A Doctor Without Borders [Healer | Slow-Burn | Medical Fantasy]

How do you save three people as injured as this?

The answer is…you don't—at least if this was Earth. Though here…I had a chance.

Potions and skills were a game changer. [Quickened Thoughts] gave me the time I needed, even if it left my head throbbing and my vision a sea of white. Still, I didn't dare drop it. With [Sense Injury], I didn't need sight to take in the necessary details about the three dying Ættir, but even this close, I still needed time to parse the information to understand the true scope of the challenge that lay before me. My gut told me that seconds would matter, and nothing I saw made that assessment any less accurate.

I had three Ættir with two different types of wounds. The shadow stalker had inflicted grievous injuries, but by my assessment, the concussive force of that last blast had contributed to at least half of their trauma. They just had too many contusions and broken ribs for these to be from bladed strikes.

I labeled the Ættir by their disease. Was it impersonal? Yes. But what else was I to do without names?

Contused Heart had a single wound. However, the location was critical. He was the Ættar that I had watched get impaled through the chest. He had drunk some of his potion, which saved his life. It should have sufficed except for the double tap by shockwave, which had hit him hard enough to contuse his heart.

Wounded Airway looked the worst outwardly. Based on the pattern of the wound, he had taken a whip strike across his neck deep enough to sever both carotids and his trachea. He must have splashed most of a potion across his neck because he should've been dead already. However, like Contused Heart, the healing had not cut it. He was still hemorrhaging, and his upper airway was a mess. With each erratic rise and fall of his chest, small bubbles formed at the neck. At least, his other wound in his abdomen was less severe—not that it was saying much when your comparison is an injury that shuts down three-quarters of the blood flow to the brain.

Mystery Injury was, as the name implied, a bit of a mystery. [Sense Injury] had pulled my attention to his ribs, screaming critical condition, but it didn't mesh with what I was seeing. He only had small lacerations along his stomach and chest—distracting injuries at best. I almost dismissed it, but stopped. When had the skill detected an injury more severe than reality? Sure, it had failed to predict injuries on the edge of worsening, but the opposite? I couldn't recall a time. I also couldn't ignore it, not with it blaring that something was wrong,

Unfortunately, three passes of the data hadn't yielded new insights. In the end, I didn't have any more time to debate. I would keep an eye on it. If it were as bad as the skill suggested, the truth would be apparent soon enough.

Assessment done, I moved to triage. At home, I would have focused on Contused Heart. He had the greatest chance of survival. Mystery Injury would be next. Wounded Airway would have been tagged with black.

However, this wasn't Earth. As bad as it looked, I could see a path to save all of them. Like before, I just needed to keep them alive long enough for a [Healer] to arrive.

A [Healer]...

It hadn't even taken the shade stalker's aura to resurface dark thoughts, but I shoved them back. I had a role here, even if it wasn't glorious.

I made my plan. Then I made contingencies. I'd be doing things in ways I'd never get away with at home—things that would kill a man. I did one more run through. It would have to suffice. Before that seed of doubt could grow, I dropped [Quicken Thoughts].

I opened my mouth to issue commands when someone gasped behind me. "By the Gods!"

Dorian? How the hell had he gotten—actually, don't care.

He wasn't the help I had expected, but very much the help I needed. Not many in the company would know the exact location of a specific tool critical to my plans. The odds for one of the Ættar had just significantly improved. "Dorian, get me the tools for testing rocks' Aether concentrations."

"What?"

I had already started rushing to Wounded Airway. Based on the ABCs—airway, breathing, circulation—he came first since he had none of these.

I can't write him off yet.

Thankfully, Dorian followed me because I didn't dare slow down. "I need the tubes from the Aether testing kit. Now." Energy had surged through me as I finished my command.

"Got it," he replied without hesitation, peeling off toward the storage room.

Did I just tamper with his mind? Am I any different from a shade—

Focus. Things are looking up. One contingency won't be needed—probably.

I came to a stop on my knees by Wounded Airway. He was far worse than my initial assessment with [Sense Injury]—not unexpected with the wounds he had, but to see it in person...

[Sense Injury] had prepared me for what I would face, but I still gave a small thanks for my years of training. His airway was definitely compromised. Dark-red blood covered his neck, and the vicious gouge that ran from his face to his chest made a sick gurgling with each gasping breath. He stared at the ceiling, eyes open and blank. Assuming I could trust [Sense Injury], he wasn't dead.

