Jill pulled out her paramedic shears and cut off Brad’s T-shirt. Her jaw clenched when she saw a half-dozen pairs of red circles smaller than a dime on Brad’s chest and stomach, along with an assortment of bruises. She listened to his lungs with her stethoscope. There was barely any air movement. She slid her hands over his ribs—they were intact. She checked his arms for any signs of injections—none.
Sharma set the spine board down next to Brad. They wrapped him in blankets and placed hot packs on his armpits, groin, and neck. They slid him onto the spine board and attached straps. With the cops, they lifted Brad onto the stretcher and raced to the ambulance.
Sirens blared as the ambulance raced through downtown toward the Foothills Hospital. Jill hung on to the roof rail as the ambulance swayed with each bump and turn. Briscoe hadn’t given them a choice. They had a police escort and had a cop driving. She glanced up at Sharma. “I can’t get a secure airway. His jaw won’t move. Either it’s dislocated or broken. His nose is full of dried blood. I tried to clean it out but it’s like concrete.”
“Can you get an airway past his teeth?” Sharma started a second IV line.
“Nope.”
“All righty. Get ready for a surgical cricothyroidotomy.”
Jill reached into a cupboard and pulled out a sealed bag. She ripped it open and carefully opened the wrap. Everything she needed to cut into Brad’s trachea and open his airway was in the kit. She licked her dry lips as she mentally went through the process. She’d never done a cric on a person. Her training had been on pig tracheas in a lab.
She slid the stethoscope earpieces into her ears and listened to Brad’s breathing. With all the surrounding noise, it was difficult to hear. She filtered out all other sounds and concentrated on Brad’s lung sounds. They were faint. She glanced at the cardiac monitor as the heart rate increased to over one hundred and fifty.
“I can barely hear his respirations. His heart rate is too high. He’s hypoxic.”
Sharma nodded and leaned toward the driver. “I need you to slow down and keep it smooth.” He slid into the seat at Brad’s head and held an oxygen mask in place. He glanced at Jill and nodded.
Jill cleaned Brad’s neck with an alcohol swab and then Betadine solution. She slid on surgical gloves and selected a scalpel. She slid a gloved finger down the middle of Brad’s airway, over the Adam’s apple to the notch just below.
With two fingers, she tightened the skin and secured the trachea. She made a horizontal incision about an inch across. Blood oozed from the cut. She held the trachea in place with one hand and wiped the blood with gauze in the other hand. Then she inserted hemostats into the incision and opened them, creating a hole in the trachea.
Sharma handed her an endotracheal tube, which she inserted through the hole in Brad’s neck. Sharma inflated the bulb on the end of the tube, then secured it in place with tape. Jill attached the bag-mask to the endotracheal and squeezed. Brad’s chest rose, then fell. She ventilated a dozen times, then glanced at Steele, who was sitting at Brad’s head in the airway seat. Color had drained from his face and beads of sweat ran across his forehead.
Jill shook his shoulder. “I need you to take over. You can do this.”
Chapter Seventy-Five
Annie paced the hall by the triage desk in the emergency department. No one likes hospitals, but she was tiring of waiting to find out if someone she loved was dead or alive. And if alive, how badly hurt. It was less than two months ago that Charlie was severely injured in a helicopter crash. Brad had comforted her while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. This time, it was Brad she waited for.
She heard the swoosh of the electric doors and the rush of icy air. She spun toward the door. Sadie raced to her. “Any word?”
Annie shook her head. They stared at each other for a moment, then Annie pulled Sadie into her arms. “I’m so scared. I can’t take this.”
Sadie held her close. “It won’t be long. The ambulance is on its way.”
“How do you know?”
Sadie stepped back from Annie. “We scanned the police and EMS channels.”
“Did they say how he is?”
Sadie shook her head.
Annie stared. “You know something.”
“They … they’re giving the ambulance a police escort.”
“Oh my god.” Annie’s hands flew to her mouth. “That’s bad. That’s terrible.”
Sadie grabbed Annie. “Maybe. You know how cops are. Get a laceration and they to go lights and siren to the hospital. I’m sure it’s more courtesy than anything serious.”
“Really?”
Sadie’s jaw was clenched. Annie knew Sadie was barely holding on. Each were trying to be stronger for the other. This time Annie put her arms around Sadie and guided her to the waiting room. “We can watch for the ambulance from here.”
The steady thrum of activity in the emergency department was interrupted by the sounds of sirens in the distance. Quiet at first, then louder and seemingly more urgent. Sadie and Annie stood at the entrance, staring out the window. Only sirens. Several cruisers blocked the intersection at Twenty-Ninth Street at the entrance to the hospital grounds. Then the first police cruiser swung off Twenty-Ninth Street toward the emergency entrance. The cruiser caught air as it flew over a speed bump. The ambulance, close behind, crossed the speed bump at a reasonable speed.
The speaker in the emergency department announced, “EMS arrival with critical patient. Trauma team to bed one.”
Annie’s knees weakened. Sadie grabbed her arm and held her upright, then they stumbled toward the ambulance entrance. They couldn’t get close for the police officers, paramedics, and hospital staff crowding around the door.
The doors opened and Briscoe strode through. “Get the hell out of the way. Let EMS through.” Anyone he felt was
