Fireand'chutes77
08-08-2007, 11:06 PM
To get the topic back on track, I'm transporting all the posts in the original ARA thread here. As in my other fanfic thread, I'm reposting all the replies from the original thread in my name, but with the original poster's name in big letters.
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This was inspired by a post of Snapdragon's (http://z7.invisionfree.com/ARA/index.php?showtopic=1862&view=findpost&p=4189329) and subsequent posts in Rego's thread (http://z7.invisionfree.com/ARA/index.php?showtopic=1862) about fanfiction ideas.
Thanks to her, I was swarmed by plot bunnies and soon spiraled into creative deluge and spent several late nights writing all this up. Thanks, Snapdragon. :P
Anyway, when I read her post, pieces of the story kernel I created below immediately came to mind and I morphed it into my own.
That said, I don’t have the time or energy right now to make an entire fanfic out of this idea. The story begins in medias res, and anyone so inspired is more than welcome to come up with a backstory and conclusion. I came up with several snippets and flashes of plot incidences as I wrote, so if someone decides to go through with it, I’m happy to share.
About a quarter of the way through writing,I renewed my BSA CPR certification. While I’d initially been most interested in obtaining the AED dialogue word-for-word, as I went through the motions again, I decided to expand the details of Ron’s role. Hadn’t expected that section to turn quite into the semi-demi CPR training spiel that it did, though. :unsure:
***
Don’t read this until you’re done –
My explanation for DNAmy’s drug and AED use – Amy created a strain of viral DNA that transforms hosts into hulking CuddleBuddy-esque monsters, no genetic zipper machine needed. However, because the mutated strain of DNA was lab-created, it had no natural resistance to outside perils and was extremely unstable. To preserve specimens long enough to be transported and injected, the DNA had to be contained within a very tough protein coat. Unfortunately, the protein coat required to keep the DNA stable was too resilient to disseminate the virus by natural means. In order to break the coat, an electrocution-grade jolt was needed. If the virus were activated in a healthy, living host, the activation effort would kill the host and make the virus moot. DNAmy was forced to mix the virus with a massive dose of pentobarbital (or similar) to induce cardiac arrest so the electric shock would revive rather than kill.
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June 9th, 2007
Middleton High School gymnasium
11:36 AM
The girl growled, seething, as she delicately tottered a tray of erythrocytes, leukocytes, and plasma onto the fingers of her other hand. She gave one, two frustrated tugs at an o-ringed, insulated cooler before it unexpectedly popped open, sending the brown-haired hottie stumbling back a step. For a moment, the vials of precious liquid chattered, threatening to fall. With the grace of an expert cheerleader, she steadied herself and flicked the refrigerator all the way open. Ignoring the neon-yellow banner sprawled across the ceiling with its saccharine slogan, “Give It Up For Life!” and syrupy little mascot, Bonnie Rockwaller rammed her tray of blood home into the biotemperate refrigerator. Standing, she slammed the heavy door closed and brushed a lock of brown hair away from her eyes. With a contemptuous flicker to her lips, she looked around at the biannual Middleton blood drive swirling about her.
She was having, in her opinion, what amounted to a pretty sucky morning. Her mother had dragged her into this, she thought bitterly. Mrs. Rockwaller had beamed as she scribbled her protesting daughter’s name on the volunteer sign-up sheets several weeks ago. She’d happily proclaimed that it was “Good for service hours – colleges love this type of thing, dearie!” and “All your little buddies will be there– you’ll have a great time!”
Bonnie’s idea of a good time was tanning at the pool in a bikini, watching boys gawk at her until they slammed into light posts, but her mother would have none of it.
So she’d been trumped awake that morning at seven. After dragging herself through the shower and gulping down a breakfast of energy bars, she skidded up to the high school on an utterly gorgeous pool-day Saturday. As an added indignity, once there, the staff had forced her to change out of her tight, busty nurse’s outfit and into a formless, unflattering, utterly practical teal-colored scrub blouse. If she’d been a Fashionista, hari-kari would have been a serious option.
Her eyes narrowed as she gazed toward the far end of the echoic, chaotic gymnasium. Blazing through the browns, blondes, and blacks was a fiery blot of waist-length red hair. Grass-green crop top. Blue capris.
