At the crash scene, a smashed ambulance tips to its left, the front right wheel raised off the pavement. Sparks fly above it, crackling down the teetering power lines. A small cluster of cars is gathered nearby, but no extensive group of rescue workers yet. Weaver leaps out of Medic Bob's rig and orders Gallant to stay close. A few firemen have the driver on a gurney and into a neck brace; a Carla lookalike explains that both airbags did deploy, but "he has a bad seat-belt sign." They establish that he's conscious and lucid, at which point he moans that Doris is trapped in the back with an open tib-fib and a hemorrhaging patient. Weaver's "go where the action is" radar bleeps furiously, leading her to the Rig of Peril.
Firemen work furiously to open the ambulance doors. Medic Bob shouts at Doris through the broken lower window on the door, and we see that she's maintaining her calm despite roaring pain. "Stand back!" shouts Lopez, a firewoman. Weaver explains that she's an ER doctor. "Good for you," Lopez retorts. "I need you to stand back. We need to open up." If I deem that foreshadowing, does that count as a dirty joke? Doris shouts to Weaver that the woman, age twenty-eight, is eight months pregnant and was mugged -- hence the stab wound. Suddenly Lopez screams, having sliced open her left hand while trying to yank off one of the vehicle's double doors. Gallant steps in at Weaver's behest and one of the doors promptly comes off smoothly. That boy is Midas. Medic Bob and his cohorts turn their attention to Doris, while Weaver calls out to Vicki, the pregnant woman. "Where are you having pains?" she yells. "All over," moans Vicki. Weaver tries to establish whether they're labor pains or something else, but an explosion overhead derails her.
Above the ambulance, a power pole rocks sharply forward, and a fresh wave of fiery sparks rockets along the wires. As a second pole tips, at least one line snaps and treacherously whips through the air. The second the first crackle of electricity flares, Lopez dives atop Weaver to knock her to relative safety. They huddle there, basically spooning on the street, watching the fireworks display above them and dreaming of a day when painfully obvious metaphors won't define their burgeoning attraction. It would be beautiful, and romantic, if not for the carnage and screaming pregnant woman. Agape, they notice a fireman standing still as a tree, grasping the ambulance's metal door-handle with one hand that he can't unclench, because he's being royally electrocuted. Lopez screams. Gallant, spotting the man, boldly sprints toward him. "Don't touch him!" shrieks Weaver. "Galllllaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnttttttt!" Oh boy. We were doing fine until this part. The Practically Slow-Motion Yell of Tardy Warning is one of the first, worst, and overused tools of melodrama. Gallant -- rather than stopping and taking umbrage at Weaver's theatrics -- tackles the fireman in mid-air and frees him from his prison of pulsing electrical current. We fade out on Weaver's concerned face.