Chistmas In Manhattan Collection. Alison Roberts
Читать онлайн книгу.
come to me,” he pleaded, pushing against the bedpost again to see if it would move. Nope. The piece was solid, low to the floor, and heavy as hell.
He and Roger could stand, use their weight against the frame to see if they could shift it, and pray Keeley got out of the way if they did manage to move the massive piece of furniture.
She was crying, but she scooted forward a little, then back to where she’d been against the exterior wall.
Precious seconds were ticking by. Despite his protective gear, Jude could feel the worsening heat.
Instincts kicking in that said bad was about to get a whole lot worse if he didn’t get her and get her now.
“I know it’s scary, Keeley, but you’re going to have to crawl to me so I can pull you to safety.”
That was when she moved.
Finally.
“Just a little closer, Keeley.” He reached as far as he could beneath the bed. “Just a little closer.”
Then her hand touched his glove.
“That’s it, Keeley. Just a little more.”
His hand closed around her wrist and he pulled her to him.
“I’ve got her.”
He wrapped his arms around her, just as a window burst out on the exterior wall.
Thank God. An exit.
No doubt the aerial truck platform was just outside the window and some of his guys were waiting to pull Roger, Keeley, and him through to safety.
Thank God.
“Don’t leave me,” the girl repeated, clinging tightly to him and then going limp in his arms.
“Never,” he promised again, praying he’d not been too late.
* * *
Just as it had every day since the brown-out a couple of weeks before, the emergency room was hopping and had been all day. Sarah had run from one patient to the next with very little down time. Everything from having slipped due to ice to a gunshot wound had come through the doors.
Currently, she was examining a fifty-seven-year-old white male with chest pain and a history of triple bypass three years previously. The man admitted to smoking a pack a day for the past thirty years, drinking a pint a day, wasn’t bothering to take his prescribed blood pressure and cholesterol medications, and was a good hundred pounds overweight. He had been a heart attack waiting to happen.
“Has your chest pain eased up, Mr. Brown?” she asked the clammy-looking man as she scanned back over the notes the nurse had made upon his arrival. He should have come by ambulance, but he’d walked into the emergency room.
“It has some,” he said, squinting at her as if the light bothered his eyes. “But it’s been hurting off and on for two days. This evening it got a lot worse and I couldn’t catch my breath. This may just be another off spell.”
His cardiac enzymes were running stat in the lab and his telemetry was showing a slight T-wave abnormality. She’d started him on a nitroglycerin drip and had called to have the cardiac cath lab readied.
“Has the shortness of breath gotten better since you started on the IV meds and oxygen?”
Although he still looked sweaty and pale, he nodded. “I am breathing easier.”
If that labored mess was easier, she’d been right to call Cardiology. If the guy wasn’t having a myocardial infarction, he was on the verge of a major cardiac event. She was sure of it.
“Hey, Sarah, we have incoming. House fire. Multiple victims. Most minor. One serious.”
She cut her gaze toward the nurse who’d leaned into the emergency room bay. “Thanks, Shelley.”
Sarah fought wincing. Burns, smoke inhalation, and asphyxiation were all patients who gave Sarah nightmares. A few times during residency she’d gone home and wept at the absolute horribleness she’d witnessed. And she was seeing burn victims after the paramedics had done some clean-up.
She took a deep breath and turned back to her patient. “Mr. Brown, Dr. Andrews is on his way. He’s going to take you to the cardiac lab to check your heart further by doing an arteriogram. I don’t like how your EKG looks.”
The man grimaced. “I had one of those a few years ago, after my bypass. They found some more blockages.”
Not surprised, Sarah nodded, then turned as, on cue, Dr. Andrews stepped into the bay.
“Mr. Brown, this is Dr. Andrews.” She heard a commotion outside the bay and knew the incoming fire victims had arrived. She nodded at the cardiologist, then at her patient. “I’m leaving you in capable hands.”
With that she rushed to help, but came to an abrupt stop at what she saw when she stepped outside the bay.
The paramedics were rushing in a stretcher with an unconscious child wearing a facemask delivering oxygen. Keeping up with the stretcher, his dark brown hair matted to his head from sweat, dirt, and who knew what, was none other than her neighbor, talking to the little girl as if she were awake and hearing every word while he held onto her arm with his grimy hand.
He wore an NYFD uniform and looked like he’d just stepped out of a quick trip to hell.
SARAH’S CAREFREE, WOMANIZING, towel-wearing neighbor worked for the fire department?
So much for her male escort theory.
Mentally willing her paralysis away, she rushed to where the paramedics were rolling the unconscious girl and took a quick report.
“She was conscious when NYFD got to her, but went out just before they got her out of the building,” the paramedic, Paul, informed while they rolled the girl into a bay. “She got a twenty-cc bolus of normal saline via her intraosseous line, and then at one hundred and fifty cc per hour.”
He’d given the precise amount infused thus far, as knowing exact fluid replacement was crucial in a burn victim—especially a pediatric one.
“Also, morphine for pain at point four cc per kilogram.” Paul grimaced. “Although lower than normal, her oxygen saturation has remained steady, going at one hundred percent, and there aren’t any face burns, so maybe she won’t need intubation, but we both know how quickly that can change.”
Intubating a child if she didn’t really need to was never something Sarah wanted to do. However, waiting until an urgent need arose wasn’t either. Edema from the smoke and toxins inhaled could make getting the tube into the airway almost impossible. If the girl’s lungs were swelling, the quicker she got intubated, the easier the feat would be accomplished.
Looking at the child, Sarah knew she’d be intubating.
“Gag reflex still present?”
“As of two minutes ago, yes,” Paul answered.
“Get a warming blanket on her stat,” Sarah told a nurse, disinfecting her hands and gloving up as she did so. “Were you able to get all her clothing removed?”
“Had to wet down the area on her right side, but otherwise her clothes came off fairly easily. Most of the burns are superficial, except that one and her hands.”
Sarah nodded, and lifted the thin sheet to run her gaze over the girl’s body. First-and second-degree burns on her arms and neck. A third-degree on her right torso and hands.
Sarah’s heart squeezed.
Injured children were her least favorite aspect of her job. Every protective instinct inside her cried out at the injustice of a hurt child.
“Sorry,