Bonnie’s teeth gritted into a snarl. B*tch. She’d laughed about her scrubs. Nobody laughed about Bonnie Rockwaller’s fashion sense. I dunno how, but Little Miss Perfect is going down...
***
At that moment, Little Miss Perfect gasped lightly as the nurse withdrew a 16-guage cannula from the cephalic vein in her right shoulder. As the tip of the needle cleared her skin, a moderate spurt of blood began flowing from the wound. A hand reached down from behind and gently pressed a gauze pad onto the incision. Kim looked up. Ron was there, bravely trying not to pass out at the sight of the nurse funneling the last of Kim’s blood into a clear pint bag.
“Thanks...” she said, bending around and giving Ron a quick kiss on the neck. She was relieved when most of the color returned to his face.
“That’ll be all, honey,” said her attending nurse kindly, “Just let me bandage y’all right up, and you’ll be on your way.” Removing Ron’s gauze, she dabbed the site with a bit of alcohol – Kim’s lips flinched slightly – and slapped a Band-Aid over the cut.
“Now, you might be feeling a little dizzy for a bit, so y’all might wanna sit down for a minute or two once I’m done. We’ve got some snacks and things near the entrance to restore blood sugars.”
“Please-and-thank-you,” said Kim with a grin. She sat up from the folding plastic chair and waved across the hall to Monique, who was running the food table. Her friend energetically waved back.
“You done?” the African-American yelled across the bustling gymnasium.
“Yeah!” Kim yelled back.
“How was it?”
“No big!”
“See ya in a sec, girl!”
“You too!” Kim dropped her voice and looked at Ron. “I guess I’ll call Mom and tell her we’re done.” She pulled out her Kimmunicator.
“Oooh, Mrs. Possible?” asked the nurse eagerly. “Very nice lady, very nice. I work in the outpatient ward. Tell her I said hi. What’s she doing today?”
“Actually, ma’am, she’s running the auditorium drive.”
“Is she now? Quite nice of her. She’s the one who came up with having this thing in both areas, you know. We’ve seen record donations already... Well, thanks for telling me, Kimberly. I’ll have to chat with her over lunch today.” She busied herself with tossing the used collection equipment, then looked back up. “Oh, Kimmie, another precaution - I also don’t want you do any butt-whooping for the next day or –”
“Oh, thanks, I know. My mom told me.”
“Oh. Quite right dearie, quite right. Wouldn’t put it past her to tell you... Right, you just sit tight for a moment while I run this blood over to the coolers and get a few information forms for you to sign, and then you can really be on your way!”
They laughed, and the nurse bustled off.
The redhead let her eyes drift across the crowd and eventually registered a speck of brown hair on the back wall. She still found it hard to believe that Bonnie was volunteering here. Kim had tried to start up a friendly conversation earlier and made a joking comment about Bonnie’s outfit. Her high school foe had taken it harder than Kim anticipated and stormed away in a huff.
She’s always so touchy... So not the drama, I guess...
***
Bonnie’s snarl quietly faded into a frown as she contemplated how she could extract revenge. Maybe accidentally dumping soda on her...
In any case, she quickly flipped her frown into a carefully polished smile as one of the doctors approached. She’d seen this doctor flitting around the tables before. She should be the one donating, Bonnie noted scathingly, You need more blood to nourish all that fat. The woman, with short, raggedy black hair and lovehandles, slowed conspicuously as she passed Kim and Ron before making a near beeline toward her, threading between tables. As she marched down the narrow isle toward her, Bonnie straightened up and plastered on her best grownup-disarming smile.
“Hello, doctor,” she said in an innocent voice.
The woman paused, almost as if deciding her options, before continuing forward. “Hello back, dearie,” she replied in an oversweet voice. Bonnie internally rankled at being addressed as “dearie,” but let it pass. At close range, she could see the doctor’s nametag dangling off a bulge in her straining lab coat. Rebecca Natalie Adams. She vaguely noticed that the first letters of the stacked name formed the acrostic “RNA.”
The doctor pointed to the trays of donated blood Bonnie was supposed to be loading into the refrigerator. “How about helping me getting those in?” She opened the cooler door and stood back with a smile and her hands on her hips, waiting for Bonnie to load all the trays.
