Chapter 3 - The Waltham Run

Facebook Hook: A desperate billionaire, a flooded highway, and a dying sister. He has 12 minutes to secure a replacement heart pump or lose everything. 🚗⛈️ #Heartstopping #RaceAgainstTime #Drama“Keep cranking!” Nathan roared at Dr. Vance, his mind snapping into a state of hyper-focused, desperate clarity. “Do not stop cranking, Julian! If you stop, she dies!”

“Nathan, what are you doing?” Vance yelled, his face turning red from the physical exertion.

Nathan turned to Elena, his hands grabbing her shoulders. “Elena, I am not taking Leo’s pump. I swear to you. But I am going to get a replacement unit. I’m going to Waltham. And I’m going to make it back.”

“You’re insane!” Elena cried. “The highway is blocked! There was a mudslide on Route 2!”

“I don’t care about the highway,” Nathan said, his eyes burning with a terrifying fire. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “I have a prototype hybrid helicopter-drone sitting on the pad of Caldwell Medical HQ in Waltham. I can fly it. If I can get to the warehouse, I can remote-pilot a cargo drone directly to this roof.”

“The airspace is closed due to the storm!” Elena warned.

“Then I’ll fly illegal!” Nathan shouted. He looked at his sister one last time, pressing his lips to her cold forehead. “Hold on, Clare. Please hold on.”

He spun on his heel and sprinted out of the ICU, leaving Elena and the medical staff in a whirlwind of panic.

Nathan practically flew down the stairs and out into the torrential rain. The cold water drenched his charcoal suit instantly, but he didn’t feel it. He sprinted to his black sports car, fired up the engine, and slammed his foot on the accelerator.

The car roared out of the hospital parking lot, its tires screeching against the wet asphalt.

The storm was vicious. The rain hit his windshield in solid sheets, reducing visibility to mere feet. Nathan’s hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. He navigated the flooded streets of Boston like a man possessed, ignoring red lights and swerving around stalled vehicles.

His phone, mounted on the dashboard, connected to Aris.

“Aris! I need you to unlock the Waltham prototype hangar immediately! I am ten minutes away!”

“Nathan, you can’t fly the drone in this wind!” Aris screamed over the line. “The gale forces are reaching fifty knots! The telemetry will fail!”

“If I don’t fly it, Clare dies, and my company’s legacy is written in the blood of children!” Nathan yelled back. “Do you want to go to prison for manslaughter, Aris? Because if Clare dies, I will personally hand over every single altered QA log to the federal prosecutors! Unlock the hangar!”

A pause. “...It’s unlocked. God help us, Nathan.”

Nathan slammed his foot down harder. He reached the highway. The traffic was backed up for miles, a sea of red taillights.

Without hesitation, Nathan threw his car onto the shoulder, kicking up massive plumes of muddy water as he bypassed the gridlock. He could feel the minutes slipping away.

Eight minutes left.

He could picture Clare’s room. Dr. Vance’s arms failing. The manual pump seal tearing, destroying her blood cells.

Suddenly, a massive semi-truck, blinded by the rain, began to merge onto the shoulder directly in front of Nathan.

Nathan slammed on the brakes, but the car hydroplaned. The vehicle spun violently out of control, careening toward the concrete median. The world turned into a blur of spinning headlights, screeching metal, and splashing water.

CRASH.

The passenger side of Nathan’s car slammed into the barrier. The airbags deployed with a deafening bang.

For a moment, there was only the sound of hissing steam and the relentless drumming of rain on the crushed metal roof.

Inside the cabin, Nathan’s head slumped against the deflated airbag. A thin stream of blood began to trickle down his temple, mixing with the rain pouring through his shattered window.

His phone sat on the passenger seat, its screen cracked but still glowing.

“Nathan? Nathan!” Aris’s voice cried out from the speaker. “Are you there? Nathan!”

Slowly, painfully, Nathan’s eyes fluttered open. The pain in his shoulder was agonizing, but the image of Mia’s face—and Clare’s dying eyes—burned through the fog in his brain.

He didn’t have time to bleed.

With a primal scream of agony, Nathan kicked open the jammed driver-side door. He crawled out into the pouring rain, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side. He looked toward the Waltham facility. It was still two miles away.

He couldn’t run two miles in time.

But then, he saw a delivery motorcycle idling on the side of the road, the driver having pulled over to seek shelter under an overpass.

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Nathan staggered toward the confused driver, pulling a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from his soaked jacket pocket.

“I’m buying your bike,” Nathan gasped, coughing up a bit of blood. “And you’re going to help me save a life.”