8.3.5 SW
20:30/21 SW-CP-Local Time
Crowning Point > Sci-Med Hex

As the facehugger writhed in their grasp, the tail caught Dr Ellis on the forearm, causing him to briefly release and grab his wrist at the site of the lacerations. Baird raised his rifle, poised to fire in the event that the alien escaped, regardless of the possible injuries that its caustic blood might cause.

Seeing his colleague struggle, Dr Ellis tried to ignore the pain and continue helping but only served to swat at the flailing creature’s tail. At last, Farnham, the Xeno-biologist had control of the alien and stuffed it down into the containment crate. Roku sealed the hatch, hopefully ensuring it couldn't escape. She suspected, however, that it had its own means of doing so, especially since it had been able to melt through the Marshal’s respirator. But Baird would take care of that.

Baird lowered his firearm and took the crate cautiously over to the corner of the room to keep an eye on it while the doctors did their work. Roku turned quickly back to the Marshal, checking for signs of life. She found that he was apneic but he still had a weak carotid pulse. That was somewhat hopeful but she knew that they would have to get him breathing on his own as soon as possible.

She tilted his head back and checked his airway with a small light. It seemed to be a little inflamed and wet with unidentifiable mucosal secretions.

Roku quickly accessed the tools she had prepared for the unorthodox procedure, reaching first for a suction catheter. She cleared his mouth and pharynx of the stuff before moving on. Hesitating for a moment, Roku ruminated on the traumatic scene, taking in her own steady breathing. How awful it was to see the Marshal, her friend, in such a vulnerable position. She and her sister were still alive because of him and the difficult decisions he had to make. It was poetic she was now returning the favor.

The moment passed and she inserted the OPA tube into the Marshal’s throat. Finally, she held a bag-valve-mask to his face to ventilate his airway, pumping at a rate of 10-12 breaths per minute. The breaths seemed to be going in and out easily enough, so she checked his pulse once more before turning the valve on for oxygen provided straight from the MedPod.

“Come on… breathe…” Roku whispered as she proceeded to pump steadily, watching for equal and adequate rise and fall of the Marshal’s chest. It was going to work. It had to.

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