Bonnie’s smile faded slightly. Dang... she’s good. The teen wearily loaded the racks into the cooler, flinging acid looks at the doctor every time she ducked behind the door. Finally, she straightened up and gave her back a crick, hoping Fatty wasn’t going to ask her to do anything else. Bonnie looked over and her spirits sank. The doctor was again gazing at her with an annoyingly exuberant grin.
“Bonnie, sweetie, thank you soooo much...”
Recognizing the calculated, simpering, wheedling tone she herself had used countless times before, Bonnie pasted on her fakest helpful smile. “Is there anything else you need me to do, ma’am...?”
“Well, honey-bunny, there is this ooonnnneee little teensy thing...”
For a millisecond, Bonnie saw a knowing flicker in one of the woman’s eyes and felt a plunge to her lungs. She knows the game...
The short, plump doctor rotated Bonnie to stare across the hall and pointed. “See that little cutsie-pie over there...?”
The cheerleader’s eyes followed the line of the woman’s arm until they came to rest on a flash of red hair. “Yeah...?” she said through gritted teeth.
“Well, she just donated blood – ” She registered Bonnie’s flaring eyes. “You know her?”
“...Seen her around.”
Doctor Adams lapsed into thoughtful silence for a moment. “That’s Kim Possible, isn’t it?”
“If you’d like to call her that.”
“Aren’t you on the cheerleading squad with her?”
“...Maybe...” Bonnie said indolently, seething again.
“Huh...” Rebecca paused. “...Anyway... she just donated blood, and she’s going to feel out of whack for a little bit... Lost a few pints of fluid...”
Bonnie eased out of the doctor’s grasp and turned to look suspiciously at her. “Why should I care?”
“Well, seeing as you two are on the cheer squad together, I thought you’d help each other out...”
Bonnie remained silent.
“So, I’d like you to give her a bit of saline to balance out her fluid levels again...” She pulled a large syringe out of a lab coat pocket and slowly revolved it in her fingers.
Bonnie stared at it. The transparent, graduated reservoir contained a clear, thin fluid that looked like water. She started to reach for it, then stopped, still wary. “What’s in it for me?”
Instead of replying, the doctor stared down pensively at the syringe fluid coursing through the barrel as she rotated it. Lifting her eyes again, she gazed at Kim’s head across the hall, placing her thumb absentmindedly across her mouth. Bonnie again followed her line of sight, petty teenage snit brewing inside her.
“...You don’t like what she said about your blouse, do you?” the doctor said quietly.
Bonnie snapped around, stunned. “What...?!”
The doctor continued to look forward, but tilted the syringe slightly toward the teen. “...Funny thing about needles...” she continued in a quiet voice, “They can help you... But they hurt like the Dickens when you put them in...”
Bonnie’s eyes gleamed faintly as she gently slipped the syringe from the doctor’s loose grasp. “...So there is something in it for me.”
She gave the barrel a cliché air purge, gazing entranced as a remaining bubble and a short spurt of liquid flared from the needle tip.
“Of course, dearie – stabilizing your best friend’s system...”
Bonnie swore she saw the faintest hint of a wink.
“Riiiiiggght...” she said sweetly, concealing the wide-bodied syringe in her fingers and marching off toward a table at the far end of the gymnasium.
***
Kim reached for a purple stamp and inkpad reading “I Gave!” As she pressed the mark onto the back of her hand, she heard tennis shoes squeak on the polished floor in front of her. She looked up to find Bonnie standing behind the table.
“Oh... Hey, B.”
“K,” Bonnie replied. Kim couldn’t help but notice an odd glitter to the teen’s smile.
“’Sup?”
“Nothin’ much...”
Vaguely suspicious of Bonnie ever doing “nothing much,” Kim quickly searched her over. She picked up the glint of a syringe in one of the girl’s perfectly manicured hands. “...What’s with the needle, Bonnie?”
Bonnie smirked faintly and opened her fingers. “Well, actually... It’s for you...”
Kim’s hackles immediately went up. “Me?”
“Yeah. It’s just saline, you wimp. Replaces your fluid thingies. Doctor told me so.”
The redhead glanced down the table. Her nurse was still nowhere to be seen, still shelving her donation in the coolers. “...I haven’t seen anyone else getting a saline injection...”
