Chapter 4 - THE MIDNIGHT EXTRACTION
The rain hammered against the reinforced windows of St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital as the clock ticked past midnight. Security guard rotations were scheduled for every thirty minutes—a routine I had mapped out during my afternoon reconnaissance.
Wearing dark civilian gear, I slipped through the service elevator doors while Daniel waited outside in a rented, unmarked utility van with Noah securely buckled in a specialized carrier.
Room 412 was dark, save for the rhythmic green glow of the heart monitor. Emily was awake, propped up against the pillows, her eyes alert though hollowed out by trauma.
"Dad?" she whispered hoarsely as I stepped out of the shadows.
"I'm here, sweetheart," I murmured, rushing to her side and gently wrapping a heavy wool coat around her shoulders. "We're leaving. Now."
"The order... my legal team said I can't leave without a discharge judge's signature..." she protested weakly.
"Judges bought by Margaret won't save us tonight. Her fixers are already moving. We have to vanish."
Before Emily could protest further, the heavy metal door of her hospital room clicked. The lock turned.
I pushed Emily behind the hospital bed, drawing my tactical blade and pressing my back against the wall beside the entrance.
The door swung open silently. Two men in dark suits and medical scrubs stepped into the dim light. The lead man pulled a silenced pistol from his waistband, his eyes scanning the empty bed.
"She's gone," the lead fixer hissed into his shoulder mic. "Search the—"
I moved with the blinding speed of a combat veteran. My arm wrapped around the lead man's throat, slamming him into the doorframe with enough force to knock him unconscious instantly. The second fixer spun around, raising his weapon, but Daniel—who had snuck in behind us to help—swung a heavy oxygen tank directly into his chest, dropping him like a stone.
"Move, move, move!" I ordered, lifting Emily into my arms as she winced in pain.
We sprinted down the service corridor, dodging the night shift nurses who were distracted by a staged fire alarm in the west wing—a distraction I had triggered earlier using a smoke pellet in the basement breakroom.
We burst through the emergency exit into the pelting rain, loading Emily into the back of the van where Daniel was already holding crying baby Noah.
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"Drive!" I yelled, slamming the van doors shut as I jumped into the passenger seat.
As we sped away into the stormy night, looking in the rearview mirror, I saw three black SUVs pull up to the hospital entrance. Margaret's trap had failed. But the war had just escalated to an entirely new level.
