Chapter 42
Liv
The training bay smells like antiseptic and rubber. Clean in a way that never quite feels clean enough.
Mannequins line the far wall, some half-dismantled, ribs exposed in plastic cross-sections, while others are fully intact with synthetic skin stretched tight over molded muscle. There’s a gurney in the center of the room, monitors already hooked up, wires trailing like veins waiting to be filled.
I roll my shoulders once, trying to shake off the tension that’s been sitting there since I walked in.
“Relax, Carter,” Daniels calls from across the room, not looking up from the clipboard in his hand. “It’s just training.”
Just training.
Right.
“Funny,” I mutter, stepping toward the gurney. “That’s what people say right before they make it miserable.”
That gets a smirk out of him. It’s brief and gone just as fast.
“Good,” he says. “Means you’re paying attention.”
I glance at the monitor. Flat baseline, no vitals yet. Waiting for the scenario to start.
“Advanced sim today,” he continues, finally looking at me. “You’ve been pushing through the standard runs too easily. Figured we’d give you something closer to real-world chaos.”
My stomach tightens, just slightly. “Define chaos.”
Daniels taps something on the tablet in his hand. The monitor flickers to life. The heart rate is erratic, oxygen dropping, and blood pressure is unstable.
“Multiple traumas,” he heaves. “Unknown downtime. Suspected internal bleeding. Compromised airway.”
Of course it is.
I step closer to the patient… mannequin… but dressed in street clothes this time. Jeans and a hoodie with fake blood soaked through the fabric at the abdomen and side.
More realistic than I’d like.
“Scene safe?” I ask automatically, even though we’re inside.
Daniels lifts a brow. “You tell me.”
I scan the room out of habit, checking the exits, corners, and for anything out of place. It’s empty except for us, but I don’t skip the step.
“Scene’s safe.”
“For now,” he says.
That qualifier sits wrong, but I don’t have time to unpack whether it’s a curveball he’s about to throw at me.
I move, checking the airway first. I tilt the mannequin’s head, checking for obstruction. There’s simulated resistance, tongue fallback, maybe swelling.
“Airway compromised,” I say aloud, reaching for the bag-valve mask. “Preparing to assist ventilation.”
“Vitals are dropping,” Daniels adds, watching.
“Yeah, I can see that.”
I fit the mask and start squeezing the bag. The chest rises…barely. Not enough.
“Need a better seal,” I mutter, adjusting my grip and repositioning.
The monitor beeps faster, then slower, then erratic again.
“Pulse ox is tanking,” Daniels warns.
“I know.”
I force myself to slow down. Rushing gets people killed.
Reposition. Jaw thrust. Better angle. There. Chest rise improves slightly.
“Better,” I say, more to myself than him.
“Time’s still against you.”
Of course it is.
I glance at the abdomen wound. It’s dark and soaking through. Too much blood loss.
“Suspected internal hemorrhage,” I say. “We need rapid transport.”
“You don’t have transport yet,” Daniels replies evenly. “You’re alone on scene.”
“Then I stabilize what I can.”
I reach for the trauma shears, cutting through the hoodie to expose the wound. The plastic beneath is detailed enough to make my brain fill in the rest. There are torn flesh and pooling blood.
My hands don’t hesitate.
“Direct pressure,” I concur, grabbing gauze and pressing down hard.
The mannequin doesn’t react, obviously. No flinch or scream like a real patient would do.
That thought flashes unwanted through my head.
“BP dropping,” Daniels barks.
“Yeah, because he’s bleeding out.”
I apply more pressure, then reach for additional dressings, packing the wound.
“Talk me through it,” Daniels prompts.
“Severe abdominal trauma, likely internal bleed,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “Airway compromised but managed for now. Oxygenation is improving slightly. Need fluids, rapid transport, and surgical intervention.”
“And what’s going to kill him first?”
The question is pretty fucking obvious. “Bleeding,” I answer. “If we don’t control it.”
“Good.”
The monitor dips again. Heart rate spikes, then stutters.
“Arrhythmia,” I declare. “Possible hypovolemic shock.”
“Possible?” Daniels presses.
“Likely,” I correct, irritation slipping through. “Given the blood loss.”
He nods once.
I reach for the IV kit, hands moving automatically, dealing with the tourniquet, vein, and insertion.
“Line’s in,” I say. “Fluids running.”
“Not enough,” Daniels deadpans.
“It’s what I’ve got.”
“Exactly.”
I grit my teeth, adjusting flow rate.
The scenario keeps stacking against me, every gain being offset by another drop in vitals. It’s frustrating, a controlled, simulated frustration, but it still crawls under my skin.
“Airway’s worsening,” Daniels adds.
I glance up. Chest rise is weaker again.
“Damn it.” I reposition, check the seal, and adjust again.
“Think,” he enunciates.
“I am thinking.”
“Think better.”
I shoot him a look but refocus. Compromised airway. Declining oxygen. Bleeding out. Everything at once. Just like real life.
I switch techniques, improving the seal, increasing efficiency.
“There,” I say under my breath.
The monitor stabilizes slightly. Not good. Not safe. But not crashing.
“Better,” Daniels admits.
I keep going, putting pressure on the wound, checking fluids, then airway management, and doing a constant reassessment.
Seconds stretch and minutes blur.
Eventually, the monitor levels into something resembling stability. It’s not healthy, but it’s survivable.
