Wild Riviera: A Coastal Sea Adventure (Tyson Wild Thriller Book 3) by Tripp Ellis

Author:Tripp Ellis [Ellis, Tripp]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tripp Ellis
Published: 2019-06-02T16:00:00+00:00

18

Jack lifted his shirt. He had a layer of padding where there used to be ripped abs. His winter coat of barbecue and beer may just have saved his life.

"God damn, that stings!”

Blood seeped out of the wound, but it didn't gush. The entry wound was just lateral of the midline between the rectus abdominis and the obliques.

I wasn't a doctor, but I'd seen enough combat injuries. I knew my way around gunshot wounds fairly well. This one wasn't as bad as it could have been.

I poked around the wound with my fingertip.

“Quit that!” he yelped.

I could feel the slug embedded in his skin. But, in my amateur opinion, it hadn't punctured the peritoneal space.

That would've been a disaster.

Gut wounds are some of the worst. When a bullet punctures the abdominal wall and rips through the intestines, spilling bile, it creates an environment ripe for infection. Even with the proper medical treatment, gut wounds can often cause sepsis.

With today's resistant strains of bacteria, even the most powerful antibiotics are becoming less and less effective.

This wasn't a direct shot.

The bullet must have ricocheted off the wall, then punctured the skin.

I helped JD sit down, leaning against the alley wall. "We need to get you to a hospital."

"Nonsense. I don't do hospitals. We just need to dig the little son-of-a-bitch out and stitch me up."

I rolled my eyes.

JD was a tough bastard, but he needed medical attention.

I called a cab, and we zipped across town to an emergency room. Jack kept pressure on the wound, but the oozing blood still stained the cab’s leather seats.

We staggered into the ER, and the cab driver helped. He took off before I had a chance to pay him. The nurses triaged JD, taking blood pressure, and monitoring vitals. He was put on a gurney and wheeled into a treatment room.

We didn't have to wait, due to the nature of his injury. The ER wasn't that busy, anyway.

The craggy peaks of JD’s heartbeat pulsed on the bedside monitor. Nurses swarmed around him, wearing sterile clothes and purple nitrile gloves. They started him on IV fluids. The clear bag of saline hung from a stand by the side of the bed. JD winced when the nurse stuck the IV portal into the vein on the back of his hand. She covered the site with a clear adhesive patch.

With a pair of blunt-end scissors, a nurse cut off JD's shirt.

His face crinkled with distress. "What are you doing?"

"The shirt and the pants have to come off."

"At least by me dinner first," JD said. "I'm not that easy."

She wasn't amused.

“That’s my favorite shirt, by the way.”

“Think of it as an excuse to update to a more contemporary style,” the nurse said, dryly.

JD’s scowled at her subtle assault upon his fashion sense.

A doctor entered into the room and his eyes glanced to the vital signs monitor. A nurse updated him on the situation.

The doctor was maybe 35 years old. He had curly brown hair, green eyes, wore teal scrubs, and a white lab coat.

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