Hurt Runs Within, page 10
1300hrs
Monday December 17, 2012
Aldershot Garrison, Medical Administration Wing
Mackay was lucky. The roads inside the garrison were quiet. There was no other traffic coming in from behind or in front. He’d hit the verge, taken the Hilux up the sidewalk, then taken out a waste bin before Cross grabbed the wheel. Lucky again Mackay’s foot had slipped off the accelerator, Cross was able to hold the handbrake and steering wheel before shuddering the Hilux to a stop, parking it streetside tight against the kerb.
Mackay was sound asleep in the driver’s seat. Unresponsive. Still breathing, but totally unconscious. Despite Cross’s vocal attempts to shout him awake, shake him, even prodding her thumb inside his ear, Mackay was gone. And he didn’t look good. Cross could raise the booking issue with the physical training instructors later, this needed to be squared away immediately.
Cross killed the engine, buzzed the window down and looked out for help. Which came in less than a minute. A soldier in uniform twenty metres ahead was walking from an administration block to her left, across the road towards a parking lot to her right. Male, tall and thin, moving slow and slouched. His rank wasn’t visible from Cross’s position, but from his stooped form and waif torso, she pegged him as a private. His physicality looked less than mature, almost childlike. Not lean in an athletic kind of way, just thin. Plain old skinny. Could have had two of him walking inside his uniform.
Cross stuck her head out the window.
‘Soldier! Double in, I need your help.’
The kid bolted upright, straighter than the definition of vertical. He checked his peripherals for any danger, then seeing all was clear he looked over at the misplaced Hilux. Cross could see the mechanisms of thought flicker and spark, so she hurried him along.
‘Yes you. March over here like fucking now. Left, right, left.’
The soldier moved. As best as his gamer-bod could, arriving at Cross’s side of the vehicle breathless and wide-eyed. A private. She was right. Young, not even twenty years old. Red cheeks, earnest blue eyes. Innocent. Soft. Uncorrupted.
‘I need you to get in the car and drive this vehicle up to the medical centre,’ said Cross.
‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ said the private, ‘but my orders are to head back to our unit ASAP, we’ve got exams to prepare for.’
Cross leaned back in her chair, clearing the view of the driver’s seat with Mackay slumped over, his forehead resting on the horn, the seatbelt catching the rest of his body from collapsing into the footwell.
‘Step closer, Private,’ said Cross.
The soldier moved up to the door and peered inside.
‘Oh shit, he okay?’ he said.
‘No, and I need you to take over and drive. I don’t know how bad he actually is. The medical centre is only two streets up ahead.’
‘You want me to drive?’
‘If I have to ask you a third time, we’re going to have a real fucking problem.’
Cross hated making her disability an obvious point, but the kid didn’t know, and right now he needed to, if they were going to get anywhere.
‘Look down,’ said Cross.
The kid seemed confused. Cross could see the uncertainties bouncing around in his head. His brow narrowed, his eyes focused in on Cross’s expression, his own innate thought patterns processing her request.
‘At my legs, Private, I’m an amputee. I can’t drive. So, get the fuck in. Spit-spot.’
The kid finally looked down. He saw the denim jeans first, then the fold in the cloth with nothing protruding out of it.
‘Shit. So sorry,’ said the kid.
‘Reef his chair back and sit on him to drive. Looks like he won’t feel a thing.’
‘I got you.’
‘Thank fuck,’ said Cross.
The kid bolted around the front of the Hilux, opened Mackay’s door and found the handle to adjust the seat’s sliding mechanism. He pulled it further back, then took a moment to consider how he was going to manage the driving part. Mackay’s thighs were too big to sit between, so he figured he’d have to sit on top. Which he did, then closed the door and turned the key.
‘You know the way to the medical centre?’ asked Cross.
‘It’s basically my second home,’ he said. ‘Spend plenty hours in there.’
The private pulled away from the kerb and drove on down the narrow road.
‘You got allergies? Always sick or something?’ said Cross.
‘No, I’m in the medical corps.’
‘Well that makes sense. Was just considering how thin you are. Perhaps you get ordered there to take in extra supplements. Keep you alive or straighten that back of yours.’
‘You should see my parents, ma’am. Both tall and thin. Mum’s a dance instructor and Dad played basketball, but we prosper.’
The private turned left at a T-junction, maintaining balance on Mackay’s legs as they rounded the bend. He then took another left a hundred metres further where the signage for the medical centre stood fixed in a grassy bed out front of a huge brick building.
‘Park in the disabled. Close as you can,’ said Cross.
The private obliged, slotting the Hilux into the closest disabled bay next to a zebra crossing, adjacent to the building’s entrance.
‘Now I’m going to need you to get my chair from the backseat.’
The private held his breath, contemplating what to respond with. Making sure whatever he was going to say next would come out the right way.
‘If I may, ma’am, I want to help,’ he said. ‘I’m guessing you need someone from emergency, or one of the doctors or nurses. I can go in and call for help? I know plenty of the crew inside. Tell me who you need to see.’
‘Good initiative, son,’ said Cross. ‘Do you know Captain Andersen?’
The private thought on it. ‘No,’ he said. ‘That name is off my radar.’
