Chapter 3

Three days later, a multi-car pileup hit the River Crossing Bridge downtown.

The emergency center activated its highest-level response, and Julian and I were assigned to the same rescue vehicle.

Rain hammered the windows, and the wipers swung back and forth without stopping.

The back held first-aid kits and immobilization gear. In the driver's seat, Julian never said a word to me.

I didn't speak either.

As we turned onto the exit ramp, his phone rang.

Nina's face appeared on the screen.

She was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe, a dim underground parking garage behind her.

"Julian, I just hit a wall backing out. I scraped my hand, it keeps going numb, and I can't catch my breath. Is it a stress reaction? I'm so scared..."

Julian sat up straight at once.

"Which exit are you at right now?"

I turned to look at him.

Up ahead, the rescue convoy had already switched on its emergency lights. The crash site was less than twenty minutes away.

Instead, Julian hit the brakes and pulled into the emergency lane in the pouring rain.

"Pull over and don't move. I'll be right there."

He hung up, picked up my first-aid kit, and pushed it toward the door.

"Get out. Another vehicle will come pick you up."

Rainwater poured in through the gap in the door, and the tops of my shoes got soaked.

"How many injured are still at the scene?"

"Mercy General's team is already on its way."

"You're going to be with Nina?"

"She has a history of asthma. If no one's with her, something could happen."

"All she said was that she scraped her hand. You should tell her to call the nearest EMTs."

"Did you see it yourself?"

"She said so herself."

Julian paused, frowning at me.

"You're really going to make an issue of this right now?"

Watching him grip the wheel again, I suddenly remembered something from many years ago.

The first time I went with him on a disaster-zone rotation, we ran into a landslide on the way.

He draped his last raincoat over me and stood in the rain himself, clearing the rocks that blocked the road.

He said, Sienna, stay close to me. I won't leave you behind.

Six years later, it was pouring again, and he shoved the first-aid kit into the muddy water and hurried me out of the car.

"There are people up ahead waiting to be saved."

I stared at him.

"Are you sure you want to go?"

Julian rested a hand on the wheel, already impatient.

"The scene won't grind to a halt without you. Nina needs me right now."

I didn't try to talk him out of it again.

The engine started, the tires threw up a wide spray of standing water, and the car soon vanished into the rain.

On the roadside, the first-aid kit lay on its side, its latch knocked open, a tourniquet rolling into the storm drain.

I bent down to gather the instruments, my fingers stiff with cold.

A military emergency convoy was heading toward the scene from behind. I took out my medical pass, stepped to the side of the road, and waved.

A truck stopped, and the captain recognized me.

"Dr. Hayes, what are you doing out here?"

"My vehicle ran into a problem."

I loaded the kit into the back.

"Lend me a seat. I'm going to the scene."

The captain glanced at the taillights disappearing in the distance, then at my soaked clothes. He didn't ask anything else, just had someone make room for me.

When we reached the scene, the bridge was a wreck of crushed vehicles.

In a makeshift tent, I treated three critically injured patients back to back. By the time the third was sent to a hospital in the rear, it was already dark.

Julian called.

"Nina's fine. She was just hyperventilating. Where are you now?"

I leaned against the frame outside the tent, blood still on my knuckles.

"At the scene."

"How did you get there?"

"I caught a ride with the rescue team."

The line went quiet for a few seconds.

"Sienna, I know you were treated unfairly today. Once I'm done taking care of things with Nina, I'll come back and we'll talk."

In the distance, the rain was still washing over the bridge.

"Julian, don't come back."

"Now you're saying things out of anger again."

"I'm not saying anything out of anger."

"You at least owe me an explanation."

I gripped the phone tighter, the death certificate in my pocket pressing into my leg.

"When my dad died, you wouldn't even answer the phone. What else am I supposed to explain?"

Through the receiver, his breathing turned sharp and quick.

I hung up on him.

At dawn the next day, the rescue operation ended.

The head of the inspection team found me and handed me an invitation letter.

"Dr. Hayes, the National Trauma Center is putting together a Deployed Rescue Team. Would you be willing to try out for it?"

I took the letter, and my fingers rested on the page for two seconds.

Once, for Julian, I had given up the operating table.

This time, I wanted to try for myself.