“What, you aren’t afraid of a little needle, are you...?” Bonnie sneered, intently watching Kim’s face, “I’d have thought with all, like, your world-saving –” She air-quoted with one hand, “ – You’d be a little tougher than that...”
“Can it, Bonnie,” Ron fired at her. “Kim, you’re not –”
“Shut it, Ron,” Kim snapped, now glaring at Bonnie with fire in her eyes. After a slight hesitation, she lifted her right arm and slammed it on the table. “Just don’t hit the band-aid.”
With a vindictive little smile, Bonnie raised the needle above Kim’s arm.
Ron was standing now. “Kim, I really, really don’t think that’s a good idea...!”
In that split-second, Kim’s eyes widened. “Bonnie, wait –”
Too late. Bonnie grasped Kim’s upper arm and squeezed hard, bringing her cephalic vein to the surface. Copying the motions of nurses she had observed, she tilted the syringe to roughly a thirty-degree angle and eased it into Kim’s skin. The redhead’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t make a sound. After about half a centimeter, Bonnie felt the needle break into the blood canal and she slowly began depressing the syringe pump. The rest of the world seemed to fall away. Kim and Bonnie locked eye-to-eye as if arm-wrestling, faces six inches apart, staring each other down, daring the other to break. Bonnie’s vengeful smirk dueled with Kim’s clenched snarl. Her lips curled into a soundless grimace as the syringe pump continued to descend.
After about twenty seconds, the plunger hit its stops and Bonnie carefully withdrew the needle from her adversary’s arm. A trail of blood followed it, and Kim pressed her thumb over the wound.
“Thanks, b*tch,” she snarled, standing up and backing away from the table, “I’ll have to remember this the next time we’re doing tumbling routi–”
She broke off. An odd numbing sensation was spreading away from the injection site, following the pattern of her veins. Slowly, a numb tingling crept upward through her arm from the tips of her fingers, tracing along her cephalic. Alarmed, Kim frantically swiped her left hand down her arm, as if trying to force back the pins-and-needles feeling of her arm falling asleep.
Bonnie’s smile began to fade. “K-Kim...?”
Kim looked up at her, eyes wide and terrified. “Bonnie... w-what... what did you just p-put into me...?!”
Bonnie just gaped at her. “I... I...”
All at once, Kim felt the numbing sensation hit her chest and suddenly it was everywhere. She stumbled backward, crashing through folding plastic chairs. People began to look over. Tumbling upright, a cut on her cheek bleeding, she made to run for the gym exit. There was a water fountain in the hall connecting the gym and the cafeteria. If she just made it there, everything would be all right...
On cue, the gym floor seemed to stretch on forever and she was running through a narrowing tunnel.
“Numb arm!” Kim shouted, realizing her speech was slowing and slurring. “Narm arm...! Narm narm! Narm narm...!” She dimly lamented that what she’d just said was going to become unintentionally hilarious upon later retellings.
She staggered off-balance, as if just stepping off a hurl-a-whirl, fighting to keep upright. Everyone was staring now, frozen, openmouthed. Mom... If I can just make it to Mom... It was like running through water and thinking through mud. Her goals became shorter and shorter as her system shut down.
I just need to make it to the wall... Just make it to the sideline... Just make it three more steps... Two more steps... One more step...
Kim felt her legs give out, like stepping off a curb into an unexpectedly deep pool of water. Her brain serenely mused it over as she arced over in slow motion.
Huh... And now I’m tripping and now I’m flying and now I’m falling and there’s the floor and now it’s getting pretty close and I think I might hit right about–
She slammed onto the polished hardwood and skidded forward, sliding to a halt a few inches away from the sideline. Kim could see every little bump and speckle and scratch in the paint. As she watched, color began to seep from the purple line until her world faded into grayscale.
Her consciousness slipped away in a lazy downward spiral, like the gradual twist of a descending airplane.
Then...
Oblivion.
***
Pandemonium. Nurses sprinted toward ground zero, yelling commands. Everyone else scrambled, panicking, on top of tables to see what was going on.
“Somebody call 911!”
“What – !”
“She’s – !”
“911!”
“Ohmigod, she’s down! She’s down!”
