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It was two in the afternoon, and there had been no EMTs running in the ER with a bleeding patient on a gurney, no one coding, and no screaming children. Chairs were not even backed up, and no one was cranky enough to complain as McKay did rounds after rounds of triaging the area. No broken HVAC or electronic issues with any of their equipment, no angry calls from upstairs, and even orthopaedics came down timely when called. The hallways were barren of patients because, for once, the beds were not backed up, and they had wheeled their last boarder up just an hour ago. So really, everyone was thinking about it, because it felt like it was too good to be true. But it was Emma, the sweet new girl who had started to become Dana’s favourite (and what an amazing feat that was because Dana rarely ever had favourites), who cracked.
“Wow, it’s so quiet today,” she said, as she held on to her stethoscope and stared obliviously into the monitor showing the patient list.
Santos, who was finally, for the first time in months, catching up to her charting, froze mid-recording. Princess and Perlah, who were settling their bets on the recent gossip, wide-eyed, said the same Tagalog curse word under their breath. Robby, who was just coming back to the nurse station after checking up on a patient with a rash (a normal, nothing to see, totally no problem, allergic reaction), stopped in his tracks and winced.
“Oh, shit, kid,” Dana let out, mid-chewing her nicotine gum.
Finally, after realising that basically everyone was staring at her, Emma blushed deeply and squeaked out, “What?”
It didn’t take long before the gates of hell opened right into the Pitt. The red phone rang loudly in the midst of the silence, and dread seemed to permeate from every single ER staff member on the floor. Dana picked up the phone.
“Multiple GSW victims incoming, five minutes out. Two are in critical condition, seven additional GSW each, one private vehicle en route with at least four walking wounded. There’s a roadblock, and they can’t get into Presby’s, so they’re all coming here,” Dana barked out to the room.
A series of curses immediately followed her announcement. Dr Robby clapped his hands and shouted, “Get both trauma rooms ready. Call Garcia and another resident from surgery. Okay, people, I need everyone on this quickly now. Dr Whitaker, Dr McKay, you’re taking the first critical to trauma one. Dr Mohan with me for the second to Trauma two. Let’s go.”
A flurry of movements flushed through the Pitt. Almost every staff member narrowed their eyes at Emma as they rushed past her to prepare for the incoming victims. Emma shrank into herself, face becoming increasingly red by the second. Dennis, who finished helping clear the trauma bay and was heading out to stand close to the ambulance entrance, saw Emma and took the time to pat her on the back. “Don’t worry about it, we all make that mistake at least once,” he said sympathetically, offering her a small smile.
It wasn’t true, of course. Almost everyone knew the taboo. Only two other people in the Pitt had done this before, and both their names were on a secret section on the betting board, the ‘box of shame'. Emma’s name would join theirs soon, if it wasn’t there already. But Dennis wouldn’t be the one to tell her that.
Before any of them could hold their breath, a loud bang of swinging doors opening echoed through the Pitt, and paramedics rolled in two very bloody men.
“Male, thirties, multiple GSWs, at least one upper thigh and two upper abdomen. Awake initially but unresponsive for about ten minutes now. GCS now eight. Tachycardic to one-fifty, pressure eighty-six over palp, sats low nineties on nonrebreather. Decreased breath sounds on the right. Two 4s in, fluids running, we had no blood available,” the first paramedic informed them. McKay and Dennis quickly pulled the gurney with them.
“We’re moving him on my count, one, two, three,” Dennis yelled out when the gurney was parked parallel to the bed in Trauma One and they moved the victim together.
“Call massive transfusion, we need O Neg, stat” McKay instructed Mateo next to her.
“Get pressure on that wound. He’s not protecting his airway, I’m intubating,” Dennis said, already holding a laryngoscope.
As this was happening, Robby and Mohan took over the care of the second critical patient from the paramedics. The victim’s condition looked just as bad as the first. Santos and a few nurses were almost rolling on the ball of their heel in anticipation as the car with the other victims opened their doors. It was six (how the hell even, Santos thought) walking wounded spilling out of the backseat of a sedan. Gurneys and wheelchairs started rolling in and out to head off with each victim.
The first critical was just rolled out with Garcia to the OR right after a “He’s stable!” from Dennis. He was just going to go help with one of the walking wounded when they all heard an unbelievable shout from Ahmad, “Active shooter! Get down!”
“What the fuck?” Dennis whispered as he ducked under the gurney next to his patient.
There was a rapid succession of shots fired and people screaming. Dennis could see a burly man in his forties, tattoos covering every inch of his skin, running into the ER, with what looked like a full 4.5-inch barrel Glock on his right arm. Ahmad and Mike were hot on his heels.
