Alyssa nods slowly, her eyes in a way revealing that she understands and is willing to take the responsibility. “OK,” she says.
Jex stands and does not hesitate. “Good luck. You’ll do great.” With that she turns and leaves Alyssa and her father. She leaves them safer and more comfortable than when she found them and heads back into the inferno like a fire fighter returning to the blaze.
There are helicopters hovering above, and by above, only a few hundred feet above. The wind from their blades rustle Jex’s hair as she walks through the crowd, which seems to have begun full force of recovery, no third explosion having materialized. She continues her walk to the DJ stand. Police and firefighters and doctors and nurses seem to have materialized from nowhere, which is in reality not a real surprise, considering that both a police station and a hospital are within a mile of this blast scene. Jex walks towards the DJ stand, which is only a couple of hundred feet away now, maybe less. She eyes her surroundings. She is confident but careful, not wanting to get in the way of anyone but ready to help if needed.
Jex freezes about fifty feet from the DJ stand. There, to the right, maybe twenty-five ahead, are a pair of boots. Connected to two legs. Connected to a body. A body that’s not moving. In her mind, Jex hesitates for an eternity. In reality, there is no meaningful hesitation at all. She makes a beeline straight to the person.
The man is completely non-responsive. His body is cold to the touch, clammy. He does not respond to Jex’s verbal cues. He does not respond to her grabbing his hand. Or squeezing his arm. She examines him quickly and just as quickly sees the injury to the back of his head. There is blood on the ground but he doesn’t seem to be bleeding much. Anymore. Not good. His airway is clear but he does not appear to be breathing.
Jex grabs the man’s hand and gently pulls his arms towards him. She puts her forefinger and middle finger on his wrist, looking for a radial pulse. She finds none.
She does not panic. From the moment of the first explosion, Jex has not panicked. Not a single time. Finding no radial pulse, she does not hesitate. She remembers the training. She remembers the books. She remembers the thousand times she has done it in her head. All at once. She acts instinctively. She moves her two fingers from the wrist up to below the elbow. She is looking for a brachial pulse. Again, she finds none. She pauses there, perhaps a moment longer than she should. Hoping a pulse, even a slight one, would appear. Nothing.
Still, she does not panic. It doesn’t seem real to her. She leans over the man and brings her two fingers softly to his neck and presses down. She is looking for a carotid pulse. Anything. She finds none. She kneels down and her hand goes back to the man’s hand, looking again for a radial pulse. Again, she finds none. She finds nothing. She pulls at one of his eyelids and looks at his eyes. She pulls out her otoscope, desperate perhaps, and turns it on. She shines light in his eyes. Nothing. No dilation. No sign of life. Not even close.
This man is dead.
If Jex were to narrate the next few moments of her life, she would probably compare it to that scene in every war movie since Saving Private Ryan, where the whole scene switches instantaneously to slow motion and the sounds are all garbled and slurred. It is meant to symbolize shock; that moment after something terrible happens and the protagonist momentarily loses control of their senses. That is Jex.
As she stands up and steps back, she is somewhat out of control but on her own two feet. She lives in that instant of stunted reality. Where movements are slow and detached. Where speech is incoherent. Where thoughts are nonexistent. Where action is frozen. Where skin is pasty and stinging all over. Where ears are buzzing. Where eyes see swirls of rainbow colors, but no shapes or forms.
“Jex,” the deep, dark, raspy voice shouts, in half-speed, though at first it is barely an echo in Jex’s head. Slow and indistinct, like a dream. Jex’s brow furrows deeply as though she is trying to connect that voice to something real. She looks at the dead man that is laying on the ground, not ten feet from Jex’s feet.
“Jex,” the voice screams again, lighter though, higher in pitch. It is clearer this time, more real perhaps. Jex’s head cocks sideways, as if she is reaching out to the voice, to somehow put some context around it; some perspective.
“Jex,” the shouts again, louder and clearer still, not dark or deep at all. This time, the sole word is punctuated with another word: “help.” “Help,” the voice says. “Help, Jex! Help!”