Bonnie watched in horror as Kim crumpled to the floor. She tried to vault the table but found herself rooted to the spot as if calcified. She looked down at the syringe still clenched tightly in her hand. She tried to fling it away, but the syringe refused to drop, as if she were grasping a live wire. Bonnie gaped at a swelling bead of remaining serum clinging to the very tip of the hollow needle. The previously clear, watery substance now sparkled and winked like quicksilver as it contacted the air. Finally engorging itself too much, the drop detached and hit the floor. It splashed like water but glittered like diamonds.
“Kim – ”
“ – Going on?!”
“Who – ?”
“ – Possible – ”
“EMS on its way!”
Paralyzed, Ron stared as his girlfriend lurched away from the injection, staggered ten paces, and collapsed. After throwing a single venomous glance at a paper-white Bonnie, he tore across the gym floor toward his friend, skidding the last six feet on his knees. His last glimpse of the outside world before Kim’s slumped form flooded his vision was Monique frantically pounding Mrs. Possible’s number into her cell phone.
“Kim... KIM!”
For a moment, he froze, overloaded, brain jammed onto a stunned scream echoing and repeating over and over and over again in his skull.
Her face was pallid, rapidly losing its live pink color. He put a hand on her forehead and felt cold, clammy skin. Eyes closed, her head rolled sideways on a limp neck.
Hand above her mouth. No breathing. Finger on her carotid. No pulse.
OHMYGOD!OHMYGOD!OHMYGOD!OHMYGOD!
Then, suddenly as a lightening strike,
That... that... thing! Health class! ...CPR! Do CPR!
“CPR! Right!” he shouted aloud, frantically wishing he had paid more attention during Barkin’s first aid unit. “WhaddaIdo?! WhaddaIdo?!”
A! B! C! Airway! Breathing! Circulation!
“Airway... right... airway!” he continued aloud, jogging his memory. He placed his head sideways next to her mouth. With an ear above Kim’s lips, Ron looked down her body, desperately searching for a telltale rise and fall of her chest but not expecting any.
There was none.
He jerked back onto his knees, breathing fast and shallow, cold sweat pouring down his neck and spine. “B! Breathing! ...Aaaaaaa... What was breathing?!”
Tongue. Airway. Get it out.
The voice of the EMS who had taught the class floated back to him. “...Head tilt, chin lift.”
Quietly stunned that he’d actually remembered any of this, Ron curled Kim’s neck backward by pressing on her forehead and then thrust her chin forward, clearing her tongue out of the airway and giving him a clean shot to her lungs.
He hesitated for a millisecond again, head spinning. Little snippets came hard and fast, hitting him in the side of the head like bullets.
Mouthguard... don’t get the victim’s fluids on you...
Don’t breathe too hard... You’ll pressurize the stomach and the victim will vomit...
Victim... Mouthguard... victim...
Victim. Dammnit, they always said it so clean. Victim. So third-person. They’d never said you’d be crying your guts out while doing this on your friend... Ohmigod, your best friend... Kim! KIM! C’mon! C’mon! Dammitdammitdammit!!
Remembering seconds ticking by, he snapped out of it and looked down at what amounted to his girlfriend’s dead body. He suddenly realized that he had no mouthguard. Uselessly flashing his hands over his body, he told himself that he’d never carried one, was certainly not carrying one now, and that he’d always assumed Kim would be doing this sort of thing. On somebody else.
CRAAAAP!
To his horror, he noticed Kim’s lips were turning blue. Making a snap decision, Ron took a deep breath and bent down, mouthguard or no.
“We’ve done this before, Kim!” he choked, “Hope you never had AIDS!”
Forming a seal between his mouth and hers, he exhaled into her lungs slowly, steadily, watching for her chest to rise.
One one-thousand... Two one-thousand...
He withdrew his lips and saw Kim’s chest fall, indicating his rescue breath had gone in properly.
OK... Two of these...
After the second breath, he rocked back on his heels, wildly looking for signs of life. Still none.
“Next... next! Uh, C! That’s – that’s the compressions thingies!”
Panting, blood pounding through his veins, he squared his legs and interlocked his hands, palms down.
“Compressions – Compressions... that’s... that’s... Oh God, what was it...?!”
