Chapter 4 - BULLETS AND BANDAGES
The emergency stairwell of Chicago General was a labyrinth of echoing concrete and flickering fluorescent lights.
Elena ran down the metal steps two at a time, her lungs burning, her ears straining for the sound of pursuit. Behind her, heavy, calculated footsteps slammed against the steel grating—not the shuffling gait of an exhausted hospital worker, but the heavy, rhythmic tread of a professional killer.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Julian Vance was closing the distance.
Elena ducked through a heavy fire door marked LEVEL 3: SURGERY, her shoulder slamming into the push-bar. She tumbled into the sterile recovery hallway, the sudden blast of bright overhead lights forcing her to squint.
She needed to hide—fast.
To her left was the staff locker room; to her right, the pediatric supply closet. She bolted toward the supply closet, shoving the door open and slipping inside just as the heavy fire door behind her swung wide open.
Through the narrow crack in the supply closet door, Elena watched through trembling breath as Julian stepped into the hallway. The silencer on his pistol gleamed dully under the fluorescent lights. He turned his head slowly from side to side, his eyes scanning the corridor like a radar dish.
“I know you’re here, Elena,” Julian called out, his voice echoing smoothly down the tiled hallway. “You can’t outrun a professional. Why make it messy? Just step out, and I promise it will be quick.”
Elena pressed her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her ragged breathing. Her fingers brushed against a heavy stainless steel shelving unit filled with IV bags, surgical tape, and heavy glass bottles of antiseptic solution.
Think, she told herself, panic threatening to override her logic. You’re a nurse. Use what’s around you.
She reached up and grabbed a heavy glass bottle of industrial-strength isopropyl alcohol, unscrewing the cap with shaking fingers. Beside it sat a box of sterile cotton balls and a butane medical lighter used for cauterizing instruments in minor bedside procedures.
Outside, Julian’s boots crunched softly on the linoleum. He was only two doors away.
Elena poured the alcohol generously over a thick wad of cotton pads, dropping them into a stainless steel kidney basin. With a quick flick of her thumb, she struck the butane lighter. A small, blue-orange flame flared up in the dim interior of the closet.
As the doorknob began to turn, Elena tossed the flaming cotton pads directly onto a pile of dry cardboard packaging stored on the bottom shelf.
The cardboard caught instantly, billowing a thick, acrid plume of black smoke outward through the gap in the door.
“Fire!” Elena screamed at the top of her lungs, throwing the supply closet door wide open and sprinting in the opposite direction.
Julian coughed, waving his hand through the sudden cloud of black smoke just as the hospital’s overhead fire sprinklers burst open with a deafening roar, drenching the entire corridor in high-pressure water.
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“Damn it!” Julian cursed, firing blindly down the hallway.
The bullet shattered a glass medicine cabinet beside Elena's head, spraying razor-sharp shards across her back, but she didn’t stop. She dove around the corner toward the main lobby, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