Daniels taps the tablet. Everything stops. Silence floods the room.
I don’t move right away, hands still in place like the patient might start crashing again if I let go.
“You’re clear,” he accepts.
I step back slowly, peeling off my gloves and tossing them into the bin.
“Time?” I ask.
“Eight minutes to stabilize.”
I nod once. Not great but not terrible.
“Room for improvement,” he adds.
“Always is.”
He studies me for a second longer than usual. “Walk with me.”
I grab a towel, wiping my hands as I follow him out of the training bay and into the hallway. It’s quieter here, the hum of fluorescent lights replacing the simulated chaos.
“You handled the medical side well,” he says. “Fast, efficient, and mostly correct decisions.”
“Mostly,” I repeat.
“You hesitated.”
I frown. “Where?”
“Airway adjustment at the two-minute mark.”
I think back. Replay it. “…Yeah,” I admit. “I second-guessed the seal.”
“Second-guessing costs time.”
“I fixed it.”
“You did,” he agrees. “But in the field, that delay matters.”
I exhale slowly. He’s not wrong. We stop near the lockers.
“And there’s something else,” he adds.
“That tone usually means I’m not going to like it.”
“You’re getting better at the medicine,” he says. “But you’re still thinking like the scene is controlled.”
I blink. “It wasn’t?”
“In here? Yes,” he edges. “Out there? No.”
I cross my arms. “I did a scene safety check.”
“You did,” he acknowledges. “Once.”
“That’s standard.”
“It’s minimum,” he corrects.
Ouch.
“In real situations,” he continues, “especially the kind you’ve been brushing up against lately… scene safety isn’t a one-and-done.”
A chill slides down my spine, subtle but sharp. “Meaning?”
“Meaning the danger doesn’t always announce itself upfront,” he says. “It evolves, it hides, and it waits.”
Images flicker through my mind, calls that felt off, people watching from a little too far away, and that feeling of being observed.
I push it down. “You’re saying I need to stay more aware.”
“I’m saying you need to assume the scene can turn at any second,” he replies. “Because sometimes it does.”
I nod slowly.
“Especially with the kind of cases coming through lately,” he adds.
There it is. “What kind of cases?”
He studies me again, like he’s deciding how much to say. “Patterns,” he finally admits. “We’re seeing patterns.”
“In what?”
“Victims.”
That word tightens my chest.
“Be more specific,” I say, even though I’m sure I already know what he means.
“Similar demographics,” he admits. “Similar injuries. Similar circumstances leading up to the call.”
I feel my jaw set. “You think it’s connected.”
“I think it’s not random. And I think the police think so too.”
That’s worse. “The trafficking ring?” I ask quietly.
His expression doesn’t change, but the silence is enough of an answer.
He silently nods, making my stomach drop.
Faces flash through my memory; I’ve seen plenty of them. From patients who didn’t quite meet my eyes to stories that didn’t quite line up to the bruises that told a different version of events.
I run a hand through my hair, tension spiking again. “And we’re just… what? Treating symptoms?” I ask.
“We’re EMTs,” he says evenly. “We stabilize and transport.”
“That’s not enough.”
“No,” he agrees. “But it’s our role. PD takes care of the rest.”
I hate that he’s right.
“Which is why,” he continues, shifting tone slightly, “you need to think beyond just the medicine.”
I look at him. “You mean safety.”
“Scene safety,” he reaffirms. “Handling yourself isn’t just about reacting. It’s about preparation.”
I tilt my head. “You suggesting something specific?”
“I’m suggesting you stop relying solely on the fact that you’re in uniform.”
I let out a short breath. “That uniform hasn’t exactly stopped people before.”
“Exactly.”
“So, what,” I say. “You want me to start carrying… what, a weapon?”
“I want you to consider additional protection,” he replies carefully.
“Define ‘protection.’”
“Non-lethal options, for starters,” he says.
“Situational awareness tools. Defensive training beyond what we cover here. Maybe take some self-defense classes or something. At least, look through your rig, have something in mind that you could use for defense if you ever need to. You can’t have a gun or anything back there, obviously, but…
have something in mind. Look, I know I’m hard on you during training sims, but you’re a good EMT and you…
well, you look like those women that are getting taken. I’d hate for something to happen.”
I’ve never seen him… I don’t know, not act like a prick. But he’s actually worried about my safety. “Oh my God, you do have a heart.”
He frowns at me instantly. “I’m not heartless, Carter.”
“Okay, okay, I won’t tease. And I’ll look into it,” I clarify. “Additional protection. Training. Whatever makes sense.”
He nods once. “Good.”
I push off the lockers, grabbing my bag. “And Daniels?” I add.
“Yeah?”
“You’re nice when you’re being caring,” I give him a cheeky grin then turn to leave, trying to ignore the weight of the conversation still lingering in my mind.
As I step out of the building, the air hits cooler than I expect, a faint breeze brushing against my skin.
The world outside looks the same as it always does.
Cars pass, people move, and there’s nothing obviously wrong.
But it feels different now. Like there’s something just beneath the surface, waiting.
I adjust my grip on my bag, eyes scanning a little more deliberately than before.
Not just a one-time check, ongoing and constant.
Because Daniels is right. Danger doesn’t always announce itself. And next time, it won’t be a simulation.
And apparently even Daniels can tell that the ring is a bigger problem than city officials are letting on.