An Arrogant Black Belt Threatens a Rookie Nurse in a Rural ER — Unaware She Was a Navy SEAL Officer
Chapter 6
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"I said, get out of my light, Doctor."She still had not looked at him. The room had gone very quiet. The Navy crew was watching Kessler; Hannigan had one hand resting on the snap of a kydex sheath on his vest in a way that was probably not conscious. Vera was watching Reese; Reese was watching the wound."Combat gauze," Reese said.Vera slapped it into her gloved palm. Reese packed tight, putting her shoulder into it. The combat gauze was Z-folded, kaolin-impregnated, and it had to be pressed against the source vessel hard enough to fully oppose the bleed for three full minutes. She watched the clock on the wall. Three minutes is a long time; three minutes with a man's life pumping under your knuckles is a longer time.Vega's breathing went shallow."Stay with me, Eddie.""Boss...""Stay with me.""Pacific City..." His voice was almost gone. "You remember Pacific City?""I remember.""Good day.""It was a good day."His eyes closed. She counted the three minutes by the second hand on the wall clock.When she released the pressure, the gauze did not float up on a fresh bleed. The packing was holding, but junctional was never that easy: the femoral was packed, the artery was momentarily contained, but she could feel with two fingers that the proximal stump was angry, and that any drop in pressure on the gauze would reopen it within 30 seconds. She needed the junctional tourniquet, and she needed to hold him until a vascular surgeon could clamp it surgically. Phelps was still 40 minutes out; there was no one else."Junctional tourniquet," Reese said.Vera produced it. Reese set the strap above the wound, threaded the windlass, found the femoral pulse below the device. Wound, tightened, wound it again. The pulse below disappeared; the wound stopped weeping at the edges. Vega's BP on the next cuff cycle came up to 90 over 50.The room exhaled.Kessler had not moved from the doorway. His face had gone a color Reese did not have a word for.Reese stripped her bloody gloves and dropped them in the biohazard; her hands were red to the wrists. She looked at Vera. "Page Phelps again. Tell him junctional bleed, packed and held, vitals stabilizing. Tell him to bring a vascular tray. Tell him if the bridge is out, he's getting in the back of a sheriff's truck. I don't care if he has to ride a horse.""Yes, ma'am." Vera was already on the phone.Reese turned and walked out of the bay. Hannigan followed her. So did Kessler. So did the two crewmen. So did Marisol, who had stuck her head out from triage and seen the whole thing through the open door.Reese walked to the staff bathroom, pushed the door open, walked to the sink, and scrubbed her hands while staring at her own reflection in the cracked mirror. Her auburn hair was coming out of the bun; there was a streak of Vega's blood on her left cheekbone; her eyes were green and tired and very, very clear.Behind her, in the open doorway, Kessler stood with his arms crossed and his face the color of bad meat."Donovan."She rinsed.