Chapter 8 - THE QUARANTINE LOCKDOWN"HAZMAT EXPOSURE IN ICU! LOCKDOWN ALL SECTORS!"
The emergency broadcast system roared through the hospital speakers, overriding the alarms. Red flashing strobe lights illuminated the hallways as thick, blast-proof isolation doors slammed down from the ceiling, sealing off Sector 3 of the ICU from the rest of the building.
Inside the sealed zone, the air was thick with the sweet, deadly odor of concentrated organophosphate agent.
I was choking, my throat convulsing violently as I lay trapped in the bed without my oxygen tube. On the floor, Ray was thrashing, foaming at the mouth as the concentrated liquid he had been exposed to entered his bloodstream through his eyes.
Daniel was on top of my mother in the hallway, holding her arms down, but both of them were coughing hysterically, their eyes streaming with involuntary tears.
"Get... the... masks!" Dr. Chen's voice echoed through the hallway intercom. He was outside the glass isolation partition, pounding on the control panel. "The ventilation system is locked! You have less than three minutes of clean air!"
Detective Miller, his face turning pale and sweat-drenched, managed to snap the cuffs on Ray's right wrist before collapsing against the foot of my bed, coughing until he choked.
I knew no one was coming inside to save us. The containment doors were locked from the outside to protect the rest of the hospital. If we were going to survive, I had to move.
I rolled off the bed, hitting the hard floor with a thud that sent a wave of agony straight through my chest. The open wound on my right side where the tube had been pulled out was bleeding profusely, but I forced my elbows to drag my body across the tile.
"Daniel..." I croaked, my voice barely a whisper against the roaring in my ears. "The... oxygen... tank..."
Beside the door sat a portable, green steel oxygen cylinder attached to a transport cart.
Daniel heard me. Through eyes swollen shut from the toxic fumes, he crawled away from my mother, reaching blindly toward the metal cart. He grabbed the brass valve and twisted it counter-clockwise with everything he had.
Pure, compressed oxygen hissed violently into the sealed room, creating a small zone of clean, breathable air near the floor.
Daniel dragged the nozzle to my face. I pressed my mouth directly over the brass outlet, inhaling the icy stream of life.
My vision cleared slightly.
"Miller!" Daniel wheezed, grabbing the detective by his belt and dragging him over to the oxygen stream.
For two terrifying minutes, the three of us took turns breathing directly from the single valve, huddled together on the cold floor like survivors of a shipwreck, while my mother lay five feet away, gasping and pounding her weak fists against the linoleum.
Ray had stopped moving. His body lay still near the shattered chest tube canister, his eyes rolled back.
Then, with a heavy pneumatic hiss, the secondary ventilation scrubbers inside the ICU ceiling activated. The thick, sweet smell began to dissipate, pulled up into the carbon filtration units.
The containment door slid upward with a metallic screech.
Hazmat officers in full suits rushed into the room, carrying emergency respirators and stretchers.
"We have four victims!" the lead officer yelled. "Get the atropine auto-injectors! Now!"
As a paramedic jammed an antidote needle straight into my thigh, the sudden rush of medicine forced my heart to beat again with a violent, terrifying surge.
I looked up from the floor.
My mother was being dragged onto a gurney by two officers, her wrists cuffed tightly behind her back. She looked at me through her tears, her face pale, her lips blue—the exact same color mine had been at the kitchen sink.
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"Emma..." she sobbed, her voice hollow and small. "Emma, please... tell them..."
I didn't answer. I turned my head away, looking toward Daniel, who was holding my hand so tightly his fingers were numb.
