URGENT CARE

by Alexander, Hannah

  But this was no party and a tornado was on its way. Typically, Jessica took storm warnings lightly but tonight she felt a sense of approaching disaster and she didn’t know why. She’d learned to pay attention to those instincts.

  Chapter Two

  The wind above them roared while Archer hovered beside Kent Eckard. He prayed for Jessica. He prayed for the safety of the town. He especially prayed for the medical team as they worked over Kent’s mother in the stairwell. Ordinarily at a time like this Archer would be mingling with the others out in the hallway to reassure those who needed comfort but right now he was most aware of Kent’s tension.

  “She doesn’t look good,” Kent muttered. “What’re they doing to her?”

  “Still trying to prevent another seizure,” Archer said. “Don’t worry, Kent, Dr. Sheldon will do all he can to help your mother.”

  The ambulance attendants, Christy and Bill, had remained in the basement hallway assisting other hospital personnel with frightened patients.

  “Dr. Sheldon, we’re running low on mag sulfate.” The warm tones of Muriel Stark’s mature voice were strong enough to make a point but not alarming enough to further upset Kent. “Her blood pressure’s going back up. Let me just run upstairs to the department to get more—”

  “No,” Grant said, “I don’t want to risk it. Is the other crash cart restocked?”

  Archer heard Kent’s breathing deepen beside him.

  “Yes, Lauren always keeps them in good supply,” Muriel said. “Really, I don’t think there’s any danger for me up there. What do you want to bet they’ll be calling the all clear any minute?”

  Archer gave Kent’s arm a pat before stepping to Grant’s side. “Why don’t you let me go up and get the other crash cart if you think it has what you need, Dr. Sheldon. It won’t take that much time and you don’t need me here.”

  Grant hesitated for only a couple of seconds as he checked the blood-pressure reading. He met Archer’s gaze. “Be careful.”

  “Will do.”

  “The cart in the trauma room will work fine,” Muriel said.

  Archer turned to find Kent hovering behind him.

  “I can go with you.”

  Archer shook his head and placed his hand on Kent’s muscular left shoulder. “You need to be close to your mom if she calls for you.”

  Kent returned his attention to his mother.

  Archer took the stairs two at a time and emerged into a preternaturally vacant corridor that connected the emergency department to the rest of the hospital. The rain still fell, and the wind continued to howl beneath the roof of the ambulance bay, whipping and breaking tree limbs with frightening violence. It was unusually dark outside with no streetlights, no glowing Ambulance Entrance sign.

  Headlights flashed through the plate-glass windows in the emergency waiting room as he rushed toward the ER proper. He didn’t look to see who was pulling in. He would catch them as he came back out of the ER.

  ***

  He found the red crash cart—a waist-high contraption that looked like a tool chest with a defibrillator unit on top and an oxygen bottle on the side. He shoved it forward and guided it out of the department. He was guiding it through the waiting room when the seventeen-year-old Sheldon twins splashed in through the doors, their shoes squeaking on the tile and Brooke’s chatter mode in full working order.

  “For once I wish you’d trust me, Beau. I mean, don’t you think those spotters know what they’re doing?” Her hair was dripping, her clothing drenched.

  “Not with you distracting them.” Beau was no drier than his sister.

  “Evan will never forgive me when he gets back from his mom’s and finds out I actually had the chance to get a real tornado on film.” Brooke’s voice echoed through the empty waiting room. “Do you know what he could do with something—?”

  “Hey!” Archer aimed the cart toward the central corridor that led to the elevators. “We’re having a party downstairs. Why don’t you join us?”

  “In the basement?” Brooke barely broke stride as she turned in his direction. “How are we supposed to see anything down there?”

  Beau grabbed her arm and urged her along the hall toward Archer. “Code black?”

  “That’s right,” Archer said. “What are you two doing out on a night like this?”

  “We were cruising the square when we heard the public alert,” Brooke said.