‘He is for most,’ said Cross. ‘Unless you’ve been deployed and come back missing stuff. He’s a battlefield surgeon. Grab my chair, okay?’
The private got off Mackay and moved to the back of the Hilux. He pulled out Cross’s wheelchair and pushed it towards the passenger door, holding it steady while she scaled down.
Cross said, ‘Now you stay here with him and make sure he keeps breathing. This is a chin up, back straight kind of moment. You are not a duck’s vagina. What’s your name?’
‘Stafford, ma’am.’
‘Stafford. He’s in a bad way, okay. If his head drops further, or you hear wheezy, raspy noises, tilt him up and open his airway, like I’m sure you’ve been taught. Just make sure he keeps breathing. I’ll head inside and get the right person. Don’t fuck this up.’
The private nodded. He walked around to the driver’s door and watched over Mackay. On guard, eyes on, with good form, ready to impress.
Cross scooted herself over the zebra crossing, through the automated glass doors and into the front foyer. As a regular attendee over the last few years, she knew the halls, wards, and corridors well. She passed main reception, radiology, renal, oncology and headed straight for the orthopaedics nurse station. A regular face was on. Not regular in a way you’re happy to see and chew the fat with, but regular for familiar communication only. A face with a voice. She was competent, but there was less than zero friendship between the two. Nurse Henry. Late twenties with an atypical, no-nonsense attitude. Brunette locks in a tidy bun, mild scowl, large in the chest.
‘Is Captain Andersen in?’ asked Cross.
Henry looked up from her keyboard and paused.
‘Nice to see you too, Renee,’ said the nurse.
‘Well?’
‘He is, but he’s busy.’ A reflex response. Automatic. The familiar Henry trait was in good form. Terse, flat, cold.
Cross clenched her jaw and breathed out. ‘Busy with a patient, busy on a break having tea and scones, busy being a sex pest or whatever else “busy” means around here? Don’t cock about, this is vital.’
‘Pardon me?’ Henry grew an inch in her posture. Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushed.
‘Pardon you nothing,’ said Cross. ‘This isn’t the time for back and forth. I need him now, Henry. So, calm your tits and listen the fuck in.’
A second and third nurse busy filing and typing at the station stopped mid-task and looked over. Noticing who Henry was talking to, they both rolled their eyes then turned back to whatever they were doing.
‘I have an emergency in the car park,’ said Cross. ‘Sitting in a blue Hilux in the disabled bay. Mackay Connolly. He’s unconscious but still breathing. There’s zero response. I know you know him.’
Nurse Henry’s scowl grew, then locked in place. The other two glanced back again at the mention of Mackay.
‘Then why didn’t you go to emergency, Renee?’ Henry said through gritted teeth.
‘Because, luv, I’m coming right to the source,’ said Cross. ‘Emergency don’t know my boy out there, and if he dies in that car because you’re stalling me with that face, it’s going to be on you. Get Andersen now.’
Cross kept eyes on Henry and wrapped her fingernails along the desk. Henry closed her eyes for a long second, then picked up the phone and hit three buttons – presumably the intra-medical line, direct to Andersen’s office.
‘Sir, I have a Renee Cross here stating there’s an emergency with a Mackay Connolly,’ said Henry. ‘Apparently he’s non-responsive in the car park.’
Cross raised an expressionless smile. Lips only, no eyes. Then she turned and began speed-wheeling her way back outside.
Captain Andersen arrived alongside Cross, just as she exited the automated doors. He wore a navy-blue sweater, tie, and dress pants. Formal. Professional. He slowed from quick jog to brisk walk. Behind the two of them, two male medics, one short, one average height, hustled a stretcher out the door and over the zebracrossing. They were Asian. Which was not unusual, considering Britain’s multicultural society. Maybe Japanese, maybe Korean. Cross couldn’t tell. She didn’t catch their name badges. The stretcher made a crass racket as it bustled along, its little rubber stretcher-wheels chattering in protest as they danced unevenly across the tarmac to the Hilux. Cross wheeled in behind Stafford, still on guard, still at ease. His back had slouched a little more, but he couldn’t be faulted for standing at the ready.
‘He still alive, Private?’ said Cross.
‘Still breathing, ma’am. No change.’
‘Good work. You’re not made of soy after all. Now hang about, get into the back seat, and monitor his head and shoulders while these two get him onto the stretcher. It’ll be a three-man job.’
Stafford moved.
The two medics replaced Stafford’s position, easing the stretcher parallel to the driver’s door. Captain Andersen stayed back with Cross. Even from her lower position in her chair she could smell coffee on his breath. She also saw tiny morsels of crumbs sitting just below the bud of his tie and the ‘v’ of his sweater. A cake or a biscuit. Maybe both. Cross gathered he’d been on his lunch break, then thought about Nurse Henry and her stalling. She made a mental note.
‘Has he been taking his medication?’ asked Andersen.
‘No idea, sir,’ said cross. ‘Our chats never got that far.’
The taller medic undid Mackay’s seat belt and eased him down first, working him like a contortionist. The shorter medic held Mackay’s body as it leaned onto the stretcher while Stafford supported Mackay’s head gingerly from behind. Once Mackay was sorted, Stafford jumped out of the cab and looked at Cross with a what now expression.
