Memorial Hospital
Southland, California
The helicopter set down atop the roof of Memorial Hospital. Even before the rotors stopped turning, medical personnel were already on the scene, having been alerted to their presence. Rose watched, anxiously, as Jack was taken from the helicopter.
He looked terrible. The EMT had managed to stop, or at least slow, the bleeding from the gunshot wound, but he was still unconscious, his face deathly pale in the harsh light, the bruises he had received earlier in his fight with Cal standing out in stark relief against his white face.
Someone brought a wheelchair for her. Rose moved toward it hesitantly, looking toward the door that Jack had been taken through. She was tempted to ignore the nurse and follow him, but common sense won out. She couldn’t do anything for him; it was in the doctor’s hands now. Reluctantly, she sat down.
The nurse wheeled her through the door, and Rose admitted silently to herself that she was glad not to have to walk. Her ankle seemed to throb with each heartbeat.
As the elevator brought them down to the ground floor, Rose turned to the nurse.
"Will he be all right?"
"Who?"
"Jack, the other person in the helicopter."
"I really can’t say; I didn’t do more than glance at him. What did you say his name was?"
"Jack Dawson."
The nurse nodded. "We’ll need that information for the paperwork."
"You have to fill out paperwork first?"
"No, not in emergency cases. I’d imagine he’s been taken right in for treatment."
Rose sighed with relief; at least he wouldn’t have to wait for help.
"Do you know him?" the woman asked her.
"Yes." Rose’s voice broke.
The nurse parked her wheelchair in the waiting room. "You need to relax," she told Rose.
"What?" Rose looked down at her hands; they were clenched, holding the arms of the wheelchair in a death grip.
"Working yourself into a panic won’t help him at all. What you can do is fill out paperwork for both of you. It may be a while before anyone sees you; life-threatening emergencies come first, and there’s a lot of those with the earthquake."
"Is it legal for me to fill out his paperwork? We aren’t related."
"Are you a friend of his?"
"His girlfriend, actually." Rose was reasonably certain that was how Jack thought of her—he had said he loved her, after all, and she certainly returned his feelings, though she hoped he hadn’t said he loved her just because he thought he was about to die.
"That’s good enough. As long as you know enough about him to fill out his paperwork accurately, it’s fine." The nurse brought Rose a clipboard and two piles of documents to fill out. "Someone will see you as soon as possible. There’s about five other minor emergencies ahead of you, plus whoever is in serious need of care." She started to walk away.
"Wait!" Rose called. "How do I find out how Jack is doing?"
"When you finish the paperwork, tell the person at the desk that you’re with him. Someone will keep you informed."
"Okay." Rose took the papers and tried to settle back in her chair, trying to get herself to relax. The nurse was right; getting herself worked up wouldn’t help anything. She had to do her part to help both Jack and herself.