Читать книгу The Michelangelo Murders - Aubrey Smith - Страница 3

Salinas was about to say something else when his pager went off. “Dr. Salinas to ER, STAT.”

“I hope it’s not another one,” he said. He looked very apprehensive as he turned and started off in a rush, seeming to forget that Shelby was there. By the time they reached the elevators, Salinas was in a run. Not wanting to wait, he turned to the stairs and dashed through swinging doors. Shelby looked at his watch as the doors slammed in his face. 8:00 a.m. already? Quickly he pushed the heavy door open and rushed into the stairwell. He could hear Salinas somewhere just below him. The footsteps were quick, and then he heard a door open and slam shut. It was quiet in the stairwell. All he could hear were his own steps and the sound of his heart thumping in his ears.

The EMS paramedics had called ahead to Ben Taub Hospital. The emergency room staff was waiting when Shelby raced into the hallway near the trauma rooms. When the double glass doors slid open with a swishing sound, four paramedics and three uniformed police officers rushed in. All seven of them were struggling frantically to control a naked man on the gurney. Perspiration dripped from their faces as they quickly moved into Trauma Room One.

Although he was strapped to the cart, the man on the gurney screamed, struggling with unbelievable force. Shelby stood back against the wall, out of the way of the trauma room personnel and the seven men who were still in a battle to hold the ghastly looking man in place. Blood soaked the gurney, streaming from a gash in his chest. With each scream, blood spurted from his mouth.

“Can’t you give him something to quiet him down? Man, he’s strong,” one of the uniformed police officers shouted to Salinas, as he wiped sweat and blood from his own face with his shirtsleeve.

Dr. Salinas looked up at the officer. Blood stood in beads on the doctor’s glasses and his face. The front of his shirt and coat were covered with blood. He started to say something to the senior ER resident but decided against it. Instead, he went back to work on what had become HBV victim number six.

Now the shock/trauma unit of the ER had only one responsibility and that was to control the bleeding caused by the penetrating wound.

“Let’s move it,” Salinas ordered. The ER team pushed their way into positions around the table. Each had their own job as trays of needles, sponges, forceps and knives were shifted into place. Clamps were used to control the bleeding. A dozen hands inserted catheters and tubes. They all were working to stabilize a man who was only known as John Doe.

“Sponge,” Salinas said, as he probed the wound.

The ER resident stepped back and watched as a nurse pushed a catheter up the man’s urethra and into the bladder while another drew blood for testing. “Get me a pressure,” he called. Electrical leads were clamped to patches and taped to his chest at the same time blood pressure cuffs were wrapped around both arms. The monitor quickly indicated that the blood pressure was continuing to fall. Dr. Smith, the ER resident, paused, watching the monitors, his black head glistening under the bright light as perspiration beaded on his forehead. Then he placed his stethoscope on John Doe’s chest.

“Suction…STAT! He’s got a sucking chest wound.”

A nurse moved to the head of the table with a plastic tube and turned on the suction. Smith threaded the tube to the back of John Doe’s throat. Shelby was uncomfortably aware of the sucking sound as red foam spewed from the man’s mouth.

A male nurse moved a tray from the wall next to the ER table. Smith looked at the tray and nodded. The nurse peeled off the sterile cover, then took the man’s head in both hands, extending the neck as Dr. Smith guided a breathing tube into the trachea. As soon as Smith stepped back, a respiratory therapist attached a bag and started to ventilate the man by forcing air into his lungs.

“Pulse?” Salinas said.

“130.”

“Pressure?”

“In a nose dive. We’re out of control.”

“Hang a liter of Ringer’s and Dextran and get some blood started, STAT.”

Bloody foam gurgled from the gaping hole in the man’s chest as Smith worked the wound. Salinas examined the trauma to the head. Salinas had put a face shield on but now asked one of the nurses to remove it. “I can’t see because of the blood,” he said. “Wash my glasses and give me another hood.”

“Michelangelo,” the man screamed. Everybody heard the piercing cry. Then the man went still, very still. The silence of the room was sudden and crushing. For a split second everyone stood paralyzed by it.

“Hood,” Salinas said as he snapped on a new pair of gloves and fingered the head wound. Shelby could hear crushed bones as Salinas pushed his finger around the wound. He thought the head looked out of shape and resembled a shapeless, semi-fluid lump. Salinas shook his head and there was a sloshing sound when he pulled his finger from the caved-in skull. “Get an x-ray over here. Let’s get a shot of both the head and chest now that he’s still.”

Despite all the gore he had seen in his career, Shelby felt queasy and gripped the wall for support. Someone bumped by him, pushing a portable x-ray machine. Suddenly a shrill alarm sounded. He looked up at the ECG monitor and saw the tracings were straight.

A nurse turned to Dr. Salinas and asked, “Want me to call a code?”

“No, it’s too late. He’s gone.”

The X-ray technician moved the portable machine back against the wall. Everyone seemed to stop at once. Slowly, they moved away from the table. Shelby looked at his watch, 9:30 a.m. Almost an hour, and it was over.

Everybody stood there a moment. Then they went about cleaning up the room, and preparing the body for the morgue. They all knew it wouldn’t be long before the next trauma victim came through the sliding glass doors at Ben Taub.

Shelby realized he was not breathing and had to suddenly gasp for a breath. Sometimes I wish I’d been an accountant. He felt the tension in his legs. His feet seemed on fire.

He started to leave the room when he sensed a sudden stir behind him. He heard the beep of the monitor, not steady, not loud, but definitely a beep. He turned around, looking at the blood-splattered men and women as they stood, almost in awe, staring at the monitor.

“HBV,” Smith said. “It just isn’t possible. This is not only baffling, it’s downright eerie.”