"So you called us?" I ventured.
Not exactly the model of calm in a crisis you'd expect from an experienced member of the nursing staff, but we've met this problem before in this home. After another round of verbal stutterings, she finally remembers to direct us to the patient, and trots ahead in that sort of run that always looks as though it'd be quicker to walk.
A trail of green follows her, each back and shoulder laden with a different piece of luggage ready for the attempt at saving another human life.
The window in the room is slightly ajar, bringing the howling noise of the winds outside into the battlefield within. The first thing we notice is the blood on the wall, and the streaking lines that lead to his head. A quick look tells us that whether there was CPR or not, it was certainly not required now. Although deeply unconscious, he was breathing on his own, and a strong pulsating artery could be seen in his neck. A mix of good signs and bad.
Yet the eyes at the centre of this particular storm lay calm and lifeless, their brutal honesty betraying the secret of a battle fought and lost.