“He’s on oxygen. He’s got a lung full of smoke. Now, please—”
“I’m going with you,” Kathleen said determinedly, even as she gazed down into Erik’s waxen, still—too still—face.
“No way.” The other paramedic spoke for the first time. “We’ve got injured people who need medical attention. Get out of the way.”
Obediently, she stepped back and allowed them to place Erik in the back of the ambulance. One of the men climbed in behind the stretcher and slammed the door, obliterating her view.
What if Erik had internal injuries that weren’t visible? Internal bleeding? Hemorrhages!
The ambulance’s motor started and she ran around to the driver’s side. Beating on the window, she shouted, “Where are you taking him?”
“St. Edward’s” the paramedic shouted as he drove away. “Just follow the sirens.”
* * *
St. Edward’s Mercy Medical Center was only about a five-minute drive from the airport. Kathleen followed the wailing ambulances with their grim cargoes into the emergency entrance of the modern medical complex.
She watched the ambulance Erik was in as it pulled up to the covered porte cochere and unloaded the stretchers it was carrying. She parked his Blazer, automatically locking it securely as he had directed her to, and scrambled up the incline to the automatic doors. Kathleen had just run through them when she saw Erik being wheeled into one of the treatment rooms with a crew of medical personnel following. She was glad to see that the hospital was manned with a disaster team adequate to handle an emergency like this.
Kathleen knew it was useless to attempt to follow Erik, so she nervously sat down on one of the uncomfortable chairs in the colorless, cold waiting room.
And she prayed.
She was certain that St. Edward’s would have a chapel, but for some reason, she didn’t feel the need to seek its solace. She wanted to remain as close to Erik as she could. Her faith had always been deep and abiding and she had called on it frequently in her life. Now was one of those times, and she bargained with God for Erik’s life, promising circumspection, anything, in the way people are wont to pray in times of crisis.
The next few hours passed in a blur of confusion, heartache and fear. Each time someone would come out of or go into the room where Erik was, Kathleen would hasten to them, her eyes pleading for information, but she was either brusquely pushed aside or given a compassionate look which told her nothing. Relatives of the most unfortunate crash victims were summoned into rooms where crying and anguish could be heard in bone-chilling volume.
Telephones rang, patients with minor injuries came and went in an endless parade, elevator doors whished open and whirred closed, doctors and nurses rushed about and Kathleen was oblivious to it all. Her eyes remained glued to the door behind which Erik might be fighting for his life. If only she could see him, maybe her presence would make a difference in his condition. Could she imbue him with enough strength to pull him out of danger?
When she didn’t think she could stand it any longer, she crossed to the crescent-shaped reception desk and cleared her throat loudly to attract the attention of the nurse who was poring over a chart.
“Yes?” The nurse looked up at Kathleen.
“Miss—” Kathleen glanced down at the name tag pinned to the white polyester uniform. She corrected herself. “Mrs. Prather? Could you… would… Mr. Gudjonsen… He was brought in from the airport. Could you tell me something, anything, of his condition? Please.”
“Are you a relative?” Mrs. Prather asked peremptorily.
Kathleen was tempted to lie, but she couldn’t and she didn’t think the worldly-wise Mrs. Prather would believe her anyway. She looked down at the gray tile floor and said quietly, “No. We’re… uh—”
“I think I understand,” Mrs. Prather said. Kathleen jerked her head upward and looked into the gray-blue eyes that had softened slightly. For some reason, this young woman with the emerald eyes, auburn hair and torn clothes had touched a soft spot in Mrs. Prather’s heart. “I’ll see what I can do.” She turned on silent, rubber-soled feet, and then said over her shoulder, “I’ll bring you back some antiseptic for your hands, too.”
Kathleen glanced down at her hands and for the first time saw that they were purple with bruises and bleeding from numerous abrasions. She had no fingernails, only bloody stubs. When had that happened? When she looked up again, Mrs. Prather was gone.
Anxiously, she waited at the desk, counting the number of times the elevator door opened and closed.
“Thank you, I’m fine,” she answered in monosyllabic words when another nurse i
nquired if she could be of assistance.
Finally, Mrs. Prather bustled through a swinging door and came to the front of the desk, handing Kathleen a square of gauze with some smelly, yellow lotion in its center.
“Wipe your hands with this. It’ll burn like hell, but you need to clean those cuts out.”
“Erik?” Kathleen asked in desperation.
“He’s been X-rayed and examined carefully. They see no signs of internal injuries or broken bones.”
“Thank God,” Kathleen whispered, and shut her eyes against the wave of dizziness that swept over her.