Bringing Out the Dead Page #14

MARCUS:

In that time, you ever have sex?

CARLOS:

Never. No cigarettes, no drugs, no

booze.

MARCUS:

No underwear?

CARLOS:

We are virgins.

FRANK:

(inspecting Maria)

Oh Jesus, we'd better go. Call for

backup.

Marcus radioing for assistance.

FRANK (CONT'D)

It's coming.

(to Carlos)

Hold her down.

MARCUS:

What's that, Frank?

FRANK:

Three legs.

MARCUS:

That's too many.

FRANK:

Backup?

MARCUS:

It's coming.

CARLOS:

Is she dying?

FRANK:

She's having a baby. Twins.

CARLOS:

Es impossible.

FRANK:

You can trust me on this one.

CARLOS:

It's a miracle.

Maria SCREAMS. Marcus kneels beside Frank as a distant EMS

siren grows louder.

FRANK:

You take the first one.

Frank looks up at the screaming mother: it's not her face.

It's Rose. The Rose face.

CUT TO:

INT. MERCY ER--NIGHT

Frank rushing past Nurse Constance, carrying a newborn in

thermal wrap, passing Noel restrained on a gurney:

FRANK:

She had a pulse.

NURSE CONSTANCE:

Code! Code Blue!

Hazmat rushing over:

HAZMAT:

Oh Jesus, put her on the monitor.

Where's the pediatric code cart?

(Odette arriving with

cart)

Odette give me that tube. All right,

flatline--let's do CPR. step back,

Frank. How many months?

FRANK:

Can't tell. It was a breech, twins.

The other one seems okay, though.

Marcus is taking him and the mother

to Maternity.

Across the room an obscenity-spouting FEMALE CRACKHEAD being

restrained by a patrolman and hospital security--adding to

the sense of emergency and chaos. DR. MISHRA, 50, Pediatric

MD, and nurses squeeze toward newborn edging Frank back.

Mishra takes an osteocatheter out of the cart, forces it

into the now obscured baby as Nurse Constance massages the

infant's chest.

Hazmat steps over to the now restrained Crackhead.

CRACKHEAD:

I'm a mother! I got a daughter! I

got rights!

HAZMAT:

(to nurse)

10 mil Valium, stat.

Mishra, worried, checks with Nurse Constance--they're losing

the newborn:

MISHRA:

Status.

NURSE CONSTANCE:

I think there's a pulse. I think.

Frank looking at the EKG monitor--a green flatline--backs

away.

MISHRA:

F***.

NURSE CONSTANCE:

Nothing.

Frank walking away, not looking where he's going, backs into

Noel's gurney.

NOEL:

Excuse me, sir, excuse me, I would

please trouble you for one cup of

water. The smallest thing in the

world to ask for, water. A man is

dying and that is me.

Noel, his face battered from his encounter with Walls, pulls

at his restraints, howls:

NOEL (CONT'D)

For days I've eaten nothing but sand,

O Lord, I waited so long.

Hazmat looks over:

HAZMAT:

Christ. Who the hell woke him up?

CUT TO:

EXT. CANAL STREET--NIGHT

12 Young on the road again, sky turning blue.

FRANK:

Don't give me that look.

MARCUS:

What look?

FRANK:

You know what I'm talking about.

It's all over your face. That I-just-

saved-a-little-baby-boy look.

MARCUS:

We just saved a little baby boy.

Think of it that way.

FRANK:

I don't want to hear about it, okay?

That's three jobs for the night.

It's over. Three jobs and time for a

drink. Six am, the cocktail hour.

Pass the bottle; I know you're

holding.

Marcus reaches under the seat, pulls a pint of vodka, a quart

of orange juice and two cups out of an old gym bag, passes

them to Frank.

MARCUS:

The bar is now open.

Frank mixes a screwdriver for Marcus, straight vodka for

himself.

FRANK:

I hate vodka.

MARCUS:

Please, a little decorum if you will.

What I was going to say is, is that

holding that baby in my arms, I felt

like I was twenty-one again. A call

like that makes me think of going

back to three nights a week, not

two, start running again, cut down

on the drinking.

FRANK:

(pours drink)

I'll drink to that.

MARCUS:

(raises cup)

Here's to the greatest job in the

world.

FRANK:

(knocks vodka back)

Greatest job in the world.

DISPATCHER LOVE:

Twelve Young, I have priorities

holding. Pick up the radio.

FRANK:

Don't do it, Marcus. Tell her the

bus died, our radio's not working,

our backs are out. Tell her we're

too drunk to take any more calls.

MARCUS:

Let's do it!

(keys mike)

It's Marcus, Love, only for you.

DISPATCHER LOVE:

Male diff breather, approximately

30, Houston and A.

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