  “And Brooke decided this would be a great opportunity to risk her life and mine so she could observe the tornado spotters,” Beau said. “Since she was driving at the time, it took me a few blocks to convince her to get to safety.”

  “And then,” Brooke said, “when I turned around and started back, a tree had fallen across the road. Just that fast. I mean, the wind is awful.”

  Beau wiped the lenses of his glasses with the tail of his wet shirt. “Do they need help with patients? What’re you doing with a crash cart? Is someone hurt?”

  “We have a patient with eclampsia,” Archer said. “You two are back on speaking terms with Kent Eckard, aren’t you?”

  “Sure,” Beau said. “I invited him to church the first time.”

  “Then why don’t you come with me and keep him occupied. He’s pretty worried about his mom and I’m not sure how he’ll react if there’s a bad outcome.”

  “I can do that,” Brooke said. “If he acts up I’ll sucker-punch him again.”

  Beau gave his sister a warning look. “Archer, want some help with the cart?”

  “No, I can handle it. The guidelines are no unnecessary use of elevators during a code black. You two get downstairs so your father can see that you’re safe.”

  They went obeyed while he took the long way around to the elevator. The doors opened almost as soon as he touched the button and revealed another passenger standing in the far corner. It was Lela, one of the floor nurses. Her curly brown hair framed a face pale with fear.

  “Hurry! Come on in! Please hurry!” She reached for the cart and urged him inside before punching the basement button. “I know I’m not supposed to be in the elevator but I was in a hurry to get downstairs and I thought this would be faster.” She pressed shaking fingers to her face. “This thing could stall. If lightning knocks out our power again we could get stuck in here, maybe even electrocuted, killed—”

  “It’s okay, Lela. We’re almost there.”

  “But it could happen just like that.” She snapped her fingers as the ball of her right foot tapped the floor, keeping time with her words. “I’ve heard too many stories about tornadoes ripping out whole towns from their foundations. Joplin, Pierce City, Butterfield. Even Branson took a hit a few years ago. Too close for comfort.”

  He grimaced as the elevator descended. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to share this with the patients.”

  “What patients?”

  Before he could answer the elevator stopped and the doors opened to a huddled crowd. With a dramatic sigh, Lela rushed out and then turned to Archer with an apologetic shrug. “Sorry.” She reached for a corner of the cart. “Looks like everybody got redirected down here. I guess they could use another nurse.”

  “They have a critical patient so they’ll probably be happy to see you.” He was not at all sure she would be capable of reassuring the patients in her state of agitation. “Did they get everyone moved into the hallways on the patient floor?” he asked her. “Maybe I could leave this with you and go on up to help.”

  “Dr. Caine was getting the last patient out into the hallway when I left,” she said. “He’s up there with two more nurses, an aide, and a couple of fire fighters who showed up a few minutes ago.”

  “Dr. Caine’s in the hospital?”

  “Yeah, I think he was getting ready for patient rounds when they announced the code black.” Some color had returned to her face. “Kind of surprised me.” She glanced around at the people hovering nearby.

  “Surprised?”

  “His going up to help us move the pat
ients. It isn’t like he’s the kind of person who goes out of his way to help others.”

  Archer watched her in thoughtful silence.

  She rolled her eyes. “There are some doctors you just know are in the profession to help people and the fact that they earn a good income is like a reward for their kindness. You know what I mean?”

  Archer knew. “I think appearances and personalities can be deceiving.”

  She shrugged.

  Archer knew that Mitchell Caine wasn’t the bad guy so many believed him to be. He also knew Caine had alienated quite a few patients and staff in past months.

  Patients sat in chairs along the walls of the hallway, some in hospital gowns, some in robes, others in street clothes. No arrangements had been made to allow for patient privacy but at this point the only person who seemed to care was poor Mr. Mourglia, the Mayor Jade Meyer’s uncle, who sat huddled in a corner beside his fishing buddy. He wore a hospital gown with a blanket wrapped over his shoulders like a shawl. He’d been pulled into the river while fishing this evening and swallowed a little too much water.

