Chapter Text
Mel and Frank walked together through the doors into the Emergency Medicine teaching room, a small dark room in the bowels of one of the maintenance outbuildings, attached to the main hospital by a skybridge.
“Well, this room certainly hasn’t aged well,” Langdon commented dryly. The ceiling tiles were yellowed, the room smelled musty, and the old HVAC system, that was supposedly ventilating the place, was wheezing like an old man taking his final breaths. Cold winter light was filtering through the high windows, catching in the dust hanging suspended in the air.
Dr’s Robby and Walsh were already in the room getting set up for the day of teaching. The plan was to cover emergency triage, familiarizing everyone with the systems in place for the next time the hospital was overwhelmed with patients. Pitt Fest had prompted this training to be offered to everyone, not just attendings, and Mel, Frank, Dennis, and Victoria were the lucky trial run. Robby stood near the front of the room, eyes cataloguing everything, radiating the calm gravity of a man who had weathered a lifetime of chaos. Dr. Emery Walsh, one of PTMC’s attending surgeons, was young, her dark hair pulled back tightly and was in her element for today’s teaching.
Walsh tossed a bag of triage tags and bands onto the table and announced, “Alright. We’re doing trauma triage today. Everyone grab a seat and we’ll get started.” She turned to Robby. “We’re missing another two of yours.”
Before Robby could reply, Dennis Whitaker and Victoria Javidi rushed into the room. “Sorry we’re late,” Javadi started, “we couldn’t find the building. And then we couldn’t find this room. And then-”
“You’re fine. Sit down.” Robby interrupted her rushed words.
Frank took his seat slouching down into it, muttering under his breath about regretting waking up this morning. The others followed suite, Mel pulling out a notebook and pen, sitting up straight; Victoria and Dennis grabbing other seats and dropping their bags next to them on the floor.
The building gave a shiver then, and Dr. Robby’s head snapped up. He could feel it rather than hear it, a deep vibration, more than the casual groan of an old building. The ceiling tiles shook, bits of dust raining down onto them.
Walsh went rigid, the colour draining from her face.
The next vibration was less a shake and more a violent lurch, one that slammed dust from every vent and sent racks of equipment lurching sideways. The lights flickered ominously and popped out instantly.
Robby’s voice cut through the noise, “Down! Everyone get down! Now!”
Walsh was frozen to the ground, eyes wide, breath trapped in her chest. Robby lunged towards her, grabbing her shoulders and shoving her towards the corner of the room. The ceiling fractured with a groaning metallic wail, plaster bursting into the air. The floor buckled, the walls pressed inward, the room becoming no longer square, crumpling like a piece of paper.
A beam, something, cracked across the back of Robby’s head sending stars leaping across his vision. Frank, running towards an edge of the room, fell as the ground dropped from beneath him, a slab of fractured concrete slammed into his lower leg pinning it to the ground. His scream ripped the air apart.
Mel didn’t have the chance to scream, another falling beam struck her temple, knocking her sideways, already limp, into the wall. She crumpled down instantly, blood soaking through her blonde hair. Dennis and Victoria dove behind a fallen table, debris raining down around them.
The noise went on forever, the building twisting and folding around them, crushing, shuddering, roaring and unrelenting. Then silence fell as quickly as the noise had begun. Frank screamed in pain again as the wreckage settled around them. Dust was already thickening the air, breaths scraping their lungs. A single emergency light flickered on through the debris, taunting them in its normalcy, as if this was just another power outage.
Robby lifted his head when the sound stopped, a wave of dizziness rolling through him, vision blurring, then greying out for a heartbeat. He could taste blood, and his ears were ringing with a low continuous hum, but he forced himself upright. “Roll call everyone. Call out!” He forced clarity into his voice, speaking as loudly as he could through the dust.
Langdon answered first, high pitched with pain he was desperately trying to control. “I’m here. My leg – shit – something’s on my leg…”
Whitaker moaned, “I’m here, broken arm… maybe my leg too.”
Javadi coughed, “I’m ok. I think my leg is broken, but I’m ok.”
There was no answer from Walsh or Mel. Panic surged in Robby’s chest, adrenaline cutting through the fog in his mind. He found Walsh first, knees curled to her chest, covered in grey dust but conscious. She was shaking violently, eyes unfocused in terror.
“Walsh,” Robby rasped, pulling himself closer, ignoring the thumping of pain worsening at the base of his skull. “Look at me Walsh. Focus on my voice.”
She didn’t respond, she couldn’t. The collapsed walls pressed in around her, old memories floating back, the smell of concrete dust, the sounds of collapse. The same as when she was a child and her house had collapsed around her and her family in an earthquake.
Robby cupped her face with both hands, steadying her. “Walsh. I’m here, we’re alive. Focus on your breathing, let’s slow things down.”
Her focus slowly returned, minutes later, her panic ebbing enough for her to lift her head, looking at Robby. “Okay,” her voice shook, “I can do it. What- Who’s hurt?”
Robby swallowed the nausea rising, blinking away the dizziness, and forced himself to speak evenly. “Everyone. We need to triage. I haven’t found Mel yet. Are you hurt?”
“Just my ribs. Probably bruised. I’m fine.” Walsh looked at him, grabbing his wrist before he could move away. “You’re bleeding. Your head,” she said.
He touched the back of his head and felt the sticky, warm, wetness of the blood. “It’s fine,” he lied, “I’ve got to get to the others.”
Robby moved towards Frank. “Langdon, talk to me.”
Frank was crying silently, jaw clenched, breathing too fast and shallow. “Just – pain. Just my leg-” he stopped mid-sentence, Robby hearing a musical wheeze as he gasped for air, “-it’s trapped,” he finished.
