Inside, Trauma One turned bright and busy—warm saline, heated blankets, and oxygen. “Name tag says Evan,” a nurse reported, lifting a damp jacket corner. Bloodwork kits clicked open. Anika rubbed life into tiny wrists. “Glucose, and a toxicology panel. Move,” she barked. The animal did not attempt to cross the security barricade, standing in the rain, unmoving.
EMTs returning for supplies slowed at the threshold, staring. “That’s a full-grown male.” “Keep moving,” the supervisor said. They did, steps carefully measured. The bear stood like a stone watching a current pass. Someone whispered, “Why doesn’t it go back?” Anika wondered again about the collar.