Elena Rostova pressed her fingertips against Clara Vance’s carotid pulse.
The dust inside Coach #404 was settling in the blue low-beam headlights. Outside the open front doors, the steep concrete freight ramp of Sub-Level 4 stretched downward into the darkness.
“How are her vitals, Elena?” Julian Vance asked, stepping to the side of the mobile ICU isolette.
“Her pulse was seventy after the buffer impact,” Elena said, checking the digital readout. “Blood pressure is one hundred and ten over seventy. Her airway is clear.”
“Did she take any head trauma when the cables snapped?” Julian asked, his voice trembling slightly.
“Her cervical collar held her neck rigid,” Elena answered, shining her medical penlight into Clara’s left eye. “Pupils are equal, round, and reactive to light. Three millimeters bilaterally.”
“What about her lungs?” Mac Cole asked from the driver’s pedestal.
Elena unhooked her Littmann Cardiology IV stethoscope from her neck. She pressed the cold diaphragm against Clara’s chest, listening to the four quadrants of her rib cage.
