Chapter 54: Sinus Rhythm

The ambulance screeched to a halt in front of the emergency bay entrance, its rear doors flying open as the paramedics jumped down and immediately began unloading the stretcher.

Darius lay motionless on it, his face frighteningly pale, his body secured beneath the straps as the paramedics moved with practiced urgency. Basil jumped down after them, nearly stumbling in his haste, but he caught himself and immediately rushed alongside the stretcher, his clothes stained with blood.

"Darius!" he cried, his voice breaking as he followed them.

They surged through the sliding glass doors, the stretcher’s wheels rattling loudly against the polished floor. The high-pitched, chaotic hum of the hospital instantly swallowed them. A team of nurses rushed forward the moment they crossed the threshold, taking over the stretcher and barking rapid instructions back and forth.

"What happened?" one of them demanded, falling into step beside the paramedics as she grabbed the side of the stretcher.

"Pedestrian struck by a vehicle. Unconscious at the scene. Possible head and chest trauma. Vitals unstable," one of the paramedics reported.

"Get Trauma One ready," the nurse ordered sharply. "Notify the emergency physician. We need imaging immediately. Someone get oxygen on him." The stretcher rolled faster, its wheels rattling violently against the polished hospital floor as the medical team pushed Darius deeper into the emergency department.

Basil ran after them, tears streaming uncontrollably down his face as he struggled to keep up. "Darius! Darius!" he kept calling, his voice cracking with every desperate breath.

"Vitals are dropping! We need a trauma bay right now!" a male nurse shouted, taking the lead and pushing the stretcher forward as the rest of the team hurried behind him.

"Please, you have to save him!" Basil begged, his voice breaking as he reached toward Darius, but the medical team barely glanced at him as they rushed the stretcher toward the trauma bay.

As they reached the double doors of the emergency room, a tall male nurse stepped directly into Basil’s path, planting both hands firmly on his shoulders to stop him.

"Your Highness, you can’t go in there."

"No! I’m going with him!" Basil choked out, frantically trying to push past the nurse’s grip. "That’s my brother! I need to be there with him!"

"You need to stop and calm down, Your Highness," the nurse said firmly, keeping his grip on the prince as the stretcher disappeared through the doors. "You cannot go in there. The doctors need space to work."

Basil struggled against him, twisting desperately toward the closing doors. "Darius!" he sobbed.

The nurse held him firmly, refusing to let go.

"They’re working on him right now, Your Highness. He’s in good hands. He’ll be all right, but you have to let them do their job."

Whatever strength Basil had been clinging to finally gave way. His knees buckled, and he dropped heavily onto the cold tile floor, kneeling as his hands trembled uncontrollably. The male nurse immediately lowered himself beside him, keeping a strong, reassuring grip on the prince’s arms to steady him.

Basil buried his face against the nurse’s shoulder, his body shaking as broken sobs tore through him. After a moment, he lifted his head, his hands still stained with Darius’s blood.

"Please... please save my brother," he begged, his voice breaking into raw, helpless cries. "Please, just save my brother."

The nurse’s chest tightened at the sight. He had seen countless patients brought through those doors, countless families shattered by sudden accidents and unexpected tragedies, but that never made witnessing someone’s desperation any easier. Seeing Basil, a prince widely known for his arrogance and pride, reduced to a trembling young man covered in his brother’s blood and pleading for his life struck something deep inside him.

Not knowing what else to do, the nurse simply tightened his grip and carefully helped Basil to his feet. "Come on, Your Highness," he murmured, guiding him toward one of the chairs along the wall. "Sit down for me."

He lowered Basil onto the seat and crouched beside him for a moment, making sure he was steady before slowly releasing his arms.

"We’re going to do everything we can to save Prince Darius," the nurse murmured. "Just hang in there." Before Basil could respond, hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor.

Several security guards appeared first, followed closely by King William and Queen Jane, their faces pale with terror as they rushed into the emergency department. "Where is my son?" the King demanded, his voice strained with panic.

