Emergency Room by Caroline B. Cooney Read Free Book Online Page B

softly to himself. He tested his bonds and smiled happily because he was indeed securely fastened.
    Diana had absolutely no idea what on earth his thoughts might be.
    Mary walked up, as uninterested in the GSWs as if she saw them every day of the week. But then, of course, she did. Diana tried to imagine such a thing, and remembered in some confusion that she herself hoped to be a surgeon and see this kind of thing every day of the week.
    “Here,” said Mary, “come on, we’re swamped, do your share.”
    Diana took the sheet. How could life go on like this? Surely if there were three people shot, the rest of the world should slow down and give the hospital, and specially Diana, time to consider things. But the patients kept rolling in, and she kept having to find out their insurance status.
    Trauma Room doors closed and Diana felt shut out of all excitement and all possibilities. The only good thing was that old Seth wasn’t in there. He was probably off flirting with Miss Pretty Medical Student.
    Diana made a face and stared down at her assignment. A man with SOB. In an Emergency Room, this trio of letters meant shortness of breath. Very serious. People who weren’t getting enough air were people in danger of dying. They were never in the Waiting Room, always went straight to treatment.
    She checked the wallboard for the patient’s room number.
    The name on the sheet registered in her mind.
    Robert Searle.
    Her eyes glazed over. She could not think. Her mind went flat.
    No, she said to herself. No, it’s not the person I’m thinking of. Can’t be. Impossible. I’m going home now. I’m out of here. I can’t do this. She closed her eyes tightly, as if she could actually blot herself out of the ER.
    Robert Searle. She would have to look at him. Talk to him. Hear his voice.
    She remembered that she was eighteen and brilliant and she could handle things. She forced herself to open her eyes and look back down.
    Robert Searle.
    The name on the paper had not changed.
    Only her life had changed.

Routes 14-A and I-95 6:42 p.m.
    A LEC’S OWN FACE WAS the brake that slowed him down.
    He did not lose consciousness.
    He knew exactly how long it took an ambulance to arrive.
    Nobody tried to move him, and the two women who first stopped to help were not strong enough to get the motorcycle off his legs anyway.
    The heat of the motorcycle exhaust pipe burned away his skin as he lay there. He could smell himself charring, even over the smell of gasoline and pavement and blood.
    He wanted to scream but his mouth was full. He did not know how he was able to breathe. He was aware of more than he wanted to be: of how the elderly ladies were crying, of how somebody would have to notify his mother, of how his cousin was going to react about the bike. Did he have a face left? What was filling up his mouth and making it impossible to talk?
    The siren was an oddly terrifying sound.
    It sounded like arrest and rage, like police and prison.
    He tried to think of it as his own rescue, but couldn’t.
    Along with the pain came a rush of fear so strong it was like the wind that had lifted his hair.
    He could not move.
    Was it the weight of the bike?
    …or had he hurt his spinal cord?

The Waiting Room 6:45 p.m.
    A NNA MARIA WAS FEELING secure. Half an hour in the Waiting Room and she felt as if she knew everybody there. She was no longer afraid of them, and nobody had asked why she and José and Yasmin were sitting at the coloring table. Nobody ever would, either. As for the police, they were there to stop trouble, not start it.
    For a few minutes a girl whose name tag read Diana had sat at the low table and colored with them. Anna Maria loved that. Diana was so pretty and had such a nice pink jacket on. It made Anna Maria feel special to have Diana sit next to her. “Let’s make get-well cards,” Diana had said cheerfully. “Who is sick? Your mother? We’ll make a card so she’ll feel better.”
    Anna Maria smiled and pretended not to