Thirty and two, Stoppable! Thirty and two! Mr. Barkin’s voice bellowed at him from last year’s CPR unit in Health class, They’ve changed the requirements! Everything you know is wrong!
He braced his hands over the center of his girlfriend’s chest, knowing that the first few compressions were likely going to crack a few ribs. “...I’m sorry, Kim!” he sobbed, locking his arms for the first downward push.
Without warning, something heavy smashed into him, sending him sprawling away from the body.
“Get out of the way, kid!” a female voice snarled. Ron sat up. It was that short, plump doctor he had seen passing their table earlier. Skidding beside him, she pulled a red box from under her arm. It was the AED from the hall connecting the gym and cafeteria. Sizing up Kim’s sitch in a blink, she yanked a small brooch from her nametag lanyard.
“Ooooh, now, Kimmie, you’ve got a bit of a problem now, don’t cha’?” she said cheerfully.
From where he was sitting, Ron thought the broach looked like a seal with wings. As she expertly twirled it between her fingers, a razorblade sprang from the seal’s tail. Deftly catching it in a stabbing position, she slashed completely through Kim’s shirt in one stroke and ripped it aside.
Ron discreetly flicked his eyes away. At least she’d had the decency to leave Kim’s strapless sports bra intact.
The doctor flung the defibrillator’s lid open. Immediately, a flat, expressionless, computerized male voice began speaking.
::Remove pads from box...::
Before the voice had even finished that sentence and begun on its second, “Apply pads to chest as shown,” the doctor had swabbed Kim’s chest with alcohol, yanked the electrodes from a shelf in the AED’s lid and peeled off a paper backing on the pads, exposing a sticky, electroconductive gel. With precisioned, practiced skill, she slapped the pads on Kim’s bare chest at the top of her sternum and on her lower left side just under her breast.
As soon as the pads were firmly on Kim’s chest, the computerized voice began droning,
::Analyzing heart rhythm... Do not touch the patient...::
“Wait... you mean you can’t just slap the pads on her and yell clear?!”
“This model isn’t sophisticated enough to manually override.”
“Damn it!” Ron slammed his fist into his palm, glanced at the yellow flashing “Analyzing” indicator, to Kim’s ashen face, to the seconds flashing by on his digital watch, and back to the blinking LED. “C’mon... C’mon...!”
The machine drolled on, unperturbed,
::Analyzing heart rhythm... Do not touch the patient...:::
Nine agonizingly slow seconds passed. Ron bit down on his thumb, on the verge of hyperventilating. Sounds of the uproar around them faded away as they concentrated on the machine.
Abruptly –
::Shock advised. Do not touch the patient... Charging...
Another five seconds passed, the third-longest five seconds in Ron’s life. Even the doctor looked tense as she lightly chewed her lip.
:: Do not touch the patient... Charging... Do not touch the patient...::
Finally –
::Shock now. Shock now. Press the flashing button.::
“OK, Kimmie, here we go now!” the doctor chortled brightly, grinning.
She jammed her finger down on the button.
Poom.
The charge rippled through Kim’s body, spasming her chest. If it hadn’t been for a high, keening warning tone, Ron might have missed it. The faint current was just strong enough to twitch muscles in her limbs and neck.
Nothing happened. The redhead’s face continued to grey.
The doctor’s smile faded a little.
::...Shock delivered. Wait.::
Ron jerked sideways to look at the doctor, dumbfounded. “That’s it?!”
“Expecting something more?”
“Yeah! Like... like a big jerk... like a big noise... a-and... and... and... s-she’d wake up!”
“...What did you think this was, a TV show?”
Feeling cartoonish, Ron focused back at the defibrillator as it restarted its cycle.
::Analyzing heart rhythm... Do not touch the patient. ::
Nine seconds. The oxygen supply in Kim’s brain continued to dwindle.
“EMS six minutes out!” somebody yelled.
::Analyzing heart rhythm... Do not touch the patient...::
Ron glanced up. The crowd had formed a large, dense ring around them, some yelling, others praying, most just looking on helplessly.
::Shock advised. Do not touch the patient... Charging...::
Another five seconds passed, the second-longest in Ron’s life.
:: Do not touch the patient... Charging... Do not touch the patient...::
The doctor’s overbright smile now looked strained.
