New York – Dockside
Cruise Ship Accident Rescue Scene
"Dr. Bailey, what do we do?" Meredith asked, staring at the chaotic mess in front of her, totally lost. "Where do we even start?"
Even Bailey was momentarily stunned, and that was saying something.
"I'm going to help Adam!" Christina, cool as ever, dropped the line with a gleam in her eye, ready to charge straight into the red zone—where the toughest, most technical emergency cases were waiting for her to assist Adam.
"Yang!" Bailey snapped back to reality, yelling at Christina, who'd already taken two steps. "Don't you dare go over there!"
"Why not?" Christina stopped, turning back with a scowl.
"Because they don't need you there," Bailey shot back, glaring. "Adam's got enough hands. We need to focus on the yellow zone—way more patients, way fewer staff!"
"But—" Christina tried to argue.
"No buts!" Bailey barked. "We're here to save people, not for you to practice your skills! The yellow zone needs us now. That's an order!"
"Fine," Christina grumbled, dragging her feet toward the yellow zone, glancing back at the red zone every three steps like a kid leaving a candy store.
"What about us, Dr. Bailey?" Meredith and George asked in unison.
"You too—go! Stick to the rules, triage properly, don't block the paramedics, and save as many as you can," Bailey said without even looking at them before rushing off to help someone.
Meredith and George exchanged a glance, grabbed their trauma kits, and split up. Soon, cops and firefighters were flagging them down to assist wherever they were needed.
A cruise ship like this could hold 3,000 people. Even if it didn't completely sink, the injured crowding the dock were just a fraction—maybe one or two out of every ten. Tons of passengers and casualties were still trapped, waiting for rescue.
With so many patients and so few medics, everyone—interns, nurses, whoever—had to step up and handle things solo. After shaking off the initial panic, four years of med school and a year of internship kicked in. Meredith and the others found their groove.
"Deep breaths," Meredith said, placing an oxygen mask on a patient's face, helping them breathe. "Your injuries aren't bad—you're gonna be okay," she repeated soothingly.
A scream caught her attention, and she grabbed her kit, rushing toward it.
Dock's Edge
A middle-aged Black man lay there, a jagged tear in his leg.
"What happened?" Meredith asked, checking him over.
"Something metal hit my foot. I pulled it out, and it fell into the water—God, it hurts!" he groaned, explaining through the pain. "I started swimming—I had to get out. I've got a meeting later…"
Hmmm…
This guy was probably some poor 007—a workaholic caught in the blast's aftermath. Why 007 and not your typical 9-9-6 worker or a boss? Simple: even in this state, he was obsessed with getting to work. Your average 9-9-6 drone wouldn't care this much. Only a high-achieving corporate warrior, brainwashed into chasing the dream, would have that kind of drive. A boss? Sure, they've got the energy, but they value their life more. One of life's saddest truths: dying before you can spend all that money you earned.
"Ahhh!!!" The guy curled up in agony as Meredith worked on his wound, howling like crazy. It hurt that much!
"Sorry… try not to move," she said gently.
After a quick bandage, she needed help moving him—leg injury or not, she wasn't strong enough to haul a grown man alone. But everyone was swamped. She was the only one with this patient, and no one even glanced her way.
The man started shivering from blood loss. Meredith yanked off her jacket, draped it over him, and urged, "Don't move, sir. Please, stay still."
"No, I've gotta get out of here!" he mumbled, his mind foggy, clinging to his original goal—get up, go to the meeting, keep working.
Meredith tried to hold him down, but this 007 wasn't having it. When he pushed back, her slight frame didn't stand a chance. One swing of his arm sent her stumbling. She'd been standing on the seaward side of the dock to treat him, and his shove tipped her backward—right off the edge.
He didn't even realize what he'd done. After knocking her off, he twitched a few times and passed out from the pain.
The rescue site buzzed with noise in the distance, but here? Dead quiet. Just the bandaged, unconscious man lying there.
Meredith plummeted from the height into the sea. No one saw. No one came.
The impact knocked her under, sinking fast. Her mind went blank.
Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing?
The icy water and struggling breaths snapped her survival instincts awake. She flailed, swimming upward until her head broke the surface. Gasping, she pieced it together: "I was helping someone, and they accidentally pushed me off."
Then a weird feeling crept in. If a person disappears, so does their pain—everything does. What would happen if she disappeared?
Would her cold, judgmental legend of a mom care? Would Dr. Shepherd, who hadn't chased her since she dumped Finn, feel anything?
Her swimming slowed. Her arms drifted out into a starfish shape, letting the water take over as buoyancy failed. She sank again.
In the clear sea, Meredith kept sinking. No one knew.
George and the others were tied up with their own rescues, too busy to think about anything else. If they did think of someone? Even George, who saw Meredith as a goddess, would only think of Adam. In a crisis like this, Adam was the one who could handle the sweaty, life-or-death cases.
Dockside Parking Lot
Christina had been dragged over by a frantic bald guy, thinking she'd get to save some critical patient. But when she saw the scene, her scalp tingled, and she yelled, "Go get Dr. Adam Duncan from the red zone—NOW!"
"Dr. Adam Duncan, right?" the bald guy asked, desperate.
"Yeah, the hottest young doctor out there!" Christina said, stepping up to check the injuries.
She knew this was beyond her. All she could do was triage and save Adam some time.
(End of Chapter)