The door opened, and the bald man walked in. “Hey, I’m Andrew Coates. The agency sent me.”
Harper shuddered, hoping he wasn’t a dermatologist. Hopefully, he was as good as Thom Wagner. “I’m Harper, and this is Kodi Bush; somehow he’s been forgotten. Two entrance wounds. No exit wounds. I have two IVs going and O-neg blood. He needs a chest tube and an OR—yesterday,” Harper detailed in a calm manner.
He nodded and immediately began his own exam. “Kodi, we need to put a tube in your chest to help you breathe. Harper, I need a thirty French chest tube kit.”
Harper assisted as Andrew assuredly went to work. He moved fast, unable to wait for the anesthetic to fully take effect before Kodi tanked. Blood poured through the tube, and as Kodi’s blood pressure crashed, none of the alarm bells went off.
“Harper, hang two more units O-neg on the rapid infuser. Where’s the portable ultrasound and the thoracotomy tray?” Andrew started CPR.
“In the blue cabinet,” she said as she grabbed the blood.
The door opened, and Marta returned with an intern. “Go to the desk and tell them we need an OR,” Harper said. “Please tell me you’re an ER doc?” she pleaded, taking over CPR.
“Internist. Kodi, here comes a Hail Mary.” Andrew grabbed the intubation kit and placed a tube in Kodi’s trachea. Frothy blood immediately backed up the tube. He ordered the intern to suction and force air into Kodi’s lungs.
“Harper, it’s you and me. Stop CPR.” When he cut open Kodi’s chest, blood sloshed to the floor. He ran his hand into the chest. “I’ve got the aorta. Harper, hand me that clamp.” He lifted his chin.
“0411, mark,” Andrew noted the time. “Now we need an OR.” He massaged the heart.
The door flew open, revealing a tiny woman. “OR 2, let’s go.”
Harper sighed with relief. “Dr. Selma Bryant, this is Dr. Andrew Coates.”
Coates gave report as he signaled for one of the OR technicians to take over the cardiac massage. Another OR technician and the surgeon wheeled the stretcher out of the room.
Harper went about bagging up Kodi’s belongings and his work boots. Working to save her patient’s life, she never had a chance to check his boot for a phone number. When she picked up the left boot, the heel would not move. Next, she tried the right. When she pushed on it in a clockwise manner, it didn’t budge either. A memory struck her of air fresheners that screwed into their holders counterclockwise. The right heel budged, and a black laminated card with a white phone number fell into her hand. Harper bagged up the remaining belongings and stripped off her gloves.
At the wall phone, she asked for an outside line. After typing in the number, she waited for someone to pick up her call.
A tired male voice answered, “Brennan.”
“Oh god, Kip. Kodi Bush. He had me search for the card.” She panicked realizing Andrew was still in the room, and she probably shouldn’t have said what she did. “There’s no easy way to say this. I don’t have many details, but Kodi was shot twice tonight. He was just taken to the OR in critical condition. The ER doctor, Dr. Coates, is here with me.”
Kip calmed her enough to get her to pass the phone.
“He took one in the chest and one in the belly. But worse, there seems there was a delay in treatment. I’m getting the details, but Harper kept him alive long enough. I’ll call Hunt. You better call his folks. I’ll put Harper back on.”
“Hi,” she whispered, a shudder running through her when Kip told her to stay safe. “I promise.” She ended the call. “You work for Chase Care?” she asked Andrew.
“Until Monday, I work for the agency.” He smiled.
She put her hands on her hips. “You’re not an internist.”
“Nah, I’m a critical care intensivist. Don’t give me away. No one needs to know I’m a plant.” He walked out of the trauma room to grab the chart of his next patient.
* * *
Saturday,August 25th
Hurricane Greta T-4 days
The groupfrom Chase Security stood near a podium set up in front of the fire. A male reporter, microphone in hand, stood in front of a ladder truck, its water flowing onto the burning building. Kip reached out to the chief to help with sand delivery to squelch the phosphorus fire.
“We are waiting for Chief Jerry Kearney to come to the microphones at the site of a tragedy at Sommerstone Manor. The large wooden building, erected in 1902, was home to two hundred seventy-five patients and, at the time of the fire, forty-two staff. As you can see from our cameras, flames devoured the structure. Chief Kearney is about to speak.” The cameraman moved out of frame.
The chief stepped up to the microphone, his rugged face creased by wrinkles and years of firefighting, wearing a turnout coat and white helmet. “Good morning. At approximately 9:14 last night, a call came into central dispatch for fire on the fourth floor of Sommerstone Manor. Our first engine arrived at 9:17 PM to find fire breaking through the roof and through windows on the third and fourth floors.
“Immediately, additional alarms were sounded, and fire suppression and patient evacuation were commenced. Staff were already bravely attempting to get patients out. Fire and EMS from Orleans Parish, as well as adjoining areas, initiated triage and transport. The older building only had sprinkler systems in the kitchen and laundry, both located on the first floor.
