Page 18 of Doctor Enemy

The sound of crunching metal and smashing glass fills my ears. My forehead slams into the steering wheel. Pain lances through my arms as the windshield caves in, glass digging into me in the milliseconds before the airbag deploys.

It slams into me with enough force to suffocate me. I can practically feel the way that it crushes my ribs and my chest. My head snaps back into the headrest of the car seat with so much force, it makes my neck burn.

For a brief moment, I’m aware that I’m suspended upside down, the seatbelt the only thing holding me in place.

There’s blood running down my face from a broken nose. The upended position has it dripping down over my cheeks and running into my eyes.

It stings. I’m sobbing. That stings too. I can’t breathe well enough to pull in even a half breath of air. The pressure against my chest is so intense, it feels like it’s enough to suffocate me.

And then the car skids on its roof, metal screeching as it’s scraped over the road. I don’t know what’s going on. The dizziness is so intense, and the airbag cuts off my vision.

Rainwater floods in through the busted windshield, soaking me.

Did another car hit me? There’s more crunching metal. The front dash bends inwards. It’s a chain reaction of a crash, surged on by the rain coming down so heavily, no one can see shit, and no one can stop in time.

The dash and wheel hub of the car bends down, over my legs. There’s pain, but it’s distant. I can’t hear anything over the ringing in my ears. The car finally grows still. Rainwater is still gushing in through the windshield. There are lights flashing outside, and distant voices, distorted and tinny, like they’re coming from far away.

Instinctively, I try to lift my hands and push against the weight on my chest, but my arms have been pinned to my side by the airbag. It’s only just starting to deflate.

“Oh my God,” someone shouts. His voice is loud enough to pierce through the haze. “Someone call 9-1-1! Holy shit, hold on, lady, we’re getting help.”

I try to say something to him, but my tongue doesn’t want to work. My mouth opens and the only thing that comes out is a low groan. The world is spotty and dark. I can taste blood on the back of my tongue. I can’t tell if I bit it, or if it’s coming from internal bleeding.

I should be able to tell. I know this, after all.

But my head is so fogged over, I wouldn’t be able to give anyone my own name.

The airbag finally finishes deflating. My arms drop forward, hanging, almost useless at my side. My fingers curl against the air, a helpless twitch.

And then—

There’s nothing.

Chapter seven

Kurt

Seattleisthecitythat never sleeps.

That’s true of everyone at the hospital, too. Patients need doctors and nurses at all hours of the night.

It’s notthatlate right now, only around five in the afternoon. The weather outside—a raging thunderstorm—makes it seem much further along in the day, though. Every time I step past one of the large windows on the side of the building, I find myself doing a double take, thinking that it’s somehow skipped ahead to nine p.m.

It doesn’t help that I’m not even supposed to be at the hospital today.

I’ve found myself called in on my day off to help handle the slew of emergencies crashing in.

Mercy General always gets an upsurge of patients when the stormy season begins.

Not only do the roads turn into hazards, but the sidewalks do as well. People slip, trip, and slide down the stairs. They stay out too long in the bad weather and end up with pneumonia, or they get distracted trying to do a home repair during a blackout and drive a nail through the back of their hands. Fingers get cut off during in-the-dark dinner prep. Bikes and motorcycles become borderline death traps.

And then, you have cases like the one that I’m presently looking in on.

The chart in my hand is a hard one, a serious head injury, but I can’t help grumbling to the resident that’s come in with me, “What was this bastard doing up on the roof in the middle of a storm like this?”

Cara snorts. She’s not technically a resident in my department, but it’s a case of all hands-on deck today.

It’s good for residents to get a grasp on how all of the sections of the hospital function.

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