Elena Rostova adjusted the Velcro strap on Harlan Reed’s splint.
She pressed her thumb firmly against his left radial artery. Under her fingertip, his pulse hammered at a rapid, fluttering rhythm.
“One hundred and forty beats a minute,” Elena said, her voice clinical and detached. “Your heart is working overtime, Reed.”
Reed groaned, his head resting against the blue vinyl seatback of Seat 1A.
“My shoulder is on fire,” Reed wheezed. “Can’t you give me something for the pain?”
“I have aspirin and sterile saline,” Elena answered, checking his left pupil with her penlight. “No narcotics on a transit run—I need your cognitive functions sharp, and your pupil reaction is sluggish, though equal.”
She took the cold stainless-steel diaphragm of her Littmann Cardiology Stethoscope and pressed it directly against the side of his neck over the carotid artery.
Reed flinched at the cold metal.
