Chapter 2 - THE BLACKOUT MANIFESTOThe red glow of the exit sign above the door was the only light left in the hallway, casting long, writhing shadows across the linoleum.
"Down!" I hissed, grabbing the edge of the hospital bed and hauling Leo off it before he could even process the motion. He let out a sharp gasp of pain as his fractured wrist banged against the mattress, but I slapped a hand gently over his mouth.
"Shh, baby, I've got you," I whispered, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Through the frosted glass of the room's door, two heavy combat boots paced slowly past. The shadow of a silenced automatic rifle swung across the glass pane. They weren't looking at room numbers randomly. They were clearing the floor, door by door.
Room 10. Room 11.
They were one door away.
"Claire..." Leo whimpered against my palm, his eyes wide with a terror no eleven-year-old should ever have to taste.
I scanned the room frantically. No windows—just a high, narrow transom vent near the ceiling that looked out into the courtyard shaft. The bathroom door was shut. There was no escape unless I walked us straight into the hallway execution squad.
Think, Claire, think!
The door handle of room twelve jiggled. The latch clicked open an inch.
In a surge of pure adrenaline, I grabbed the heavy steel bedside IV pole, unscrewed the top section with my bare hands, and positioned myself flat against the wall right beside the door swing.
The door pushed inward. A tall man in matte-black tactical gear stepped inside, his weapon raised, sweeping the dark room with the red dot of a laser sight.
As he stepped fully past the door frame, I swung the heavy iron pole with every ounce of fury I possessed, bringing it down squarely across the back of his tactical helmet.
CRACK.
The man collapsed like a felled oak, his rifle clattering loudly against the tiled floor.
"Move! Move, move, move!" I grabbed Leo by his good arm, hauling him off the floor.
"Holy hell..." a voice muttered from the doorway.
The second operative standing in the hall raised his weapon, locking eyes with me across the dark room. He didn't hesitate. He raised his pistol, aiming right for my chest.
Before he could pull the trigger, a blinding flash of white light exploded down the corridor.
BAM! BAM!
Two gunshots echoed through the hospital wing, but they weren't aimed at us. Nurse Jenkins stood at the far end of the hall, holding a heavy-gauge security shotgun with both hands, smoke curling lazily from the barrel. The second operative spun, hit the wall, and slid down into a crumpled heap beside the vending machines.
"What are you standing there for?!" Jenkins screamed, her voice cracking with adrenaline. "The parking garage exits are locked down! Take the maintenance chute behind the laundry room! Go, now!"
I didn't waste a second. I hoisted Leo onto my back, his slight frame clinging to me like a frightened koala, and bolted out of room twelve, stepping directly over the unconscious mercenary on the floor.
We sprinted through the labyrinthine basement corridors of St. Jude, past industrial washing machines, linen bins, and towering oxygen tanks. Every shadow looked like a gunman; every drip of a leaky pipe sounded like approaching footsteps.
When we finally burst out through the heavy metal fire exit into the cool Seattle night air, the rain was coming down in sheets, slicking the asphalt of the subterranean loading dock.
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A sleek, black-on-black SUV sat idling by the dumpsters, its hazard lights blinking rhythmically. The passenger-side window rolled down smoothly, revealing a face I never expected to see again.
"Get in, Claire," Marcus Vance said, his jaw tight, holding a digital tablet displaying live police scanner feeds. "Or you and the boy are dead in sixty seconds."
