.”
“I’m not a tourist!” I snap back. “And this leg is losing circulation. Are you going to argue with me, or are we going to set this bone?”
Luke glares at me. The girl whimpers.
“Fine,” Luke hisses. “On three. One. Two. Three.”
We pull.CRACK.The bone slides back into place. The girl screams and then sags with relief as the sedation hits.
“Pulse is back in the foot,” I confirm, checking the dorsalis pedis. “Splint it, nurse!”
I turn to the main event: The bus driver.