  A nurse circulated among the patients, keeping track of vitals, reassuring the nervous and the irritable.

  Lela knelt beside a young teenager who was doubled over, holding her stomach. Archer pushed his crash cart to the far end of the hallway and into the stairwell where Grant and Muriel hovered ever more closely to their patient. Brooke and Beau stood with Kent in the far corner.

  Grant looked up and reached for the cart. “Thanks. I’ll put this against the wall over there. We still have enough supplies for now but we’re running low.”

  ***

  “How’s Joanne?” Archer asked.

  Grant stepped closer and lowered his voice. “She had another seizure in spite of the drugs we gave her. We were able to break it quickly enough but if she starts to seize again I don’t know if we can break it again. If we can’t, the only thing left for us to do is take the baby.”

  “Take it? You mean induce labor?”

  “I mean do a Cesarean section. At thirty-six weeks, the baby is full-term. Prolonged seizure can endanger both mother and child.”

  Joanne’s voice rose in a moan as if to emphasize Grant’s point. Muriel murmured some soothing words and dabbed at the patient’s forehead with some moist paper towels.

  “Do you have what you need down here to do the C-section?” Archer asked Grant.

  “No, we’d have to try to move her into Obstetrics. We can’t expect an OB doc or anesthetist to get here through this storm.”

  “Doesn’t Mitchell Caine help in obstetrics sometimes?”

  Grant shrugged. “He does but the problem is the same. Even if he lives closer to the hospital, we can’t—”

  “He’s upstairs on the patient floor,” Archer said. “Lela just mentioned it when she came down with me.”

  Grant sighed and closed his eyes briefly and Archer couldn’t tell if he was relieved or alarmed. Grant and Mitchell had a stiff relationship at the best of times.

  “Why don’t I go get him,” Archer suggested.

  “Thanks. I’d appreciate it. At least alert him to our problem so he’ll be prepared in case this continues. He’ll have the password to OB.” Grant returned to his patient and Archer went upstairs.

  ***

  As soon as Archer entered the main corridor on the patient floor he noticed the unusual silence and he stopped. Several patients lay in their beds, lined up along both sides of the corridor, with blankets and pillows wedged between them and the bed railings. The doors to the rooms were all closed and the hallway seemed oppressively dark in spite of the overhead lights.

  One steady rhythmic sound caught his attention from the far end of the corridor. He looked up and saw a pine branch caught in the glow of the hallway light. It slapped the window—the only one that hadn’t been covered by a mattress—with increasing force.

  “Pastor?” called an elderly woman several yards along the hallway. It was one of the members of the Episcopalian church down the road from his. She had fallen and broken a hip last week. “What are you doing up here?”

  Archer stepped over to her. “Just checking things out. Are you okay?”

  She nodded, her face pinched, hands clenched tightly on the bed rails. “I’m a little scared, I guess.”

  “I’m nervous myself. Have you seen Dr. Caine?”

  The lady pointed down the corridor. “He’s down there with Mr. Horner. Poor old man’s terrified of storms.” She touched Archer’s arm. “Would you please pray?”

  “Of course.” He placed a hand on her arm and said a quick but heartfelt prayer for protection and healing and then made his way toward Mitchell.

  ***

  The rhythmic slap of a pine branch against the window at the end of the hallway caused Mr. Horner to shudder beneath Mitchell Caine’s touch. The patient never cried out but Mitchell knew he was frightened.

  All of the patients had been moved out of their rooms, either into the hallway or downstairs. Two nurses, an aide, and two fire fighters checked to make sure everyone was out of harm’s way—or as far removed as possible from the path that could be taken by flying debris. Archer Pierce, the pastor on call tonight, had evidently been unfortunate enough to be stuck here at the hospital along with the rest of them.