::Shock now. Shock now. Press the flashing button.::
Poom!
Kim’s body convulsed under the stronger charge. Her eyes still didn’t open.
The doctor frowned slightly, as if discovering a favorite grandson eating cookies before dinner.
“Now, now, Kimmie, you aren’t being very helpful...” she muttered, unease creeping into her voice.
::...Shock delivered. Wait.::
Ron reached forward to cradle Kim’s hand.
“Don’t touch her!” the woman snapped. “You’ll screw up the readings!”
“Sorry, sorry!”
::Analyzing heart rhythm... Do not touch the patient. ::
A nurse broke away from a squawking radio. “EMS four minutes out!”
::Analyzing heart rhythm... Do not touch the patient. ::
Nine seconds closer to brain death.
::Shock advised. Do not touch the patient... Charging...::
Another five seconds, the longest in Ron’s life.
:: Do not touch the patient... Charging... Do not touch the patient...::
Knuckles white, he looked between the AED and his girlfriend. “How long do we keep jumping her?”
“This model has a three-charge cycle. Last one.”
“What?!”
“Then we start CPR. Survival chances drop exponentially for each failed cycle.”
::Shock now. Shock now. Press the flashing button.::
Looking grim now, the doctor set her lips into a thin, determined line and mashed her thumb down on the flashing discharge button.
Poom!
Kim’s back arched as current surged through her body.
As her muscles relaxed, her eyes suddenly snapped open and she took a long, gasping, reflexive breath.
Then she rolled over and vomited.
Ron, kneeling near her head, clawed backward in instinctive revulsion. They’d never told him about this in Health class. Overcoming his shock, he slid back over to Kim and slipped an arm under her back, helping her sit up. The skin under his hand was cold. She was shivering uncontrollably. Holding her tight, Ron tenderly wiped away some of the sick using a wet wipe from the AED kit.
Kim trembled, eyes closed, pulling deep, gulping breaths as oxygen flooded back into her system. Her legs, her arms, her whole body felt weak and shaky. “Oh, God, Ron... Oh God oh God oh God...!” she gasped raggedly as tears tracked down her face.
“Shhhhhh... Shhhhhh...” Ron whispered quietly, hugging her around her shoulders and gently kissing her temple, “Shhhhhhhh... It’s gonna be all right... You’re gonna be OK... You’re alive... I’m right here... Shhhhhhh...”
After another two minutes of deep, revitalizing breaths, she looked up for the first time at the intensely relieved doctor bending over her.
“...You!” she choked, recoiling. Controlling herself, she squinted unsteadily between the doctor’s eager face and the name on her ID tag. “...Y-you... you... look familiar...”
The doctor’s smile didn’t falter. “Who were you thinking of, sugar-foot?” she asked sweetly, lifting her ID tag forward. Doctor Rebecca Adams.
Kim peered at it, eyes bleary. “Oh... sorry... You look... look... really similar to s-somebody I know...”
“Genetics is a twisted thing, my dear...” she said with an understanding nod.
Kim glanced sharply up at her, but let it pass as her head whirled and she clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Ooop!”
With Ron’s help, she kept it down and started to breathe normally again.
Kim looked at the doctor again, who was now unsticking the pads from her chest and checking her vitals. “Well... whatever... Thank you.”
“No problem, Kimmie, no problem...”
Craning to look at the dispersing crowd around them, Kim suddenly realized why her upper torso felt so chilly. With a mortified yelp, she clutched her hands over her near-bare chest and frantically looked around for her shirt.
“Sorry, Kim,” said Ron, grinning as he handed the tattered green crop to her, slashed open from top to bottom, “We had to get that off to jump you... Here...” He peeled off his red t-shirt and gave it to her.
“Thanks...” said Kim gratefully, blushing as she wriggled into it and pulled it over her midriff.
After another minute, Ron saw her legs tense. “...Need help up?”
“I’ll... I’ll see if I can make it... Catch me, okay?”
“Sure,” said Ron, getting up.
Panting like a near-drowning victim, Kim wobbled to her feet. Energy filtered back into her tissues as she leaned on Ron’s arm. She looked around. “All these people...”
“Yeah... it was pretty touch-and-go for a while there...”
Orienting herself, gaining strength, her mouth set into a thin, hard line as she lined up with a banner on the opposite wall.
