The Surgeon’s Scars: Running From My Past

The rain was coming down in sheets now, turning the station's back lot into a mud pit.

"Again!" Damon roared.

The crew of Station 19 was gasping for air. They were in full turnout gear-helmets, tanks, coats. Fifty pounds of extra weight. They had just finished their tenth set of stairs.

Landon was bent double, hands on his knees, retching. "He's... he's a machine," he wheezed. "Is he even human?"

Perry, the Lieutenant, wiped mud from his face. "Whatever he is, his file is a black hole. Heard he was military, but it's all redacted. Guy's a ghost."

Damon was running with them. He was in full gear too. He wasn't even breathing hard. His military training kicked in-pain was just information. Exhaustion was a mindset.

He ran because if he stopped, he would think about Adria. He would think about Campbell touching his arm. He would think about the look of terror in Adria's eyes when she saw him.

"Last set!" Damon yelled, sprinting past them. "If you can't carry your own weight, how are you going to carry a victim?"

The insult worked. They gritted their teeth and ran.

After the drill, the locker room was silent except for the sound of heavy breathing and velcro ripping. Damon went to the gym.

He wrapped his hands and started hitting the heavy bag. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Left hook. Why did you leave?

Right cross. Why didn't you tell me?

Uppercut. I miss you.

He hit the bag so hard the chain rattled ominously. His knuckles, already raw, began to bleed through the wraps.

Perry stood in the doorway, holding a water bottle. "Captain. You need to hydrate."

Damon stopped the bag with his shoulder. He took the water and downed it in three seconds. "I'm fine."

KLANG-KLANG-KLANG.

The station alarm blared. The lights flashed red.

"Engine 19, Ladder 19. Structure Fire. Third Alarm. 405 Pine Street."

Damon's eyes shifted. The torture in them vanished, replaced by cold, tactical focus.

"Let's go!" he shouted, sliding down the pole before the tone finished.

Adria was checking a chart in the Trauma Bay. It was her first shift. She had already introduced herself to the team, keeping it brief and professional. She declined the lunch invitation. She ignored the whispers about her coming from a prestigious program back East.

"Dr. Barr," the charge nurse called out. "Incoming. Multi-casualty from a structure fire."

Adria capped her pen. "I'm ready."

The ambulance bay doors hissed open. The smell of smoke and burnt flesh wafted in. Adria's pulse remained steady. This she could do. Blood and bone she understood.

She stabilized a burn victim, intubating with practiced ease. As she stripped off her gloves, she heard two paramedics talking near the nurses' station.

"Yeah, the roof collapsed. The new Captain at 19 is insane. He went back in for a kid. Took a beam to the arm."

"Station 19?" Adria paused. The number sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it.

"Is he coming in?"

"Yeah, pulling up now. Refused transport until the fire was out. Guy's got a death wish."

Adria frowned. A firefighter with a death wish. Sounds like a handful.

Damon sat in the back of the ambulance. His left forearm was throbbing with a sickening, deep ache. He couldn't rotate his wrist.

"It's broken, Cap," Perry said, looking at the swelling. "You need the hospital."

"I need to file the report," Damon grunted, sweat dripping off his soot-stained nose.

"You're going to the hospital," Perry insisted. "Or I'm calling the Chief."

Damon glared at him, but the pain was blinding. "Fine. Which one?"

"Nanxi Affiliated. It's the closest Trauma One."

Damon froze. Nanxi Affiliated.

He looked out the window as the ambulance turned the corner. The red emergency sign loomed ahead.

Fate, it seemed, had a sense of humor.

"Let's go," Damon said, a grim smile touching his lips.