Deviant

Chapter 4

DEVIANT

Callie Hart

Copyright © 2014 Callie Hart

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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places and characters are figments of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. The author recognises the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products and works mentioned within this work.

CHAPTER FOUR

 

 

SLOANE

"Ten CCs of epinephrine. Call ahead to the OR, let them know we're coming up."

"Yeah, I...I got it."

I look up and the skinny intern with the bad haircut is still standing there, staring at the guy bleeding out on the gurney in front of him. The guy I'm buried wrist deep inside. "What are you waiting for? RUN!"

The fresh intake of interns is always a nightmare. They're so green they're absolutely no use to anyone, and yet in between people severing their limbs in car crashes, people getting shot, and the world falling down around our heads, we are supposed to teach them how to fix people. I'm supposed to teach them, which is insane because I've only just learned how to do all of this myself.

"He's crashing, doctor. Adrenaline?" the nurse asks. Adrenaline is the last thing this guy needs. His heart is already near spent as it is. What he needs is the gaping hole in his stomach to be repaired. God knows how many of his internal organs are shredded in there. I'm not going to know until I can open him up properly and clear out all of the blood. Right now, I can't tell a damn thing other than the fact that this guy is going to die unless we do something. And soon.

"Let's just get him in the elevator," I tell the female nurse. She nods, unlocks the gurney wheels, and is barking orders at her team without even blinking. Grace is a pro. She'd probably be able to save this guy all on her own if she had to. Half the nurses in this hospital probably could if push came to shove. They're all massively undervalued, underpaid, and overworked.

Bodies hustle as we guide the gurney to the elevator, my hands still lodged inside the patient. I'm bouncing on the balls of my feet while we watch the numbers count down. I'm not fazed by elevators anymore; too many trips like this have desensitized me to the cramped space. The hospital's only four stories high and yet it seems to take an eternity for the damn doors to slide open. Eventually they part and then we're racing against time again.

"Inside, inside! Move!" The intern I sent to warn the OR, Mikey, I think he's called, makes it just in time to catch the doors. "They know we're coming?"