Chapter 4 - Shadows of the Past
My ears were ringing violently, and my vision was reduced to a blur of white and yellow spots. I fell to my knees, gasping for air as thick grey smoke filled the hospital hallway.
Through the haze, I heard rapid gunfire, muted thuds, and men shouting commands in tactical jargon.
Tactical gear? Vance’s men?
No. This wasn't Vance.
I forced myself up, leaning against the wall, wiping blood from a scrape on my forehead. As the smoke cleared slightly, I saw three heavily armed figures clad in black unmarked tactical uniforms. Vance’s security guards were already unconscious on the floor. Vance himself was pinned against the wall, a heavy combat boot pressed against his throat.
One of the tactical operatives stepped toward the gurney, unstrapping Sarah with professional precision.
"Target secured," the leader said into a radio mounted on his chest. "We have the mother. Moving to Extraction Point Alpha."
"Wait!" I coughed out, raising the handgun I was still clutching. "Who... who are you?"
The leader turned toward me. The operative raised a helmet visor, revealing a face that made my heart freeze in my chest.
It was a face I hadn't seen in over five years.
"Lower the weapon, Charles," the operative said in a deep, familiar voice. "You always were terrible at shooting."
"Mark?" I gasped, lowering the gun in absolute disbelief. "Mark... you're dead. You died in the military contractor accident in Syria five years ago!"
Mark—my older brother, the man we had buried an empty casket for, the man whose tragic death had triggered the spiral of depression that ultimately destroyed my marriage with Sarah—stood before me, very much alive.
"There’s no time to explain," Mark said sternly, motioning for his teammates to lift Sarah onto a transport stretcher. "Vance’s backup units are already in the parking garage. If we stay here another two minutes, we all die."
"Mark... what is going on?!" I demanded, grabbing his arm as he walked past me. "You were dead! Sarah’s sick! Vance is trying to harvest our baby! What the hell is happening?!"
Mark gripped my shoulder with an iron grip, his eyes dead serious. "I faked my death to protect you and Sarah, Charles. The company Vance runs? It’s a front for an international syndicate selling bioweapons. And three years ago, when you and Sarah got divorced... it wasn't because your marriage failed. It was because I forced Sarah to leave you to keep you safe."
My brain struggled to process the information. The divorce... our crumbling marriage... the fights... it was all a lie?
"She pushed you away to save your life, Charles," Mark said softly, looking back at Sarah, who was watching us with heavy, tear-filled eyes. "She took the bullet for you three years ago. And now, Vance found her. We need to go. NOW!"
Before I could process the crushing weight of his words, loud sirens began to wail throughout the hospital, and the sound of heavy boots echoing up the stairwell announced the arrival of Vance’s private military force.
"Move!" Mark ordered.
We ran down the rear service corridor, Mark’s team flanking Sarah’s stretcher. We burst through the double doors leading to the hospital rooftop helipad, where a blacked-out, unmarked helicopter was idling, its rotor blades creating a deafening tempest of wind and noise.
We loaded Sarah into the cabin. I scrambled in right behind her, taking her hand in mine. She squeezed it with whatever strength she had left.
"Charles... I’m sorry..." she sobbed into the wind. "I'm so sorry I lied to you..."
"Shh," I said, kissing her cold forehead as the helicopter lifted off into the dark Miami night sky. "We're going to fix this. I promise you."
As the city lights of Miami shrank beneath us, I looked back at the hospital roof. Standing by the edge, watching our helicopter disappear into the clouds, was Julian Vance.
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He was holding a phone to his ear, a terrifying, confident smile plastered across his face.
He didn't look defeated. He looked like everything was going exactly according to plan.
