and

normal saline." Davi

normal saline."
Davis nodded.
"How's that blood work coming along?" Francisco called through the open doorway.
"Low on oxygen. Still checking electrolytes, sir."
Francisco fitted the man with oxygen, then carefully examined the frozen extremities. Both hands were nicely frozen, one up to the wrist, the other to the knuckles. Both ears, too. . . . Fortunately, the frost hadn't bitten too deeply yet. He tugged off incredibly ancient shoes and socks, both pairs held together by the holes.
"Mmm . . . I've seen worse," he muttered, turning the feet up to peer at the soles, "but they're nicely bitten. He's not going to be running any marathons this week. Whoever you are, you are one lucky son," Francisco murmured to the unconscious man.
"Damned lucky," Davis agreed as he threaded the IV needle into the vein and taped it down.
The nurse came back with the blood work. Francisco glanced at it, then nodded. "Very good. We found him before things got critical. Prepare sixty milligrams of Toradol, John. Whoever he is, he's going to hurt like bloody fire when he comes around. And let's put a steam pad on his chest to help bring up his core temp."
The nurse nodded and vanished in search of the prescribed items. Francisco scribbled on his chart.
The mystery man groaned softly. Francisco glanced up just as his eyelids fluttered. His expression mirrored deep disorientation. He tried to sit up and mumbled something too confused to catch. Davis placed a restraining hand on the man's chest.
When the patient struggled, Francisco helped hold him down. "Hold on there,