  Mitchell watched him make halting progress down the corridor as patient after patient called to him. He had a word of encouragement and a smile for each one but he glanced at Mitchell several times and seemed determined to keep coming this direction.

  It amazed Mitchell that one of the only people who continued to welcome him with kindness and respect these days was Archer Pierce, the one man from whom Mitchell expected the least consideration in light of past conflicts. The only explanation he could think of was that the newlywed preacher was paid to be nice.

  Another clash of thunder made Mr. Horner tighten his grip on Mitchell’s arm. A high-pitched shriek echoed through the hallway. Mitchell cringed at the aide’s voice. Why couldn’t she go downstairs to the basement if she was so frightened?

  “Would you listen to her?” Mitchell grumbled to Mr. Horner. “I don’t understand why everyone is stirring up such a panic. Do you remember a single time when Dogwood Springs was hit by a tornado?”

  Mr. Horner shook his head. It was all he could do. He’d lost his voice to throat cancer.

  “Neither do I,” Mitchell said, “and I grew up here. Some people say this town is naturally protected by the cliffs to the west. No tornado can get past them and since that’s the direction most weather systems come from, we’ll be safe unless something just drops out of the sky. Do you know the odds of that happening?”

  Mr. Horner shuddered again and Mitchell squeezed the man’s shoulder. “Watch and see if we don’t get the all clear any moment—after all the trouble we took to move the whole ward into the hallway. All I’ve ever seen damaged has been a few trees and some roofing.” He continued to talk quietly and was glad to note that the patient had stopped shaking. Gratified that his uncharacteristic effort to keep up the conversation was being appreciated, he continued to recall tidbits of information that would reassure the frightened man.

  Mitchell avoided eye contact with anyone else. All the other people on this floor could scream or cry or talk about what frightened them and some of them did at the tops of their voices. This man couldn’t.

  If Mitchell’s father were still alive he would be following in the wake of Archer Pierce, comforting patients, talking to staff, making himself useful. Mitchell was nothing like his father. What a joke. His dad had been the consummate family doctor who loved his patients more than he loved the money he made from his practice—more, even, than he loved his own family. He’d made enough to send Mitchell to university and medical school in the face of Mitchell’s resistance.

  And now in spite of all his father’s heroic efforts, Mitchell’s life had crumbled into an unrecognizable mess. He’d lost twenty pounds in the past few months. His own
physician would diagnose him with clinical depression and stick him on one of the hundreds of questionable medications force fed to suckers in the medical field—even to patients—by the highest paying advertisers from Big Pharma. He refused to consider it. He was already too dependent on one drug and couldn’t afford to risk more.

  He just needed to focus on keeping his private life private and stop bringing his problems to work with him. He couldn’t afford to alienate the few colleagues or members of the hospital staff who would speak to him, especially since he was no longer chief of staff.

  “Dr. Caine?”

  He looked up to find that Archer had reached him. The younger man seldom looked harried or serious. This was a side of him Mitchell seldom saw

  “We need you in the basement.” He stopped to take Mr. Horner’s hand. “Dr. Sheldon has an eclamptic patient and he needs you to stand by for a possible emergency C-section.”

  “Eclamptic?” Mitchell said. “Is she seizing now?”

  “Not when I left but she’s had at least two seizures already.”

  “And Dr. Sheldon already wants to take the baby? Isn’t he getting a little aggressive?”

  “He’s been attempting to control her symptoms with medication from the crash cart but he’s concerned it may not last.”

  Mitchell’s dark side kicked in despite his determination to keep it at bay. Would Grant have asked for his assistance in any other situation? “Scraping the bottle of the barrel, isn’t he? I’m not ObGyn.”

  Archer gestured toward the covered windows. “No one’s taking call tonight. We need you, Mitchell.”

  When Dr. Sheldon came here last year to take over as director of the emergency department he’d cut Mitchell’s moonlighting shifts. Mitchell knew he had every right to refuse. “I doubt there’s much I can do with a patient in the basement. Without supplies—”