The rain was supposed to make the night more exciting, not deadly. The cheer squad had decided to go big for halftime: a five-tier pyramid, Madison at the top in uniform glistening under the rain.

She barely heard the crack of thunder over the crowd. Then the lightning hit and spread through linked arms and braced legs.

Rain-slick gurneys barreled through the ambulance bay doors in quick succession, the paramedics shouting over the storm.

“Mass casualty — homecoming game, lightning strike, we’ve got at least six incoming!”

“Make that eight!” another EMT called, wheeling in a soaked teenage girl whose cheer uniform was plastered to her skin, the front scorched in a jagged lightning pattern.

John Carter jogged alongside the first gurney, pulling on gloves. “What do we have?”

“Seventeen-year-old female, possible cardiac arrest on scene, shocked on the field, regained rhythm. Burns to chest and thighs, altered mental status,” the paramedic rattled off.

“Alright, trauma one!” Mark Greene’s voice cut through the chaos, waving them toward the open bay.

Another team wheeled in a girl clutching her arm, her face pale. “Second patient — partial thickness burns on upper extremities, possible fracture from fall.”

“Trauma two!” Carol Hathaway was already grabbing warm blankets. She glanced at Carter. “Lightning strike? You’re gonna want to check for arrhythmias on every single one.”

In the next bay, Doug Ross was leaning over a smaller cheerleader, maybe fifteen, whose lips were tinged blue. “Let’s get an airway kit here now. Chuny, bag her.”

Chuny snapped the mask into place, squeezing the bag while Ross checked her pupils.

Over at the first gurney, Carol was cutting away the burned uniform top. “Clothes are fused to the skin in a couple places, careful here,” she warned.

“BP is dropping,” Carter called out. “She’s at eighty over fifty.”

“Hang a liter of warm saline,” Greene ordered, leaning in with his stethoscope. “We’ve got coarse crackles — she’s in pulmonary edema. Let’s get a line in now.”

In the next bed, Benton was working fast, his hands sure and precise. “She’s got a posterior shoulder dislocation and burns to the palm. We need ortho down here, but first we irrigate these burns and get her stabilized.”

Wendy darted between bays with a tray of EKG leads. “Everyone gets one of these before they leave, Mark’s orders!” she said over the din.

The room smelled faintly of ozone and wet grass mixed with antiseptic. Teenagers lay in various states of consciousness, hair damp and tangled with glitter, rainwater pooling on the floor beneath their gurneys.

One girl’s voice was thin and panicked: “Where’s Madison? She was at the top—”

“That’s her,” Carol said softly, nodding toward the first bay where Carter was still working. The girl’s eyes fluttered open briefly, locking on Carol before rolling back.

“Stay with us, sweetheart,” Carter murmured, as the monitor let out a sharp alarm and Greene’s voice snapped: “She’s in V-fib — charge to two hundred!”

Out in the waiting area, the scene was just as tense. Members of the homecoming football team stood in sodden uniforms, They hovered near the doors to the trauma bays, their usual swagger replaced by pale, stunned faces.

One linebacker kept murmuring, “I was right there, I saw it hit her,” until a teacher — Ms. Kline, the history teacher who’d been chaperoning the cheer squad — gently steered him toward a row of plastic chairs. A few other students huddled together, still wearing their drenched school hoodies, eyes darting every time a set of double doors swung open.

Parents paced the room in frantic loops, their voices alternating between desperate questions and whispered prayers. Coach Dempsey, the cheer squad advisor, stood stiff-backed near the reception desk, jaw tight, scanning every clipboard the nurses carried out. Several parents clutched each other, their faces drawn, flinching every time an alarm from the trauma rooms pierced the air.