And in one of those moments that lasts forever but is over so quickly it barely constitutes a moment, clarity returns to Jex. Her flirtation with desolate panic ends before it even begins. “Molly!” she shouts back, recognizing her old friend, who is kneeling over someone that Jex can’t quite make out. She does not look back at the body behind her but instead runs to Molly’s call for help as fast as her shaky legs will take her.
“Oh my God,” Jex lets out with a start as she reaches Molly and grabs her in a hug. “I was so worried about you. Tell me what’s up?” To the point, as Jex always is. No panic. No hesitation.
Molly is in shambles, though, and Jex can see she is nothing but a bunch of puzzle pieces that need sorting. She is covered in blood from her waist down but it doesn’t seem to be hers. Jex looks for entry wounds or injuries but finds none. She tries to look into Molly’s eyes but they are just slits in her face from the crying.
“Molly, slow down. Please slow down. It’s OK. Take a minute.”
Molly shakes her head violently from side-to-side. There are no extra minutes to be had, she seems to be saying. Snot is running down her face and her jaw is shaking badly, her lips aquiver. She tries hard to find words through her agitation. “It’s Marcus,” she manages to eke out through the phlegmy coughs and tears.
Jex looks down and sees him for the first time, lying on the ground beneath Molly. He is covered in blood, skinny and shirtless. He appears barely conscious. His left leg below the knee is missing. There is a bloody cloth, maybe a torn t-shirt loosely wrapped around his leg above the knee, tied limply like a shoelace.
Jex does not vacillate. She is immediately on her knees and rummaging through her messenger bag. “No,” she says in a resolute tone. “That’s not right.” She lightly puts one hand on Marcus’ leg and the other on Molly’s wrist, pulls Molly’s arm off of Marcus. “Don’t elevate the leg right now. Keep it level with his body.”
Jex removes the cloth, soaked with blood, from around his leg. She pulls out a roll of thick cloth gauze and rips off a long piece with her teeth. She folds it in half lengthwise so it is about 15 centimeters wide. She looks around quickly and then spies what she is looking for hanging lazily from Molly’s neck. She points. “Your bandana, Molly. Give me that bandana.”
Molly blinks twice through her tears, seeming to run through Jex’s words in her head and then looks down to see the blue bandana tied around her neck. She shakes her head and pulls the bandana off, handing it to Jex. Jex grabs it, folds it and wraps it just below Marcus’s knee joint. She then wraps the gauze around the leg twice and then pulls it tight. With one hand holding the gauze tightly, Jex uses her other hand to dig some more in her messenger bag. Quickly, she finds a sharpie pen. Deftly, she ties a half-knot with just the gauze and then, once that is loosely secured, she places the sharpie into the cloth and finishes wrapping the gauze around the leg. Once wrapped, she turns the sharpie pen, causing the knot to tighten securely. As she does so, Marcus moans a little bit from the pain.
“I’m sorry, Marcus,” Jex says to the young man. “My name is Jex and I’m just trying to stabilize you a little bit. The tourniquet you had wasn’t tight enough so I just made you a new one real quick. I know that hurt but that part’s over now, OK?”
Marcus doesn’t respond verbally but manages to offer a shallow nod of recognition. Molly is crying hard now. “I’m sorry,” she screams. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You did great, Molly. You did great. It served its purpose. It’s better now but you did fine. Marcus, can you hear me
? Can you hear me, Marcus?” She pulls open his half-closed eyelids and checks his eyes, which dilate fine. He opens them a little wider at her touch, and makes eye contact with Jex. She smiles thinly and says, “hi, there.”
“Hi,” Marcus says weakly.
“It’s good to hear you speak.”
“It hurts,” he whispers.
“What hurts?”
“My leg,” he says through a choke. “The lower part of my left leg really hurts.”
Jex pauses for a split of a second and then continues through her teeth. “Anything else.”
“Yeah,” he says. “My ribs really hurt, or my stomach. Somewhere in between my ribs or stomach or something. Really bad.”
“Ok,” Jex says with a nod. “Does your head hurt? Or your back or neck?”
“No. Just my leg and my stomach. Am I going to be OK?”
“Marcus, I promise I’m going to do everything I can to get you the treatment you need, OK?”