"Where is Darius, Basil? Where is my son?"

The Queen looked around frantically.

"What happened to him? Where is he?"

Basil looked up at them, his face drawn with shock, his entire body still shuddering. He reached out toward his mother like a terrified child, and Queen Jane immediately rushed to him, gathering him into a tight embrace.

Basil collapsed against her, clutching desperately at her clothes as another broken sob escaped him. "He got hit..." he choked out, his voice trembling with sheer agony. "It was my fault. I’m so sorry, Mother. I’m so sorry."

Queen Jane tightened her arms around him, her own composure crumbling as she held him against her chest. King William stepped closer and placed a heavy, grounding hand on Basil’s shoulder, trying to keep his own voice steady despite the panic tightening in his chest.

"Calm down, son" he said quietly. "Tell us what happened."

*****

Inside the trauma bay, the atmosphere was nothing like the quiet corridor outside. The moment Darius was pushed through the doors, he was transferred onto the trauma table as the medical team closed around him, immediately cutting away his blood-soaked clothes so they could assess the extent of his injuries. Scissors flashed through the fabric, slicing through his shirt and trousers as nurses exposed his chest, abdomen, and limbs for examination.

"BP is eighty over fifty and falling!" a technician yelled over the deafening, rhythmic beeping of the cardiac monitor.

"Get two large-bore IVs in him, now!" the lead trauma surgeon barked, pulling on a pair of sterile gloves. "He’s got internal bleeding in the abdominal cavity. Set up the rapid infuser. Three units of O-negative on standby!"

Nurses moved in a fast, practiced blur around the table. One secured an oxygen mask over Darius’s nose and mouth, delivering a high concentration of oxygen, while another quickly wiped away the dark blood pooling around his lips. The surgeon placed the stethoscope against Darius’s chest, his expression hardening as he listened to the faint, ragged sounds of his breathing.

"Decreased breath sounds on the left side," the surgeon called out, reaching for his instruments. "He’s developed a tension pneumothorax. Scalpel, now! I need a chest tube before his lung completely collapses!"

Metal instruments clattered against steel trays as the team worked frantically to stabilize Darius’s blood pressure, support his breathing, control the bleeding, and relieve the pressure building inside his chest. One nurse secured the IV lines while another monitored his oxygen saturation and heart rate, calling out every change the instant it appeared on the screens.

Suddenly, the cardiac monitor erupted into a frantic alarm. The rhythm on the screen became chaotic, the sharp peaks losing their regular pattern as Darius’s condition deteriorated rapidly.

"He’s losing his rhythm!" a nurse shouted, her voice laced with alarm.

The surgeon looked at the monitor, then immediately checked for a pulse. His expression hardening further. "He’s pulseless. Start compressions. Prepare to defibrillate."

A doctor immediately positioned himself over Darius and began hard, rapid chest compressions while another nurse pushed one milligram of epinephrine through the IV. The defibrillator was brought into position, its high-pitched charging tone cutting through the frantic voices filling the trauma bay.

"Charging!"

"Clear!"

The surgeon delivered the shock to Darius’s bare chest. His body jolted violently against the trauma table before dropping back onto the mattress.

"Resume compressions!"

The doctor immediately continued chest compressions while the team watched the monitor, every second carrying the weight of Darius’s life.

"Come on, Your Highness. Stay with us."

"Rhythm check!"

The compressions stopped for a moment as everyone stared at the monitor. The chaotic rhythm had changed, the electrical activity now showing a more organized pattern.

"We have a rhythm," the nurse called out.

The surgeon immediately checked Darius’s pulse. For one agonizing second, nobody spoke.

Then his fingers caught it. "Pulse is back!"

A sharp beep sounded from the monitor.

Another followed. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The rhythm continued steadily, the numbers on the monitor slowly climbing as Darius’s heart began beating on its own again.