“Shit. What supplies have we got?”
Fiz darts away, the dogs follow him, Sarge standing close by my side, jumping up on his hind legs constantly to nudge Caden’s face, barking and whimpering. He never wakes up.Eyelids don’t even flicker. I press my fingers to his neck and feel a drilling pulse. It’s too fast.
Fiz comes back with a duffle bag, but the two dogs don’t. Must have locked them away; too much distraction, we need to focus. I don’t think there’d be any chance of getting Sarge away from his best friend though.
Fiz unzips the duffle and hastily empties the supplies on the table above Caden’s head, then goes back to pressing on the oozing wound.
There are bandages, gauze, flannels, plasters, wipes, sterile liquid, needles and threads.
“Okay, shit.” My hands are shaking as I reach for a bottle.
I unscrew the lid and pour some on the gauze, my tremble making the alcohol go everywhere.
“Come on, buddy, wake up,” Fiz gently coaxes, his voice thick and shaky.
I try not to listen, try not to let the words penetrate, and focus on cleaning his stomach. The gash is huge, at least three inches. I don’t know if anything’s damaged inside. We’re way out of our depth here.
“He needs to go to hospital,” I say, wiping the wound as best I can. “We don’t know if there’s internal bleeding, anything ruptured, we’re not doctors.”
“He’s not going to a fucking hospital. And Higgins can’t get here yet, I called. Just fix him now and Doc will get here later,” Fiz spits in a tone hard enough to tell me there’s no arguing with him. “But we’re not waiting. He’ll bleed out.”
“Exactly. He needs a blood transfusion. Look at the blood he’s lost already.”
Fiz’s eyes widen with realisation. “We have blood.” He darts for the door. “Stay here.”
He hasn’t given me much of a fucking choice, has he?
I stare down at Caden while I clean the wound and the surrounding skin and wait. I don’t know much, but I know if there’s no spouting, it’s a good sign. He’s lost a lot already, but the blood seeping from his stomach has slowed. His skin has gone almost translucent. If there’s no more bleeding and we have blood to give him, he might make it.
I squeeze my eyes shut. How do I fucking know if that’s good enough?
Why can’t Alfie be here right now? He’d know what to do.
“What are you doing?” Fiz says from behind me, scaring the life out of me.
“Look,” I point to Caden’s stomach, “no more bleeding. It’s good. I think.”
“Okay, well, can you stop fucking staring and stitch the fucking hole in his gut then, please? Or do we hook him up to this first?”
I look behind me and see he is indeed holding a hospital drip bag full of blood, a long tube, and a sterile pack with a needle in it.
“Why do you even have this?”
“Clearly for emergencies like this. Now what do we do first?”
I look back at Caden, the pallid hue of his skin, the rapid rhythm of his chest. “Blood,” I say, “we do the blood first.”
“Okay, great. Here.” Fiz shoves the bag in front of me.
I look at the instruments in horror. “I can’t, you do it.”
“I can’t poke him with a needle. You do it.” He extends the stuff closer to me.
“Neither can I! You do it!”
“No, you don’t understand.” Fiz has a wildness in his eyes. “I can’t.”
He’s more invested in the patient than I am, the stakes are higher for him if he messes up. But then if I mess it up, Fiz will murder me in a heartbeat. He holds the power here. Fuck’ssake. I practically growl at him as I take the equipment from his hands.
