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The Docks. Rescue Scene.
Ring ring!
The phone went off again.
"Old White's brother-in-law," the tough-as-nails Texan still hanging around, picked it up fast, flipped it to speaker, and held it next to Adam.
"What's the situation?" Adam asked.
"Left pupil's dilated, right one's blown, he's seizing—lost consciousness," Cristina's voice crackled through.
"Could be a brain herniation," Adam diagnosed quick, then followed up: "Has the rescue team gotten there yet?"
"Nope," Cristina said, glancing around and shaking her head. "What now? You coming over?"
"Can't leave," Adam replied, still working on a critical patient. He shot a quick look at the bald guy staring at him all hopeful, then kept talking into the phone. "You're gonna have to do a burr hole on Rick right there—relieve the intracranial pressure and clear the blood."
"WHAT?!" Cristina's voice shot up an octave. "You're kidding, right? A burr hole here?"
"You got a better idea?" Adam fired back.
"…"
Cristina had nothing. She switched to practical objections: "There's nothing here—how am I supposed to drill into his skull?"
"I've got a power drill in my trunk," the bald guy—Vincent—piped up.
"Nah, we're good," Adam said, motioning to an out-of-town doc to grab a surgical drill from his custom emergency kit. "Taylor, take the drill and go with…"
"Vincent!" the bald guy cut in. "Call me Vincent!"
"Cool," Adam continued. "Vincent, hand the phone to Daisy, then take Taylor and hustle over to help Dr. Yang do the burr hole on Rick."
"Yes, sir."
"Got it."
Taylor, the out-of-town doc, and Vincent nodded sharp.
Nurse Daisy took the phone, holding it up so Adam could keep talking while he worked.
Vincent grabbed Taylor's kit and led the charge, running full tilt.
Texan grit wasn't just talk. If saving lives didn't take legit medical skills—if it was just about guts and muscle—he wouldn't have been begging anyone. This guy was a survivor, a real tough son of a gun.
"You carry a surgical drill?" Cristina grumbled over the phone while she waited. "What else you got in that kit—an entire OR?"
Most emergency kits were basic: gauze, bandages, chest seals, splints, scalpel blades, hemostats, gloves, alcohol wipes—portable stuff for quick fixes.
Who wasn't a neurosurgeon carried a surgical drill on the regular, ready to crack open skulls at a moment's notice?
"It's just a few extra tools—doesn't weigh much," Adam said with a modest grin. "Better safe than sorry, right? Look, it's coming in handy now!"
This wasn't just any kit—it was the Duncan All-Purpose Field Emergency Bag, custom-made by pros to match Adam's skills. The goal? Total versatility!
Aside from the giant gear you couldn't shrink down, if it could be made portable, it was in there. From basic first aid to general surgery, cardiothoracic, even neurosurgery—if things got dire and there was no time to hit the hospital, Adam could pull off emergency ops on the spot.
Weight told the story. Cristina and the crew's kits? Three kilos, five tops. Adam's monster bag, the one he hauled around like it was nothing? Eighty kilos! 😳
If Vincent hadn't been praying Adam wasn't a Texan—no "figure it out yourself" vibe—he'd have taken one look at that beast of a kit and lost all hope.
But nah, pulling out a surgical drill? Totally reasonable.
While they had a sec, Adam ran Cristina through some key points for the procedure, getting her as prepped as possible.
Right then, Vincent and Taylor finally made it over.
With Adam's guidance and Taylor's assist, Cristina got everything ready.
"Whew!" Cristina took a deep breath. "I'm good!"
"Let's do it," Adam said. "Find the entry point—three fingers above the ear, then two or three forward, next to the dilated pupil."
"Got it," Cristina said, measuring Rick's head with her fingers like Adam told her. "Scalpel!"
Taylor handed her a sterilized one quick.
"Now make a vertical incision," Adam coached. "It'll help with the drilling. Might get some surface bleeding—don't freak out."
"Done," Cristina said.
"Now drill right in the middle of the cut," Adam guided. "This is a surgical drill—it'll stop once it's through the temporal bone, but stay sharp. Bone's usually one to one-point-five centimeters thick, thinnest part's about point-two. Go slow, keep your eyes on it."
Fancy tools were great, but a good doc didn't just lean on them. Gear could fail. This drill's auto-stop was clutch for punching through the skull without nicking the brain, but if it glitched and the doc wasn't paying attention? Disaster city—medical emergency to horror movie real fast.
"Alright, I'm through," Cristina said, cool as ice, nailing it. "Dura looks okay."
"Gotta drill a second hole now," Adam said. "Behind the hairline, a few centimeters off the midline. It's thicker there—about five times the temporal bone."
Bzzzzt!
The drill hummed!
Vincent and the others watching—even the Texan tough guy—couldn't handle it. They turned away, some swallowing hard, too squeamish to look.
Classic horror flick vibes—blood and gore. Surgeons were prime villain material. When they weren't saving lives but tormenting people? Nightmare fuel. Professional precision made it terrifying! 😱
"Second hole's done," Cristina said. "I see some blood in there—keep drilling?"
"Yeah," Adam nodded. "Go slow along that hole, try to release the pressure."
"Alright, I've got blood clots showing," Cristina reported.
"Clear as much as you can," Adam instructed. "See any arteries? No? Awesome!
How's the dura now—swollen or relaxed? Pulsing with the heartbeat? Perfect!
That means blood and oxygen are hitting the brain. Wrap it with gauze to cut the bleeding."
"He's awake!" Vincent and his crew cheered, pumped.
"Great job," Adam said, glancing at Karen nodding to him from a distance. He grinned. "Rescue team should be on you soon—I'm sure of it."
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(Chapter End)