“Where is that motherfucker!?” He exclaimed, eyes madly running through the room as he shot another round. Dennis saw the bullet landing on a monitor, almost hitting Dana. Dana looked white as a sheet, frozen on the spot. Dennis started to feel anger replace his fear.
The man was bulldozing through the ER, pushing away patients on gurneys, when he saw that they were not who he was looking for. Shrieks of terror filled the room as he kept doing this, uncaptured. He was slowly moving closer to Dennis and his patient.
The man’s eyes locked onto Dennis’ patient. Oh no. Dennis’ patient started to scramble back in his gurney, hissing in pain as he did so because his lower abdomen was largely bruised with a significant laceration on his knee. The man with the gun looked so red that he was going to explode.
“Fuck you, fuck you,” The man chanted, firing the gun in their direction as he moved even closer. The bullet hit nowhere close to Dennis. (How was that possible? He couldn’t even be two yards away.)
It hit Mateo. On. His. Chest.
Dennis watched as Mateo grabbed his chest and fell from his chair to the ground, and the blood boiled in his head. He stood up before he could formulate any coherent words. The man didn’t acknowledge Dennis, training his gun towards the patient still, but Dennis was quickly standing face-to-face with him. The man visibly towered over Dennis, the Goliath to his David.
“No,” Dennis hissed out. The man finally realised that Dennis was right in front of him. But it was too late. Dennis moved with practised hands, forcing the gun out of the man’s grip. The cool metal of the Glock was quickly in his own palm, his right hand securely holding the handle. It was only someone’s shout of “Dennis!” that stopped him from sliding his index finger to the trigger hole. It was instinctual. Dennis almost fired a shot, gun perfectly poised to shoot the frozen man dead-centre to his heart. Instead, he held the gun handle firmly and, with his whole body momentum, swung the butt of the gun in a jab to the shooter’s face.
The man went down in a comically loud thump. Dennis paid immediate attention to Mateo, who was still bleeding on the ground, quickly crouched and examined the nurse, right hand still on the gun.
“I need a gurney in here!” He shouted because no one was moving yet. Why was no one else moving yet? Even Ahmad and Mike had not arrested the shooter Dennis had just knocked unconscious. “Hello?!” Dennis yelled, frustrated.
Robby acted first, pulling an empty gurney towards them, and the spell was broken as doctors and nurses rushed to Mateo’s side. They wheeled Mateo away, and Dennis breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw that the other staff members had the situation under control.
“Sorry, sir. Now, let me clean this wound for you, and we can stitch up your knee,” Dennis said calmly to his patient. Who was still terrified, staring at Dennis and his right arm. Dennis followed the patient’s gaze to the gun comfortably resting in his hand. “Oh!” Dennis exclaimed, embarrassed. Even more so when his instinct was to holster the gun into his non-existent belt, but really, no one but Dennis even registered that because collectively, neon signs of what the fuck hang over the head of every hospital staff and patient who saw the whole ordeal.
“Uhm, I should probably… Ahmad, should I give this to you?” He asked to the security guard, who was staring back and forth from Dennis to the big guy on the hospital floor. For some reason, he looked a little scared as Dennis jerked forward to give him the gun. What was that for? Dennis even clicked off the safety and flipped the gun so that the handle was conveniently in Ahmad’s reach. Ahmad warily grabbed the gun from him.
“Sorry again about that,” Dennis apologised sincerely to his patient. He sat back down and touched the patient’s knee to inspect the laceration more clearly. Dennis’s eyes were a little blurry from the adrenaline. The patient recoiled under his touch. Oh, it probably hurt more than it looked, Dennis thought seriously.
Mateo was fine. The bullet turned out to only graze him (Again, how? The man was literally in front of Mateo when he shot him, but Dennis was glad he missed anyway.) The staff members and the patients returned to their own health issues. And would you look at that? It seemed like Emma’s taboo only brought them one emergency the rest of the day shift. Dennis smiled at the graduate nurse as the clock struck closer to seven and gave her a thumbs up. The nurse only widened her eyes and scurried away. What was up with that?
The rest of the Pitt couldn’t really get their eyes away from Dennis, even as they stood around for handover. What the fuck happened? How did Dennis, farm boy from bumfuck nowhere Broken Bow, Nebraska, boney arms and lanky legs, and all around twink extraordinaire just disarm a 200-something-pound man? And why did he look so comfortable with the gun? But nobody dared to even speak about it, like another taboo subject coming into existence. Even Princess kept her mouth sealed.
At a quarter to seven, Abbot arrived to the nurse station and the day shift started to filter out of the ER. He noted the weird electric buzz in the Pitt, a nervous air around anybody standing close to Dennis. “Huh, what happened?” He asked Dana who was gathering her things from the table. The charge nurse only pursed her lips and gave a nervous chuckle.