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northeast of Bethdale, an absolute shit hole calling itself a hospital in a town of the same name, a town of whore and warehouses. The second understanding was that when shit hit the fan, shit was shared. Nothing important should EVER be allowed to leak into Bethdale. It just wasn't right. They couldn't do anything about Bethdale, which had some magical political favor. But ethics were ethics - no sick or injured should ever be allowed to go there. No how, no way. Everybody respected that. Transfers between the two facilities were all reviewed by a committee every month, no matter what. That was important as hospital to hospital travel was the weakest link, the one with the least direct hospital control requiring the most vigilance. You had to be proactive about delay and insufficient life support in transit and dog every step before the step was taken. That a sick patient might sit around unnoticed after transfer was another P4FU, as it was called. That potential for foul up also had to be preempted. Shannon's message was, at its core, simply to be ready. A very difficult case taken to Mercy would likely be bounced. Mercy was, Shannon described, up to their asses in bad stuff. The two main Neemah trauma surgeons wouldn't be free for at least three hours, optimistically, optimistically a medical term for "not gonna happen." The third line lateral shift doctor, Dr. Mesner, a straight shooter with good hands was the one who had called, as Shannon went on, "..and I quote him, Mac, This one's beyond me. The kid also has other neurologic disabilities, giant axonal neuropathy, your kind of kid, even so, it's a mess." Yount and two nurses were now harmonizing rain as Macaluso went quiet thinking about kinky copper colored hair and ataxia. He could have amazed everybody by describing her before she arrived but instead guttural noises were emanating. These