‘You’re done here, Oppo,’ said Cross. ‘Dismissed. Thanks for your help.’
‘Oppo?’
‘Means fellow soldier.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
‘If anyone has any issue with your tardiness, tell them you were with ex-Sergeant Cross and Captain Andersen, saving a life.’
‘Ma’am,’ said Stafford, and marched off in quick time.
1315hrs
Monday December 17, 2012
Aldershot Garrison, Medical Administration Wing
Cross and Andersen followed the two medics with Andersen grabbing Cross’s rear push bars and stepping out in long strides behind them.
‘Isolation ward, quarantine room four,’ said Andersen.
‘Sir,’ replied the two medics as they moved the stretcher through the automated doors.
Andersen said, ‘You still running those boxing classes, Cross? Here at the garrison?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything, sir?’ said Cross.
‘Mackay shouldn’t be sparring. Not with his ribs. Not yet.’
‘He’s been boxing, but not sparring, thanks. I’m not a useless tit you know. I know about his surgery, and I know how to train my guys back from trauma. You remember my lack of legs? I instruct from experience.’
‘Sorry, Cross, you’re right,’ said Andersen. ‘I should give you more credit. You’re a good trainer, but you only know half his story. I’ll ask a better question. Has he exerted himself physically then? In the last hour or so?’
‘Yes, he has. And it wasn’t boxing. We were at the Bed and Bath in town. He just ran down a couple of getaway shoplifters on a fucking motorbike doing the town speed limit.’
Captain Andersen slowed his stride and shot a hard glance down at Cross. Part bewildered, part confused, part impressed.
‘Okay,’ said Andersen.
‘Okay, what,’ said Cross. ‘What does that mean?’
‘As in okay, that makes sense.’
‘Makes sense to you only.’
‘Correct. Me and about three others. He’s had a special operation, which I’m sure you’ve heard about, but with a special thermoplastic not used before. He’s our first-timer.’
Andersen strode out again, wheeling Cross faster, increasing pace to keep up behind the medics.
‘If he’s physically exerted himself to that extent,’ said Andersen, ‘maintaining a full sprint reaching… how fast? How many miles an hour?’
‘They think it was thirty,’ said Cross. ‘It’ll be on the news this evening no doubt, or at least tomorrow’s paper.’
‘Shit.’
‘Shit? Like, bad news shit?’
‘Didn’t expect this level of accelerated response.’
‘That’s good in my book.’
‘That’s good in any book. World, Olympic, and Guinness. People will be asking questions.’
The two medics, the stretcher, Andersen and Cross passed radiology, turned and rounded oncology, then stood in front of a set of locked double doors. Isolation Ward. Andersen pulled a swipe card and let them all through.
‘We’re going to have to keep a tight lid on this,’ said Andersen. ‘And tight-lipped. How many people do you think actually watched him run?’
‘Witnesses?’
‘Yes.’
‘No idea. Maybe four or five for certain. But I wasn’t there. That’s only from what I know when the police arrived and took witness statements. The roads weren’t that busy initially, but afterwards, there was a crowd.’
‘Shit.’
‘You’ll have to ask him when he wakes up. He will wake up, right?’
‘He will, big time. Don’t worry.’
The two medics moved Mackay from the stretcher to the hospital bed.
‘Get a drip ready,’ said Andersen. ‘The morphine and the two bottles from the cabinet. He’ll need the synthetic marrow assimilation solution. It’s marked as the clear liquid, and the synthetic liquid-fibre polymer is marked as blue.’
Andersen took a thermometer, placing it inside Mackay’s mouth under his tongue. He let it sit until it beeped. Forty-one degrees Celsius. High, but not alarmingly.
The medics removed their multi-patterned top jackets down to their olive drab T-shirts. Like a well-greased machine, they moved to the sink and washed their hands. Fingertips to elbow. First the shorter medic, then the taller, then Andersen following suit. Cross watched. Mackay drew air slowly.
‘Aren’t the nurses normally supposed to be helping with all of this?’ said Cross.
‘Normally, yes. But they don’t know Mackay’s trauma, and I don’t want them to know. These two have been on deployment with me. They worked on Mackay in Kandahar. They’re as good as any nurse in this garrison and know more about battlefield trauma than most.’
The shorter medic moved to a shelf with a pile of surgical gowns, pulled one, then walked in front of Andersen, threaded his arms through the front, then tied the lacing off at the back.
‘How well do you know him?’ Andersen asked Cross.
‘Mackay? Only the last month. Made a connection because of our ordeals in the desert, plus our surgeries and life on tour. He needed a friend.’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay?’
‘I guess he’s found one. And you can be here and help him understand what I’m going to tell him when he wakes up.’
‘Which is?’
‘You can wait for that too. Take this whatever way you want, but his collapse was a possibility that we chanced happening.’
‘What do you mean chanced happening?’
‘It’s not like it was life-threatening.’
Somewhere beneath the surface, Cross was starting to sense some bullshit. Her face perked from annoyed to pissed off.