“OK,” he murmurs, his eyes closing slightly.
“Stay with me, Marcus, OK. Please stay awake and stay with me. There’s going to be an ambulance soon.” Jex looks around her as she says, noticing in her head that she is actually quite in the dark as to when an ambulance may come that has room for Marcus. There are people running everywhere, still screaming and yelling. To the quick glance at least, there seem to be more injured people than treating people. The park is a disaster, a crime zone, and a war zone at once.
Jex looks back down at Marcus. “Are you there, Marcus?”
“I’m here,” he confirms quietly. “I’m OK.”
“That’s great. Marcus. Stay with me. I just want to test a couple things, OK?”
“OK,” Marcus agrees.
Jex takes his left hand and lightly strokes her finger from the top of the palm to the bottom. His fingers jump a little in response. “Do you feel that,” Jex asks Marcus.
“Yes,” he confirms.
“Great. Can you wiggle your fingers?” He wiggles them weakly. “Great,” she repeats. She does the same thing with the left hand. His fingers similarly respond. “Feel that?” she asks.
“Yes,” he confirms again, and though his voice is strained with pain, he wiggles his fingers at the same time.
“Perfect. Hold on one second.”
Jex scurries down to his remaining leg and unties the laces of his Doc. She pulls the boot off and the sock underneath it. She strokes the bottom of his foot from top to bottom. “Feel that?” she asks.
“Yeah,” he grunts.
“Can you wiggle your toes?”
There is a stilted pause. Slowly, the toes begin to wiggle, not much but a little. It is enough. Jex smiles. “Good, Marcus, that’s good.”
She looks Marcus again in the eyes. “You’re doing great, Marcus. You’re doing great. One more quick thing. I know you’re in a lot of pain but I just want to see if there’s anything wrong that we need to worry about. Can you move your neck side to side? Slowly? Even a little.”
Marcus pauses as though he is gaining strength. His eyes look straight up to the sky, open wide. Slowly, he turns his head partially to the left. “Good,” Jex says, “good.” Just a slowly, he straightens it out and turns again, this time to the left. “Good,” Jex says as he straightens out. Marcus coughs and wheezes. “Where am I? Why does my stomach hurt?” he asks.
Jex puts her hand on his check, which is cold and clammy. “It’s OK, Marcus. You’ve been in an accident, OK? Do you remember?”
Marcus looks at her, with maybe half the focus he looked at her three minute earlier. “An accident?” he asks and pauses. “An explosion,” he says. “I remember that I think.”
Jex nods her head. “Right, an accident. I’m Jex, remember? I’m just checking you out, see if I can see any other injuries.”
“You’re Jex?”
“Yes,” she says. “I’m Jex.”
Marcus doesn’t say anything but nods a little.
“Is it OK if I look you over a little bit, Marcus?”
He pauses and then nods. “It’s OK,” he whispers.
“Thanks, Marcus. I’m just going to lift your shirt and see if I see anything amiss, OK?”
Marcus nods again but does not say anything.
“Staying with me, Marcus?”
“Yes,” he confirms in a whisper.
“Great.”
She pulls his shirt up and he doesn’t resist. She visually inspects his chest and stomach. There is bruising dotting the entire flanks of his body, from the top of the hips to the bottom of the last rib. The bruising is dark blue, almost purple, splattered in nature but deep in its color, almost thick in texture. “Shit,” Jex whispers to herself, too quietly for Marcus to notice, who is looking up at the sky, gritting his teeth in pain. He is beginning to sweat.
Jex looks over to Molly, who has turned away from Marcus and is huddled up in a low crouch. “Molly, I need your help.” She doesn’t respond.
“Molly,” Jex says again, louder. “Come here.” Again, she doesn’t respond.
“Molly, you OK?” After a moment, Molly responds, choking her words out between tears and moans. “Where’s Eugene? I want Eugene.”
Jex doesn’t hesitate. “Shit, Molly. I’m sorry, I don’t know. I’m sure he’s OK but I need to take care of Marcus right now, and I need your help. I need you to hold Marcus’ hand while I find a doctor.”
Molly doesn’t move. “I want Eugene,” is all she says.
