Amanda's Story by Brian O'Grady

Scott,” he yelled.
    â€œRight behind you, Lieutenant,” Bernice said. “I heard what he said. Does any of it make sense to you?”
    â€œNo,” he answered quickly. “What are those things on their skin?”

CHAPTER 9

    â€œShe just walked in from the jungle and passed out,” Mary Ecklers told Dr. Greenburg as the pair hurried behind Oso, the large Honduran private. He carried a small bleeding woman, whose moaning had ominously ceased.
    â€œSenor, take her over to the tent.” Greenburg pointed to the large pavilion that had been erected just minutes before. In time it would serve as triage and, if needed, an open air hospital ward.
    â€œHis name is Oso,” Mary teased. The large man grunted at her; she had been calling him Oso since they had landed, and his fellow soldiers were starting to pick it up.
    â€œMy name is Miguel,” he said, reaching the tent and lowering the stricken woman onto the only clear spot, which happened to be a stack of bottled water cases.
    â€œHelp me clear this, Oso.” Greenburg had started to pull boxes off of a large wooden crate.
    â€œMiguel,” he said, brushing aside the physician and opening the side door of the crate. “I am guessing that you want the exam table.” He slid the folded table from the crate and in a single move expanded the legs.
    â€œI never knew they opened like that. Thanks, Oso.” Greenburg stood back and examined the crate’s side door.
    The big man shook his head and gave Mary a long look as he lifted the unconscious woman onto the exam table.
    â€œSorry, but it suits you,” she said, tearing open bags of saline and IV supplies.
    â€œShe’s been shot,” Greenburg said in surprise. “We’re going to need more help.” He applied pressure to a small wound in her upper right chest. “Get me a set of vital signs and a couple of IVs as soon as you can.” He reached around the small woman and his hand came back bloody. “Shit, the bullet went all the way through. She’s got an exit wound that’s as big as my fist. We could use some help in here.” He yelled, “Hey Oso, or whatever your name is, see if you can find us a pair of gloves.”
    Dr. Jorgenson and four other people rushed into the tent. “What’s going on?” he asked his colleague.
    â€œGunshot wound to the chest; as if these people didn’t have enough problems now someone is shooting them. Can you get me a blood pressure?”
    â€œI can’t get a blood pressure,” Mary said, stabbing the woman’s arm with a large-bore needle.
    â€œShe’s still bleeding so she must have one. Get me some instruments—maybe I can clamp this damn bleeder off.”
    Twenty minutes later, and after fifteen minutes of CPR, David Jorgenson tapped his partner’s back. “She’s gone, Eli; you need to stop.”
    Greenburg reluctantly stopped chest compressions. He was dripping in sweat and had blood up to both elbows. “Not even two hours and we’re already pulling the sheet over one of them,” he said bitterly as Miguel helped him off the table. “I’ll bet she’s not even thirty.” He brushed the dark, bloodstained hair from her face and then paused. “Hey David, what do you make of these?” He pointed to a crop of small clear blisters that had appeared over her otherwise smooth face. “She didn’t have these when we started.”
    â€œAllergic reaction?” Jorgenson bent close.
    â€œTo what? All she got was saline and epinephrine. We didn’t even have gloves for a latex allergy.” He lifted both his bloody hands as proof.
    â€œDoctors, she’s got them on her arms as well, and she definitely didn’t have them when I started the IV.” Mary raised one flaccid arm, which was now covered in a cobblestone rash.
    â€œOkay, I’m starting to get a little concerned here.”