“Are you breathing ok?” Robby asked.
“I’ll – survive.” Frank wheezed, his sentences broken apart. “If you see my inhaler… it would be nice right about now.”
“Robby, oh God, Robby, over here,” Walsh called then.
Robby made his way towards her voice. She had found Mel, laying crumpled awkwardly, half under debris, her air soaked in blood and matted to her skull. A long smear of dark red traced down the side of her face and neck, still slowly seeping. Her breathing was shallow and irregular through parted lips, blood slowly dripping from her mouth.
Robby’s chest tightened, the world tilted around him then straightened. “Mel,” he said, voice low, “Talk to me Mel.”
She didn’t respond. He could see a deep laceration along her temple, still oozing blood. Robby checked her pulse; present, regular; and palpated her head. Where she had been hit, he felt some instability in the skull, and his stomach dropped. Walsh and Robby worked together to get the remainder of the debris off her and carefully slide her free. He pulled his penlight from his pocket, checking her pupils. Both sluggish, one more dilated than the other.
Robby’s vision swam again as he worked, black dots flickering across his sight. He blinked hard until it cleared.
“Let’s get pressure on this wound,” he said to Walsh, “keep her on her side, watch her breathing. Don’t let her move if she wakes.”
Walsh nodded, “she could have a massive bleed.”
“I know,” he said quietly, through the fog and dizziness clouding his mind. He could feel something wrong in his own skull too, a sick, pulsing ache that nauseated him when he moved. Rowan looked towards Victoria and Dennis.
“Whittaker, Javadi,” he called. “Injuries?”
Victoria looked over. “Dennis’s shoulder is out. Anterior dislocation. And I think his leg is fractured. As for me, I’m ok, just a broken ankle I think.”
Dennis interrupted her. “Just a broken ankle? Her ankle is black and blue and has questionable circulation.”
Robby shook his head. “Don’t move, either of you.” He started picking his way through the rubble towards them. He moved with careful, deliberate motions, each shift of his head feeling like his brain was sloshing around in his skull.
Dennis was clutching his shoulder, obviously out of the socket, hanging awkwardly by just the muscle. Robby positioned his arm and with a quick pull of traction, popped the shoulder back into place. Dennis yelped, then let out a sigh of relief, “Thanks Dr. Robby.”
“How’s your leg?” Robby asked.
“Sore. Javadi’s is worse.” Dennis replied.
Robby took a look at both of their injured legs, Dennis’s looked to be a closed fracture, likely not displaced. Victoria’s leg, also closed, but her ankle was obviously deformed, already significantly bruised with severe swelling. “You both need to stay off those legs,” he said.
Despite being ordered to stay off her leg, Victoria was soon crawling around in the debris attempting to gather any supplies that could help their situation. Dennis, following orders, stayed still, unable to move despite wanting to due to his still aching shoulder and the sharp pain in his leg.
The dust was growing thicker, the air stale. Frank’s wheeze was becoming more audible to everyone now.
“Langdon. How’s your breathing?” Robby asked, making his way back towards Frank.
“Fine,” he insisted, breathlessly, “just the pain. Dust. I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” Walsh said as she pressed her stethoscope to his back. She could hear barely any movement to the bases, and his breaths wheezed tightly at the apexes.
“Did you bring your inhaler?” Robby asked.
“In my bag,” Frank wheezed out. “Over there.” He pointed towards the center of the room, or where the center had been. The area was now covered in collapsed ceiling tiles and plaster.
Robby swore under his breath, his dizziness intensifying just from shifting his gaze. He began to make his way towards the pile of rubble that buried Frank’s bag. His head ached every time it moved, his balance was off. The floor seemed to tip sideways, and he grabbed a beam to steady himself.
“Robby,” Walsh had noticed, “sit down.”
“No,” he refused.
“You’re pale.”
“We’re all pale.”
“You’re bleeding. From your head,” Walsh insisted.
He ignored her, continuing to crawl towards the debris and Frank’s bag. The world continued to sway. He stumbled, and his hand missed a supporting beam, grasping for only empty air as he fell forward. He caught himself against a chunk of concrete as his stomach rolled with sudden nausea. He found the remains of Frank’s backpack, and inside the Ventolin inhaler – still mostly intact. He returned slowly, unsteadily, towards Frank and delivered the inhaler.
“Robby.” Walsh said, voice low and quiet. “Look at me.”
He met her gaze. “Later. Don’t start.”
“You’re slow. You’re still bleeding from your head.”
“We’re all slow. We were just crushed by a building,” Robby answered.
She couldn’t argue with that.
Mel began to slowly wake thirty minutes after the collapse. She moaned quietly, her eyes fluttering open.
“Easy,” Robby said, guiding her gently back as she tried to move. “Don’t move, don’t move your head.”
“M’fine…” she slurred.
“No,” he said quietly, “you’re not.” Robby shone his penlight into her pupils again – they were worse – and felt her head for any changes. Most of the blood was drying now, cracking in spots on her face. It was still wet and oozing from the worst of the head wound, as well as a continuous trickle from her ear. Mel nearly vomited then, her eyes glassy as she retched. Robby held her head to the side, keeping her hair back from her face.
The structure surrounding them groaned again, dust falling like snow. Everyone froze, ducking for cover, Robby bracing over Mel’s nearly unconscious form. His vision threatened to go black again from bending over too quickly, his hands shaking.
Walsh noticed; his timing was off, his words slightly slurred, his movements slower. They both knew, Robby was running out of time before his body betrayed him.