I brought my hands to his neck, laying them on his dark-green skin. Thick, bright-red blood spilled from his torn throat. Potions did wonders, but they had limits. Still, it was the only thing that had kept him on death's door instead of passing through it.

As his life spilled from him, I detected traces of the potion that he had used. I pumped in as much Energy as [Enhance Medicinal] would allow. The skill latched onto what potion remained in his blood, and I forced every last scrap of it to ignore everything but sealing his carotids. My bare fingers began to tingle, then grow cold despite the warm liquid seeping between them.

It was delicate work. His blood wanted to clot, and accelerating the potion worsened that tendency—if I hadn't stopped it. I worked from out to in, leaving the intima last. It took more time, resulting in losing more blood, but he didn't have a massive clot just waiting to be tossed to his brain, just a small one I couldn't prevent…

Don't you dare stroke on me.

I reached for my potion. I had less than half left, and he would need all of it. It left nothing for the others, but I'd beg if I had to.

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Rægnor rescued me from my dilemma. "How many more potions do you need?"

As many as you can give me?

But now wasn't the time to project anything but confidence. Plus, others would need some too. I had to remind myself: my goal wasn't full recovery. "If you can get me close to a full one, that should suffice." I didn't add, "I hope."

Rægnor gave me what remained of his potion. It was under half, but it would do for now.

I returned my attention to Wounded Airway. His wounds were far too grievous. Though he wouldn't immediately bleed out, his airway was still a mess. He would need my full attention. I should have time, but after seeing the reality of his situation, I could no longer trust my initial assessments of the other two. Everyone needed to be closer. I didn't have time to shuffle between them. Both Contused Heart and Mystery Injury were safer for transport than the wounded Ættar before me.

"You two," I shouted at the two Ættir standing near Contused Heart. "Bring him next to me." I then pointed to Mystery Injury. "Then get him." They stared at me in confusion. "Now!"

My head throbbed as I shouted, but it faded quickly when I returned my attention to Wounded Airway. Rægnor had simplified the calculus now. Even if he could not get me more potion, I had enough to keep at least two of them alive.

I examined Wounded Airway again. I placed my bloody fingers on his wrist. Nothing. I shifted my fingers, smearing tacky, deep red smear with every movement. I let out a breath when I found it. A pulse. Thready, but there.

He had likely lost a lot of blood. Is he beyond saving? A person could exsanguinate from a severed carotid in—

He had a pulse. I took the gamble and trusted Dorian would return in time. I poured a little potion onto his neck, focusing on sealing the neck wounds. It worked, but he still gurgled as he breathed. My healing was too superficial. I likely missed internal hemorrhaging when I healed his neck and trachea. I could pour potion into his mouth and try healing it like I did a puncture wound, but then I would not have enough for his abdominal wounds.

The two Ættir laid Contused Heart next to me. I paused with Wounded Airway long enough to examine him. My heart rate spiked. He wasn't breathing. I placed my fingers on his wrist. The skin had taken on an ashen hue. He had no pulse either.

When had this happened?

I reached out with [Sense Injury].

No. No. No.

In an instant, I had pieced together the likely series of events. His minor injuries had consumed too much of the potion, leaving his heart with a large contusion. He had then gone into an arrhythmia or pulseless electrical activity. Because [Sense Injury] didn't provide that type of info and, unfortunately, an EKG was a whole other world away, I would be left wondering—not that it mattered. Either way, he wasn't perfusing his brain, and I had my first presentation for my first Morbidity, Mortality, & Improvement conference.

Another gurgle from Wounded Airway highlighted how little time I had here. I needed more information. I turned to find Mystery Injury being carried towards me.

"Hold on," I whispered to the two dying Ættir besides me.

As they brought the wounded Ættar towards me, the coppery scent of blood filled my nostrils. My heart thudded in my chest. Their time was slipping away.

I reached out with [Sense Injury]. Something was wrong with his lungs, but I again couldn't make sense of it, at least not until they put him down in front of me. I reached out to his neck to check his pulse, but stopped inches away. Beads of sweat dotted his brow. His face was twisted in pain. His breathing came in short, labored breaths, and, more importantly, his trachea was deviated to the left.

It all came together. I didn't even have to activate [Sense Injury] to know what was under that bloody patch of his tunic. He had to have a sucking chest wound, and that caused a right tension pneumothorax.

