I saw it—the terror draining from his face, replaced by the faintest curl at the corner of his lips.
Katherine clutched Ferdinand's hand like a lifeline, running alongside the stretcher as they carried him out.
Not once did she look back.
The ambulance sirens wailed into the distance until silence swallowed everything.
All that remained was the drip... drip... drip of fuel leaking from the mangled gas tank.
The stench of gasoline grew thicker with every breath.
I was pinned in the wreckage, my right leg completely numb. The only sensation left was warmth—blood, pulsing out in steady waves.
Captain Mercer crouched nearby, his eyes heavy with guilt. "Hang in there, buddy. Second unit's on its way." He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. The family insisted—"
I tried to smile. Managed only a wet cough that sprayed blood across my chin.
"It's fine... I don't blame you."
The fire risk was climbing by the second. Emergency crews pushed the crowd back to a safe perimeter.
And I stayed. Alone. Watching the sky bleed from orange to black.
By the time the second rescue team arrived, the pain had stopped.
Not a good sign.
My body felt weightless, like I was drifting somewhere above myself. Only my right leg remained—a dead anchor dragging me down.
"Move! Get the hydraulic cutters! He's in hypovolemic shock!"
"Watch the leg! The tissue's already necrotic!"
Voices crashed over me in waves, near and far, near and far.
They pulled me from the wreckage like a ragdoll.
Under the harsh beam of the rescue lights, I caught a glimpse of my right leg.
Below the knee, the flesh had turned a sickly purple-black, hanging limp and wrong. Bone jutted through the shredded fabric of my pants—pale splinters smeared with clotted blood and grime.
The ambulance tore through the streets.
Mia Caldwell worked frantically beside me, one hand squeezing the blood bag, the other jabbing at her phone.
"Pick up. Pick up!"
Her eyes were wet, voice cracking.
First call. No answer.
Second call. Line busy.
Third call—
It connected.
Relief flooded her face. She pressed the phone to her ear and shouted, "Are you Emmet Dickerson's next of kin? The patient has a comminuted fracture of the right leg with arterial rupture. Massive tissue necrosis. Sepsis risk is imminent. We need authorization for emergency amputation now!"
"If you don't sign, he will die!"
The ambulance went quiet.
Katherine's voice cut through the speaker—dripping with impatience and something close to contempt.
"Amputation? Really? Is this the best scam your hospital can come up with?"
"The rescue team already told me—it's just a surface wound. Looks scary because of the blood, that's all."
"If you think I'm falling for this so I'll run back to take care of him? Forget it."
Mia froze. She stared at the phone like it had grown teeth.
"Ma'am—I'm calling from City General ER! Do you think we joke about this? The patient is right in front of me. His leg is black!"
A beat of silence on the other end.
Then Ferdinand's voice floated through—soft, trembling, perfectly pitiful.
"Katie... my head's spinning... Do you think it's a concussion?"
Katherine's tone transformed instantly. Honey-sweet. Dripping with tenderness.
"Don't worry, Ferdy. The doctors will take care of you. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
Then her voice hardened again, sharp as a blade:
"Emmet, there's a limit to how pathetic you can be. Don't think bribing some nurse will make me believe your little act."
"Ferdy needs me right now. If you really need to amputate, then sign the damn form yourself."
"Be a man for once and stop with these disgusting pity plays."
Click.
The line went dead.
Mia's hands shook so hard the phone nearly slipped from her grip.
She slammed it against the emergency kit, tears streaming down her face.
