On the stretcher beside Lou, covered with a heating blanket, Cap was in a drug-induced sleep. Lou had come away from his wilderness trauma course convinced that in any situation outside the hospital, he would go with a paramedic, EMT, or trauma nurse over most M.D.s any day. The North Georgia medevac team had done nothing to dispel that notion. Their biggest decision after Cap was stabilized was whether or not to do anything with the splint. After sending photos to the orthopedist covering the Arbor General ER, it was decided to leave that as it was and to start immediate antibiotics.

Even though Cap was on IV fluids and pressors to raise his blood pressure, it remained a disconcerting 85/55. Residual shock from blood loss into his thigh was a possibility, although there was no sign of continued bleeding. Internal hemorrhaging from a ruptured bowel or lacerated spleen remained lurking on Lou’s list of possibilities like an alligator in the marsh. Cap would need to be worked up carefully before being taken to the OR for repair of his shattered femur.

In addition to his low pressure, Cap’s other vital signs were also shaky. His body temp was still ninety-four degrees Fahrenheit. Hopefully the hypothermia was due to exposure and not early shutdown of his kidneys or liver, or anything going on in the regulatory centers of his brain. Given his vitals, including a pulse rate hovering at 110, and a respiratory rate of twenty-four breaths a minute, Lou knew they had a long way to go before he’d take a relieved breath himself.

He was just about to ask for an ETA, when the jagged cityscape of Atlanta appeared in the distance.

“Almost there, pal,” he said, mustering just enough enthusiasm to get a thumbs-up sign from Cap.

“What are they injecting into me?” Cap asked, his voice not much louder than the flap of a butterfly wing.

“Morphine,” Lou replied, electing to ignore the fact that the question had been asked and answered before.

“Ah, the good stuff. I thought so.”

“You worried?”

“You worked on my leg back there, doc. You tell me.”

“Your blood pressure is still a little low, but you’re not getting that much morphine. I can ask to have you get a little more.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t send me down the slippery slope.”

Lou knew he and Cap were in complete agreement when it came to prescribed painkillers and other mood-altering drugs. Just because a person had been addicted to drugs or alcohol did not mean they were barred from receiving medically controlled pharmaceuticals, so long as the doctor who wrote the script, or ordered the meds in a hospital, was fully aware of their history.