My original plan was in shambles. [Sense Injury] had been right. That wound was going to be a problem. If I healed the injury with a potion, I bet the air would still remain trapped in his chest cavity, pushing his right lung into the left and collapsing both. If it was enough to deviate his trachea, it likely was kinking his great vessels. Nothing good would come if it stayed, and as long as the wound allowed air in, it was only going to get worse.

I now had four emergent injuries: Contused Heart had a cardiac arrhythmia and had moved into cardiac arrest. Wounded Airway had a traumatic airway. He also had severe abdominal bleeding that would kill him shortly, but long after he died from asphyxiation. Mystery Injury was no longer a mystery. He had a tension pneumothorax that looked to be worsening by the second. It said something that his was the least severe injury.

No plan survived contact with the enemy, and that adage extended to bringing a person to the OR for exploratory surgery. However, my plan was in shambles. I now had three critically injured people with enough potion to heal one person, maybe two if I stretched it. Worse, the potions would only be attacking the problems obliquely. For Contused Heart, the potion could heal his heart, but it might not pull him out of his arrhythmia. For Mystery Injury, the potion would seal the rib fracture, but it would do nothing for the air trapped there.

Did I mess up? How was I going to save—

"I got them."

I looked up to see Dorian, breathing heavily but holding up the kit as he ran toward me. Some of the tension drained from me. My gamble had paid off. I reached for [Quicken Thoughts] but stopped. My head already hurt, and I needed my focus and Energy later. Plus, I knew what I needed to do.

I pointed to a space next to Wounded Airway. "Put the kit there. Then come here."

If Dorian could do CPR, maybe that would be enough time for the potion to work. I poured what remained of my potion into Contused Heart's mouth, all the while trying to ignore the gurgling of Wounded Airway made with each breath.

No time to second-guess myself.

Contused Heart coughed, but the potion went down. I put my interlaced hands on his chest and pushed. His chest didn't move. I wasn't weak. Even if they were older men and women, I had broken ribs before with compressions. However, now I couldn't even depress the chest half an inch.

The knuckles in my interlaced hands turned white as I forced down a scream of frustration.

Why is modern medicine so useless?

I shook away the doubt. Now was not the time to drown in self-pity. I just had to adapt.

I grabbed Dorian's hands and put them on the Contused Heart's chest. "Interlace your fingers and use your hands to compress the sternum—the chest bone. It should go down at least 2-3 inches." I sighed in frustration but still managed to demonstrate the size with my fingers.

"What?'

I pushed down on his hand. "Start compressing his chest in a rhythmic motion." He did so. "Now go to this beat and keep count." I counted out to the rhythm of the song Staying Alive.

"How does that help?"

"Because his heart stopped." Dorian paled, and more importantly, he did not start compressions. I didn't have time to explain CPR. "Now just do what I say!"

Again, the Energy surged in me, but I only cared that he started chest compression. Thankfully, he did, and good ones at that. Dorian had the strength that I lacked.

I moved back to Wounded Airway. Without even thinking, I reached out my hand. "I need a knife."

Again, Energy stirred as I spoke those words, and again, I had questions about the ethics. However, the wood blade slapping into my palm left me no time. I focused my attention on the task at hand. If I had another full vial of healing potion, I could heal all of Wounded Airway's injuries, but that would leave Mystery Illness with nothing. If I split it, I had enough potion left to heal Wounded Airway's abdominal wound or his neck. It should have been an impossible choice, except Dorian had delivered me a way out.

I opened the kit and pulled out a long wood tube and a thin wooden dowel. I rolled the smooth wood between my fingers. With the tube's current length, the resistance would be too much, but I could easily remedy that. With a grunt, I snapped off a length close to what was needed.

I had never done this procedure, but I had read about it multiple times. I took a deep breath and willed the knowledge to come via [Eidetic Memory].

Even knowing what was coming, my eyes still widened as descriptions and diagrams of how to perform an emergent cricothyrotomy filled my thoughts. I inspected the broken end of my tube. It was sharp, but would it pierce the skin like a needle? I couldn't risk it, not with the splintering.

I rested the tube on his chest along with a dowel, and I then slipped the knife into my right hand. The grip was awkward, too large for a scalpel—too large for a Human, in truth. It wouldn't do for detail work, but I would make do. I pushed energy into it. The wood soaked up the Energy far more easily than my pickaxe. However, for whatever reason, a deep burgundy, not crimson, coated the blade.

I brought the tip to his neck. Wounded Airway's neck was smeared with blood, but the flesh underneath it was whole.

Not for much longer.