Chapter 1 - THE SOUND OF THE BLADEThe hum of the electric saw was the only sound in Trauma Room 2. Daniel Harris backed away, his polished shoes scuffing against the sterile linoleum. His poise was gone, replaced by a frantic, hunted look.
"Don't," he choked out, his voice barely audible. "She... she had surgery. The internal fixation might be unstable."
I didn't stop. The smell of necrosis was intensifying—a sickening, cloying scent that told me the arm wasn't just infected; it was dying. As the blade sliced through the hardened fiberglass, grey, watery fluid began to seep out from the edges.
"Marcus, get the suction and a trauma tray!" I commanded.
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As the final section of the cast fell away, the room went silent. I gasped, and even seasoned nurses like Marcus recoiled. Emily’s arm was not healing. It was a ruin of black, necrotic tissue, but that wasn't the worst part. Wrapped tightly around the forearm, constricting the flesh until it had actually been absorbed into the bone, were heavy-duty plastic zip-ties.
They weren't surgical. They were meant for restraint.
