Page 34 of Ruled By Fate

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Brie grabbed the IV supply tray and tore open the plastic cover with a slightly overenthusiastic burst of speed. She tied off the man’s arm with a tourniquet, watched as his lower hand darkened with the pressure, and then waited for a vein to appear. This took only seconds, but it felt like an age as she patted his inner wrist and forearm, trying to coax something suitable to the surface.

Come on. Where are you…

Finally, one appeared. She carefully pressed the needle to the skin and waited to feel the faint pop as it pushed through. “Number twenty gauge IV established.”

She looked back for further instructions from Denise, only to find her standing just a step away, arms folded tightly across her chest. She gave a curt nod of approval. Brie sensed that this was the highest praise she might hope to receive from this person, certainly today, possibly ever.

“Alright, someone hand me the epi and standby with the Narcan—”

“Hold on there, Pocahontas.”

The room froze.

Brie gasped. Denise stiffened, then rotated around in such a predatory fashion it made the rest of them almost feel sorry for whatever eminently stupid, lost soul had seen fit to throw the racial slur.

Almost. Not quite. Whoever said that deserves whatever comes next.

A man stood in the doorway. A man whose overriding physical feature was oil. His hair was slicked straight backward from all points of his skull, shellacked into an unyielding dome. His skin, predominantly his forehead, had an unhealthy, greasy sheen.

He laughed an erratic, hiccupping laugh while his eyes darted around, bright with nerves. His slightly oversized lab coat and name tag lent him an authority he didn’t seem to deserve.

Denise exhaled through flared nostrils. “Dr. Matthews.” It sounded like an obscenity. “To think we’d gone nearly a week without sending you back to HR,” she said flatly.

Matthews ignored this and addressed the room. “What’s the story, folks?”

The young-looking medic piped up. “Patient was found unresponsive in a parking lot. No ID, no visible injuries—”

“How long ago was this?” Matthews interrupted.

“Um… about twenty minutes.”

Denise fixed him with a scathing glare. “We’re a bit busy here, so perhaps you’d like to run the code. Or find me someone who will.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned back to the patient and barked, “Where’s that Narcan?”

Brie kept waiting for something to happen, for whatever madness derailed the chaotic rhythm to either reveal itself or, at least, go away. But it didn’t.

Matthews merely stood there while Denise ran the code. Brie swore she saw him check his phone. It was shocking. The tiny nurse doing compressions was exhausted and stepped aside as the patient’s chest was affixed with pads fitted with electrodes to defibrillate his heart.

“Clear!”

In one swift movement, everyone stepped back. Denise was about to press the button for defibrillation when a sudden shout echoed in the room.

“Time of death, zero seven thirty-three.”

The room froze again.

“You’re calling it?” Brie asked in disbelief.

Matthews’s eyes narrowed to slits as he looked her up and down. A self-preservation instinct reminded her that she was still technically “touring” and should probably shut up, but she was too concerned for the patient to worry about the impression she was making on her first day.

“You can’t!” she insisted. “We’re one second away from trying to bring him back.”

El Commandant completely ignored him. “Clear!” she yelled again and jolted electricity through the patient. No response. The man went back to asystole immediately.

“Stop it!” Matthews cried.

Denise glanced up with a look of such malice, it would likely scare off a panther. “Or what?”

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