Chapter 4 - The Infiltration of Room 412
Detective Miller drew his Glock 19 in a fraction of a second, stepping in front of me and aiming his weapon toward the heavy wooden door of Room 412.
"Stay behind me!" Miller ordered, tapping his shoulder radio. "Dispatch, this is Miller! We have a power failure on Pediatric Floor 4! Officers down outside 412! I repeat, officers down! Send immediate backup!"
Only static came through the radio speaker.
Khhhh-sssshhhh.
"Signal jammer," Miller growled, his face covered in sweat under the red emergency lights. "He’s on the floor."
I scrambled back to Addie’s bed, snatching a heavy steel IV pole from the wall. My hands were no longer shaking. The fear that had consumed me for three days vanished, burned away by an overwhelming, primal instinct to protect my child.
"Mommy?" Addie whimpered, scrambling under her blanket. "Why is it dark?"
"Stay under the blanket, sweetie," I commanded, standing beside her bed with the heavy steel pole raised like a spear. "Close your eyes and cover your ears. Don't open them until I tell you."
The handle of the door slowly turned.
CLICK.
The door pushed open three inches. A small black canister was tossed through the gap, rolling across the linoleum floor with a sharp metallic rattle.
"Gas!" Miller yelled, pulling his coat up over his face. "Clara, get her into the bathroom!"
A dense, sweet-smelling grey smoke erupted from the canister, filling the small room in seconds. My eyes began to burn wildly, and my throat seized as I inhaled a tiny lungful of the chemical agent.
Miller fired two shots through the doorway—BANG! BANG!—the deafening blasts echoing off the small walls like thunder.
Through the thick, swirling grey smoke, a figure moved with terrifying speed.
It was not a man in a dark hoodie or a desperate fugitive. It was Luke, dressed in a crisp, sterile pair of blue surgical scrubs, wearing a full-face industrial respirator mask and heavy rubber gloves. In his right hand, he held a long, stainless steel veterinary syringe fitted with a six-inch needle.
Miller lunged forward to tackle him, but the gas had already compromised his vision and reflexes. Luke dodged the detective’s strike with clinical precision, stepping inside Miller’s guard and plunging a smaller syringe directly into the side of the detective’s neck.
Miller let out a choked groan, his eyes rolling back as his gun clattered onto the floor. He collapsed like a sack of stones, his massive body hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
Luke didn't even look down at the fallen officer. He stepped over Miller’s body, his respirator mask whistling rhythmically as he turned his gaze toward me.
"Hello, Clara," his voice rang out, muffled and distorted by the plastic diaphragm of the mask. "Did you really think a few low-IQ police officers could keep me away from my research?"
"Get away from her!" I screamed, swinging the heavy steel IV pole with all the force in my body.
CLANG!
The heavy steel base struck him squarely across the shoulder, knocking him sideways against the wall. But he didn't fall. He gritted his teeth, snatched the pole with his gloved hand, and jerked it violently backward, throwing me off balance.
I crashed onto the hard floor, the air exploding from my lungs.
Luke stepped over me, his heavy boots pressing down on my left hand until I felt the small bones crunch. Pain flared up my arm, but I didn't scream. I grabbed his ankle with my free hand, digging my fingernails into his rubber boot, tearing at his legs.
"You're so emotional, Clara," Luke said, leaning down and pressing his foot harder onto my wrist. "That’s always been your flaw. You operate on instinct and sentimentality. I operate on science."
He raised the long steel syringe, aiming it toward the bed where Addie was huddled beneath her blanket.
"This compound is my masterpiece," Luke murmured, his eyes glittering behind the glass of his mask with a terrifying, insane light. "A total, permanent cessation of neuromuscular function. No pain. No struggle. Just... absolute, perfect silence."
"NO!" I shrieked.
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I didn't reach for his legs. I didn't try to pull myself up.
My hand, sweeping across the slick linoleum floor through the thick grey smoke, brushed against the cold, heavy steel of Detective Miller’s dropped Glock 19.
