Chapter 6 - The Race Against the Clock
Sarah snatched up the tablet from the counter, her fingers flying across the interface to check the vault logs.
"The antidote is gone," Sarah muttered, horror gripping her chest. "Evelyn must have transferred the remaining stock of Prussian Blue chelating capsules out of the vault before she came to the ICU."
"Where would she put it?" Detective Vance asked urgently, slamming her handcuffs onto her belt loop. "Does she have a locker? A car in the parking garage?"
"Her personal locker is in the basement staff wing, but she also kept an off-site storage locker near the Seattle waterfront," Sarah said, racking her brain for every detail Evelyn had ever mentioned over coffee. "She used to talk about storing her grandmother's antique furniture there—Unit 412 at Seattle Harbor Storage."
Detective Vance immediately tapped her shoulder radio. "Dispatch, this is Detective Vance, badge 409. I need an immediate tactical unit dispatched to Seattle Harbor Storage, Unit 412. Suspect has second stash of vital medical antivenom. Code red."
"We don't have time to wait for a tactical unit across town," Sarah said, grabbing her white lab coat and car keys from the hook on the wall. "Traffic on Interstate 5 is jammed because of the storm, and Emma only has about forty minutes before the residual thallium crosses the blood-brain barrier permanently. I’m driving down there myself."
"Mrs. Johnson, that's police business—" Vance started to object.
"That's my daughter dying on a ventilator upstairs!" Sarah snapped, her eyes blazing with fierce determination. "You handle the legal side; I’m going to get the antidote."
Without waiting for permission, Sarah bolted out of the pharmacy, sprinted down the stairwell, and burst out into the pouring Seattle rain. Her Honda Civic sat in the hospital lot, its wipers thrashing wildly against the deluge as she threw open the door and threw the car into reverse.
The drive down to the waterfront was a blur of flashing taillights, hydroplaning tires, and screaming sirens in the distance. The rain hammered the windshield so hard the streetlights blurred into streaks of yellow and white.
Twenty-five minutes later, Sarah skidded to a halt outside Seattle Harbor Storage, a sprawling, dimly lit brick warehouse overlooking the choppy gray waters of Puget Sound.
She leaped out of the car, ignoring the rain soaking through her clothes, and ran up to the security gate. The keypad blinked with a cold blue light.
What was the code?
Sarah closed her eyes, breathing heavily. Evelyn had mentioned her birthday once—no, too obvious. She talked about her cat's name—no.
Then she remembered: Evelyn always wore a silver pendant with the coordinates of her childhood home in Portland.
Sarah frantically punched in the numbers based on her memory of that pendant: 0-9-8-4-P-W.
BEEP.
May you like
The heavy iron security gate groaned and swung open.
Sarah didn't hesitate. She dashed into the damp, labyrinthine corridors of the warehouse, her flashlight cutting beams through the dark, echoing aisles until she reached Unit 412.
