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Jul. 19th, 2009 06:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
guppy_sandhu"Okay, let me get this straight." Guppy says, putting on his rubber gloves. "You don't want to go to hospital or contact the police because you're scared that the gangs will come after you, and to protect yourselves you have instead produced a set of cunningly hidden explosive devices in order to blackmail me into helping you?"
"Pretty much, yes." Mr Smith says, standing next to his fallen son. "It might sound ridiculous to you, but when you live in Farmeade you have to do what you can. And I know as a doctor you couldn't do this operation in here unless I was blackmailing you."
"Because your son's at great risk." Guppy says. "Bradley needs to go to an operating theatre to have this knife pulled out of his leg. He could just bleed out right here in front of us!"
"Then give him a transfusion." Mrs Smith insists. "I'm his blood type."
"Can you do that?" the father asks.
"Well, yes, but at risk of death." Guppy says. "Given his chances aren't good right now, it might still improve them."
He prepares the transfusion of blood between the two, and is glad when the patient doesn't immediately die. With that, he gets down to the surgery, as best as he can in such terrible conditions. He somehow removes the knife, ties off the arteries, and does what he can.
"He's still dying." he says to the father. "He still needs hospital care. That wound will probably get infected and he may have other injuries."
He notices movement, and watches the boy return to a slightly better level of consciousness.
"You can give him antibiotics." Mr Smith says, still clutching the remote that he claims is attached to the explosives.
"Not without knowing what bacteria are in there." Guppy says patiently. "It's true I have a small amount for emergency meningitis patients, but that may well not help him."
"Look out of that window." Mr Smith says, pointing to a window where there is a view of a park bench. "Is there anyone on that bench?"
"No..."
Guppy jumps in alarm as the man presses the remote and the bench explodes. A couple of bystanders scream.
"Okay, not a bluff. Antibiotics it is."
"Pretty much, yes." Mr Smith says, standing next to his fallen son. "It might sound ridiculous to you, but when you live in Farmeade you have to do what you can. And I know as a doctor you couldn't do this operation in here unless I was blackmailing you."
"Because your son's at great risk." Guppy says. "Bradley needs to go to an operating theatre to have this knife pulled out of his leg. He could just bleed out right here in front of us!"
"Then give him a transfusion." Mrs Smith insists. "I'm his blood type."
"Can you do that?" the father asks.
"Well, yes, but at risk of death." Guppy says. "Given his chances aren't good right now, it might still improve them."
He prepares the transfusion of blood between the two, and is glad when the patient doesn't immediately die. With that, he gets down to the surgery, as best as he can in such terrible conditions. He somehow removes the knife, ties off the arteries, and does what he can.
"He's still dying." he says to the father. "He still needs hospital care. That wound will probably get infected and he may have other injuries."
He notices movement, and watches the boy return to a slightly better level of consciousness.
"You can give him antibiotics." Mr Smith says, still clutching the remote that he claims is attached to the explosives.
"Not without knowing what bacteria are in there." Guppy says patiently. "It's true I have a small amount for emergency meningitis patients, but that may well not help him."
"Look out of that window." Mr Smith says, pointing to a window where there is a view of a park bench. "Is there anyone on that bench?"
"No..."
Guppy jumps in alarm as the man presses the remote and the bench explodes. A couple of bystanders scream.
"Okay, not a bluff. Antibiotics it is."
