Chapter 5 - Trauma Bay 1
The doors of St. Jude's Emergency Department blew open with a loud metallic crash.
Medical staff scrambled out of the way as Russell Morrison ran through the lobby, flanked by Detective Miller and two hospital security officers. Russell’s wool coat was soaked in mud, his hospital gown visible underneath, but his grip on the two children was like iron.
Dr. Alan Vance was waiting in Trauma Bay 1 with a team of six pediatric trauma nurses and respiratory therapists.
"On the table! Right here, Russ!" Alan ordered, pointing to the stainless steel warming gurney in the center of the room.
Russell set Tommy down onto the warm heated pad. The medical team moved instantly with mechanical precision—scissors cutting away the wet grey blanket, warm oxygen masks placed over the baby’s face, core-temperature warming lines inserted into his tiny veins.
"Core temp is eighty-nine degrees!" a nurse yelled. "We have severe respiratory distress! Administering warm saline now!"
In the corner of the room, Sylvie stood trembling.
A nurse had wrapped a heated wool blanket around her shoulders, but Sylvie refused to sit down. Her bare feet left small, wet patches on the clean white floor tiles. Her dark green eyes were fixed entirely on her baby brother as four adults hovered over his tiny body.
Russell dropped to his knees beside her. He didn't care about his own heart; he didn't care about the medical alarms buzzing around them. He took her small, freezing hands into his own massive, warm palms.
"They're going to help him, Sylvie," Russell told her, his voice soft, steady, and filled with a deep, absolute conviction. "The best doctors in the city are working on him right now. He is going to be okay."
Sylvie looked down at her hands inside his. Her small fingers were covered in dirt, her nails chipped, while his were clean and strong.
"Did I do it right?" she asked quietly, her voice trembling. "At the food place?"
Russell felt a tear run down his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw. "You did it perfectly, sweet girl. You saved my life. You gave me another chance."
"Tom the manager said I was dirty," she whispered, looking down at her bare feet. "He said poor people aren't allowed inside."
Russell’s jaw tightened, a cold, unyielding promise settling deep into his soul.
"Tom was wrong," Russell said, reaching out to gently brush a strand of wet blond hair away from her face. "Tom is going to learn that he was very, very wrong. You belong anywhere you want to be, Sylvie. You belong here."
"Pulse rate rising!" a pediatric nurse called out from the gurney. "Core temp ninety-four degrees! He’s breathing on his own!"
A sharp, loud, indignant cry echoed through Trauma Bay 1.
Tommy was kicking his small legs against the warming mattress, his face turning a bright, healthy red as his lungs filled with warm air.
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Sylvie let out a small, gasping breath, her knees giving out completely.
Russell caught her before she hit the floor, lifting her into his lap, wrapping the warm blanket around both of them as she finally let go, burying her wet face in his shoulder and weeping tears of pure, overwhelming relief.
