Steel slammed against tile. Forceps, clamps, scissors scattered in every direction, loud as gunshots in the quiet room.
Everyone turned around.
Annie stood frozen by the supply cart. Her face had gone completely white. Her eyes were locked on the radio.
“Well, look at that,” Teague laughed. “Mouse dropped it again.”
Nobody laughed with him this time.
Linda was watching Annie. Danny was watching Annie. Even the two corpsmen had stopped grinning.
Annie bent down slowly. She picked up the tray. She picked up every instrument, one at a time, and set them back in their places.
Her hands were perfectly still.
She stood up.
And then she did something nobody on that floor had ever seen her do in seven months.
She lifted her chin. She rolled her shoulders back. And she looked Dr. Warren Teague straight in the eye.
“Doctor. How many staff do we have in the building right now?”
Teague blinked. “What?”
“Staff. Right now. How many?”
“Me. You. Linda. Danny. Two more corpsmen in the back. Dr. Hale’s on call, but he’s forty minutes out in this weather. Why?”
“Because eight minutes isn’t much time,” Annie said.
Then she turned around.
“Danny. Trauma Bay One. Turn on the rapid infuser. Warm the fluids. Open the massive transfusion cooler and pull everything we have. Linda, I need two chest tube trays and a thirty-two French tube. Everybody else, gloves and gowns. Now.”
The word landed like a slammed door.
Danny moved first. Then Linda. Then the two corpsmen in the back, who’d come out to see what the noise was.
Teague stood up so fast his chair rolled backward and hit the wall.
“Excuse me. You don’t give orders in my ER.”
“Then give them,” Annie said.
He opened his mouth. He closed it. He looked at the radio.
“This is a prank. It’s some kind of stunt from the base.”
“It’s not,” she said. “Listen to the voice.”
A second voice cut in over the radio. Ragged. Tight with fear.
“Hart’s pressure is dropping! Seventy over forty! Move it, move it!”
Teague’s face changed. Just a little. Just a fraction.
He didn’t give any orders.
But he didn’t stop hers either.
Annie walked to Trauma Bay One.
Her walk was different now. Straight. Quiet. Efficient. Like someone who had walked into a thousand rooms exactly like this one and knew where everything was without looking.
Linda caught her sleeve in the hallway.
“Annie.”
“Not now, Linda.”
“I just want to know one thing.” Linda’s voice was low. “Who are you?”
Annie didn’t answer.
She was already pulling on gloves.
For six years, she’d told herself she would never do this again. That she’d let somebody else carry it. That she was done.
Her body hadn’t listened.
Lila Hart is a dedicated Digital Archivist and Research Specialist with a keen eye for preserving and curating meaningful content. At TheArchivists, she specializes in organizing and managing digital archives, ensuring that valuable stories and historical moments are accessible for generations to come.
Lila earned her degree in History and Archival Studies from the University of Edinburgh, where she cultivated her passion for documenting the past and preserving cultural heritage. Her expertise lies in combining traditional archival techniques with modern digital tools, allowing her to create comprehensive and engaging collections that resonate with audiences worldwide.
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