“Kim...?”
“Gimme a second,” she said flatly, pushing through the crowd as adrenaline began coursing through her veins.
Bonnie still hadn’t moved, terrified, petrified, at what she had done. The syringe refused to break from her fingers. Her aquamarine eyes widened as Kim Possible stood before her, looking, perhaps understandably, royally p*ssed.
They stared silently at each other again; one set of eyes fearful, the other reeking tweaked.
“K-Kim, I’m sorry,” Bonnie began, malice gone, “I d-didn’t know –”
Without warning, Kim hauled back and crushed a right hook into her. Bonnie crashed backward into a stack of empty foam coolers and slumped to the ground amid a tangle of Styrofoam. She rolled into a sitting position, wiping blood out of her mouth. Kim came to stand at her feet, nursing a split knuckle.
“Don’t... you... ever stick something into me again,” she growled. “...Ever.”
Eyes quivering, Bonnie nodded faintly.
As Kim watched her wipe away fresh blood with the back of her fist, her gaze softened slightly. “...Took it well,” she said coolly, “You’ve got a build like me... Suck on a couple ice cubes. The bleeding’ll stop in about fifteen minutes.”
She turned and stalked away, passing goggling onlookers without a glance. Bonnie silently stared at her retreating red hair, holding her jaw.
“C’mon, Ron,” she muttered quietly, grasping her dumbfounded boyfriend by the arm.
“Kim...Kim... what was... what was...?”
“I don’t know,” she said wearily, the exertion of what she’d just done crashing on her weakened system all at once, “S-something just came over me... And don’t worry... She’ll be fine…. Seriously,” she added to Ron’s skeptical look, “Bruised up her jaw a bit and the impact caused her to bite the inside of her mouth. She’s about as flexible and resilient as me, though, and I’ve gotten through worse...”
“...You just did,” Ron said quietly as he slipped an arm under her armpit and used himself as a human crutch to help her walk toward the double gym doors.
As they neared the free throw line, a distraught Mrs. Dr. Possible exploded through the crash doors, an EMS team on her heels.
“Kimmie! KIMMIE!”
“I’m okay, Mom... I’m okay...” she said, partially muffled by her mother’s massive hug. “So not the drama... S-so not the drama...”
Her mother broke away from her, looking affronted. “So not the drama...?! Kimmie, if what the nurses were saying on the way over here is true, you were just dead!” She looked her daughter up and down, eyeing her like the doctor and surgeon she was. “Look at you...! You’re still a wreck! ...Chris!” she barked to an EMS tech behind her, “Get the O2 flowing on the truck. Lee, get the monitoring equipment booted up. I want to make sure there’re no aftermurmers.”
The two ambulance paramedics nodded respectively and then jogged off.
Monique quickly filled their places and gave Kim a spine-breaking hug. “Dang, girl, you had me palpitatin’ there for a minute!” She turned to Kim’s mom. “Is she gonna be all right, Mrs. Dr. Possible?”
“I think so, Monique...” The older redhead turned back to her daughter.
“How’d this happen, honey?”
“I...” Kim trailed for a millisecond, thinking fast. Even with her animosity toward Bonnie running particularly high at the moment, she still didn’t much enjoy the specter of her cheer partner in an orange jumpsuit for attempted murder. “...I... don’t know...” She shot Ron a look to tell him to keep his mouth shut. “...I’ll have Wade run some toxicology scans and dust this place with a CSI team.”
Mrs. Possible frowned. “Wellll... Maybe later, then. Let’s get you to the truck... Ron, Monique, follow us. You saw what happened too.”
With an arm supported on each of their shoulders, Kim walked out with Ron and Monique, Mrs. Possible in tow.
***
Back on the gym floor, the black-haired doctor finished stowing the AED and then slowly rose to her feet. She carefully caught the knife she twirled and eased the blade back into the creature’s body that served as a handle. Clipping the Otterfly back onto her lanyard, she gazed intently at the redhead’s form as it vanished behind the double doors.
D.N.Amy’s mouth twisted into a strange little smile. Training on those dozen or so Mole-Man clones had served her well.
No one noticed as she eased a hand deep into the recesses of a lab coat pocket and gently activated a stopwatch...
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