MIA stuffed the chamomile she had picked into her pocket and ran after the boy. The auditorium was already in an uproar by the time she caught up to him.
“Let go! Let go of me!” Security stopped him in the middle of his violent rampage and was dragging him away.
Most of the students had evacuated outside, leaving behind only those who had sustained injuries from being trampled or failing to escape from the crazed slasher fast enough. At the sight of students covered in blood, Mia unlatched the clasp on her shabby old bag. Medical tools spilled out from its wide opening. She had inherited the bag and its contents from Doctor Letts, a doctor at the Lemmilt Medical Clinic Mia had once been in the care of.
The medical tools weren’t the only thing she had inherited. Mia worked as a medical assistant at the clinic for the past ten years. First-aid procedures were beat into her. By now, it was second nature.
While the academy contained a Medical and Pharmacology Department, the older students weren’t present for the entrance ceremony. The only people present capable of treating the injured students were the Medical Department’s faculty. But they must’ve rushed off to get their medical supplies, because Mia didn’t see anyone treating any of the injured students yet. Not that anyone could blame them for being unprepared. Who could’ve predicted this was going to happen?
Mia pulled a red ribbon out of her bag. She tied back her cascading long red hair as she raised her voice, “Calm down! Bring the injured over here!”
Students and security helped the injured walk over to her. So far, they appeared to only have minor injuries. Mind set at ease, Mia retrieved bandages and alcohol from her bag, gave directions on how to stop the blood, and asked the people around her to assist with disinfecting the wounds. “Thoroughly rub the alcohol around this area,” she instructed.
Mia scanned the area to see if anyone else was hurt who hadn’t been brought over yet. The medical clinic had thoroughly trained her to never overlook a seriously injured patient. Times of chaos were the easiest to miss casualties. One wrong step could make the difference between life and death. People who could’ve been saved will end up dead.
Mia slowly spun around, taking in her surroundings. Her eyes landed on one particular person. A boy in a uniform squatted on the ground near the auditorium entrance.
“Felix?! Someone help! Is there a doctor here?!” The hulking man beside him ran off to get a doctor in a panic.
Feeling an odd sense of déjà vu, Mia strained her eyes for a better look. She finished disinfecting the injured patients in front of her, then handed the bandages to the person helping her. “Wrap this spot here. If you can’t do it right, just keep pressure on it for now. Take care of the rest here.” Entrusting the situation to the others, she sprinted towards the boy.
“Are you all right?!” Mia shook the crouched boy awake, and was astounded by the handsome face that appeared. Her awe lasted for but an instant—she immediately switched to examining his condition. The white skin hidden under his blindingly golden hair was ghost-pale. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking relentlessly as he sucked in short gasps of air, clenching his chest like he was suffocating.
Is he hyperventilating?
Swallowing excess air would only further the feeling of suffocation. Overbreathing results in decreased carbon dioxide in the blood, which reduces the blood flow to the brain and causes dyspnea. During Mia’s time at the medical clinic, she had come across many young children and adolescent girls who had shown symptoms of this illness, but it was unusual to find in a young man his age.
“Sorry. You’ll have to wait a bit,” she told the students with minor injuries waiting their turn.
Hyperventilation and panic attacks weren’t life-threatening in most cases. But the patient inflicted is crushed by the fear that they might die at any moment. Mia strongly believed the hyperventilating boy felt the closest to death than anyone else present.
She pulled him to her chest like she had done with the young children. He was under extreme stress from the gruesome, tragic spectacle before them. Mia knew that reassuring him in this manner was the most effective way to relieve his anxiety.
Oh, I know! I have something useful on me!
Mia pulled the chamomile out of her pocket and put it in his hand. One of the habits she had picked up from her time at the medical clinic was to pick medicinal herbs whenever she spotted them. She had planned to boil down the chamomile as an ingredient for painkillers, but its apple-like fragrance would be effective in mitigating his anxiety.
Mia slowly rubbed his back in gentle strokes, whispering, “It’s okay. You’re okay. Calm down. Deeply exhale. Don’t inhale. Slowly exhale.”
“They’ll…die. Everybody’s…gonna die. It’s my fault Chris—and I—it hur…ts…I can’t…breathe…” he wheezed, sucking in air like his life depended on it.
Mia caught his hand to stop it from painfully clawing at his throat with enough force to rip his tie off, and she gently touched her finger to his lips to obstruct his breathing. He’d be forced to breathe through his nose with his mouth blocked, decreasing the oxygen intake.
Knowing she needed to set his fears at ease, she soothed, “Don’t worry. It’s not your fault. Everybody’s safe. No one is going to die. They’re in pain, but their lives aren’t in jeopardy. It’s okay. They’ll all be better soon.”
Mia didn’t know who Chris was, but no one present was in critical condition. She stroked his hair, telling him repeatedly that it was okay, until the fear finally slipped from his face. She patted him on the back to the beat of her heart with her other hand, helping his breathing slowly return to normal. He was going to be fine once he remembered how to breathe. Confirming signs of his recuperation, Mia sighed with relief and pulled away from him. She was about to entrust him to someone else, when his hand shot out, grabbing hers. He looked imploringly at her.