“Shit,” Jex mutters to herself. She pauses and then quickly makes a decision. “Marcus, I have your back, I promise. I need to find a doctor to look at you and I need to do it now, OK? I’m going to make sure you get the best treatment to make you OK, but I have to go find a doctor. I will just be a minute. Is that OK?”
“A doctor?” Marcus asks.
“Yes,” Jex says firmly, her eyes locked in place with Marcus’. “A doctor to look at you. To make you feel better.”
Marcus pauses before responding. “OK, you have to find a doctor. I’ll be here,” he says weakly with a faint glimmer of a smile.
Jex smiles. “I promise you I will be back quickly.”
“OK,” Marcus says.
Jex is up and moving in a flash. She jumps over Molly and heads out into the carnage, targeting any doctor with legs and arms. Most are bent over bodies that are screaming and yelping. She sees an EMT here and there, carrying a stretcher, but not nearly enough. She doesn’t see a single ambulance. The resources here are overwhelmed.
Jex spies a man in a doctor’s coat twenty feet away, his hands on his hips and looking down despondently at the ground. Probably not her best audience but any port in a storm, she thinks. Jex beelines it to him.
“Excuse me, Doctor, I need your help.”
“What is it,” the doctor snaps. “I’m taking thirty seconds before I have to return to see the wounded.”
“I know it’s terrible, I know you’re busy but my friend is hurt and I think it’s a lot worse than they think.”
“Where is your friend,” the doctor half-sneers, looking down his nose.
“Over there,” Jex says, pointing to where Marcus is lying, maybe thirty feet from the smoldering DJ stand.
The doctor shakes his head. “We have already triaged everyone in that section and everyone there has already been prioritized for evacuation to the hospital. We have a shortage of emergency vehicles. They will deal with him in order.”
“No,” Jex protests. “You don’t understand. I know his leg …”
“Listen, young lady, I don’t really care what you know or don’t know. Medical professionals have examined your friend, like all the other injured, and they have prioritized him appropriately. If you want to comfort him, please do. I have other patients to tend to.”
Jex is instantly in rage. “Yeah, I see that they examined him. Nice job on the tourniquet by the way. Built to last, eh. What they failed to see in their examination is…”
“I don’t have time for some punk gir
l’s sarcasm or grade school criticism of our work,” the doctor sniffs. “Go be with your friend but leave me alone or I will have you arrested.” The doctor turns on his heel and disappears.
“Shit,” Jex says, not anywhere near a whisper this time. She looks in every direction but sees no other doctor that is not elbows deep into an injured person. “Shit,” she repeats. She turns and heads back to Marcus, not knowing her next move.
As she approaches the spot where Marcus is lying, her heart skips a beat. Eugene is holding Molly tightly in his arms as she sobs uncontrollably. One of his friends stands by, looking curiously at Marcus.
“Eugene,” Jex screams as she gets to him. He holds out his arm and pulls Jex into his hug with Molly. All three of them break into tears, bawling and crying.
“Shit, you two. Shit, shit. I didn’t think I’d see you again. Thank god for you. Thank god for us.”
After a moment that lasts for an eternity, Jex breaks away.
“Eugene, it’s too early for prayers. Molly’s friend Marcus is hurt, hurt bad, and the only doctor I could even find to speak to basically just told me to go fuck myself.”
Eugene’s expression turns quickly from relief to darkness. “Where is this doctor?” he asks, menace deep in his voice. “I’ll get him to help us, guaranteed.”
“No, Eugene. Don’t bother. They’re taking care of patients, too. We need to get Marcus to the hospital now. For real,” she lowers her voice, “or he may not make it. Is your truck nearby?”
Eugene blinks and then responds. “Yeah, we’re parked right at the foot of the park. All the roads are closed, but if you need me to get Marcus to the hospital, trust me, we can get Marcus to the hospital in my truck.”
“Good,” Jex says, looking around the crowd. “We just need to find a way to get him to the truck. He is not exhibiting signs of spinal injury, but we still need something flat and firm to transport him.”
“We have our surfboards in the back of the truck. How does one of those work?”
Jex Blackwell Saves the World Page 13