by CJ Lyons
“She sounded fine. She’s safe in the ER.”
“Good,” he said, blowing his breath out in a sigh of frustration.
“Why are there armed men looking for Lydia?” Lucas asked. “Storming the hospital? Are they nuts? They can’t kill us all. They’ll be caught for sure.”
“On a normal day, maybe. But today? In this?” Amanda gestured out the window at the storm—except it didn’t look like a window anymore. The darkness beyond felt heavy, unnatural, and had turned the window into a mirror. All she saw were the three of them: a man in a wheelchair cradling a gun, a silly girl in a silly ball gown, and Lucas, whose distorted reflection appeared scrawny, his white lab coat making him look more nutty professor than dashing hero.
The three of them made for the most unlikely team of rescuers anyone could imagine.
“If they’re searching the hospital, first thing we need to do is to arm ourselves and escape,” Amanda said.
“Where to?” Lucas asked.
Amanda thought. “Across the skyway to the research tower. They won’t go over there.”
“They won’t need to. They can just lock the doors.”
“Still, it’s our best place to hide, buy some time until we figure out what to do.”
Jerry nodded in approval. “We’re going to get Gina?”
Teaming up with Gina sounded good—in theory. But without communications, what were the chances of their meeting up?
“We need weapons,” she responded instead.
“This is crazy,” Lucas said. “We can’t go up against armed men. It’s suicide.”
His words stunned her—Lucas had many faults, but she’d never thought being a coward was one of them. “Lucas, we can’t abandon them! Those are our friends, our patients. We have to do something.”
He shocked her by grabbing her by her arms and stepping in, so close that she had to look up at him. He lowered his forehead to touch hers, his voice low and urgent. “I can’t risk you, Amanda. If anything happened to you—” His Adam’s apple jumped as he swallowed hard. “And Jerry is in no shape. We need to find someplace safe, where I can protect you both.”
He wasn’t a coward.
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. He resisted at first, but she persisted, until his lips opened beneath hers and he surrendered. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her so tightly against him it was like he wanted her inside him, a part of him forever. At least that was how she felt, what she wanted.
Finally they parted—it seemed like a kiss that broke records for the world’s longest, but the clock across from them said it only lasted a few seconds. Maybe time had stopped, Amanda thought with a smile.
“Okay,” Lucas said, defeated. “We’ll do it your way.”
“Weapons.” They split up and scoured the therapy area.
“Hot paraffin, no good, it’ll cool without its heat source,” Lucas said as he cataloged everything. Thinking out loud was a nervous habit of his, so Amanda let him talk while she did her own inventory. Jerry immediately threw his aluminum three-legged cane down and wheeled over to the wall to grab a hefty wooden cane in exchange.
“You won’t be able to balance as well on that one,” Amanda told him.
“No. But it hits better.” Jerry clutched the cane across his lap along with his gun, looking fierce. She didn’t argue. Instead she grabbed a roll of packing tape from the receptionist’s desk, along with a box cutter and a pair of shears. She pulled the cord from the back of the phone—could be used as a garrote or a restraint. She looped her prizes into the sash of her dress.
“Did you find anything, Lucas?”
“Casting supplies, medicine balls, splints. Useless. But what about these?” He held up a set of Velcro wrist weights. “Wrapped around your fist they’d be like brass knuckles, or you could use them as a sap and knock someone out.”
“Do you know how to do that?” Amanda couldn’t imagine Lucas hitting anything—least of all a person.
“I’m a neurologist. I’ve seen enough head injuries. I can do it.” His voice was stronger, as if he had some sliver of hope that they wouldn’t all be gunned down before they had the chance to do anything.
Jerry rolled past Amanda toward the doors just as the lights began to flicker.
“Hurry,” Lucas said. “We need to get to the skywalk doors while the power’s off.”
They rushed across the hall to the doors. The lights came back on.
“Damn,” Lucas muttered, rattling the locked doors.
“Can’t we just break the glass, open the door?” Amanda asked.
“The locks are electronic. But when the power goes out they all open so that no one gets trapped inside.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’m on the safety committee. We talk about things like that. And bed rails—lots of talk about bed rails.”
“I never knew life as an attending was so exciting.”
“Hurry,” Jerry said. “Gina needs us.”
Then the lights went out again. A metallic click sounded as the locks disengaged. They pushed through the doors and entered the skywalk.
The floor rocked beneath their feet as the gale-force winds blasted the skywalk. The storm was merciless, whipping around the glass-and-metal structure in a frenzy, hitting the windows, sending the floor bucking in every direction. Not just the floor; the walls vibrated as well, emitting an unnerving hum that made Amanda’s skin pucker with goose bumps. With the doors at both ends shut, it was like being in an echo chamber, every rattle of glass, every shriek of metal amplified until it drilled into their bones.
Jerry didn’t even have to push the wheels; his chair glided forward under its own volition. Then it stopped in the center. Amanda and Lucas rushed after him, but the farther they traveled across the skywalk, the more the floor shook.
“I think it might come apart,” Lucas shouted over the howl of the wind.
“We need to get out of here,” Amanda called back—even though they were holding hands, she could barely hear him. She’d been on her father’s boat in the middle of squalls that had been less noisy than this. “Hurry!”
TEN
LYDIA SLIP-SLIDED HER WAY TO THE OVERTURNED van. The slushy-icy-half-packed snow wore a dingy gray topcoat thanks to a mix of salt and ashes. Whenever her feet broke through an area not packed down by earlier traffic, snow spilled over her boot tops, so she tried to stay in the tracks left behind by car tires. But from the amount of snow filling the tracks, the green van and Trey’s Bessie were the only vehicles that had come this way in quite some time.
The van lay on its side, back doors sprung open. Trey was already inside, checking on the driver. Lydia goose-stepped her way between tire tracks to join him. It was dark inside except for Trey’s flashlight and the murky half-light that filtered in through the open doors and the windshield.
“He’s fine,” Trey called back to her as she entered the van. Using its side panel as a floor made for treacherous footing. The metal pinged and bounced beneath her feet, threatening to tumble her, so she finally sidled along with her back against the wall—well, actually the ceiling—and her good hand braced above her head against the other wall. “Just stuck. The seat slid forward and jammed.”
The cargo van stank of fish and something musty that tickled her nose. Wet feathers? A few brown cardboard boxes resembling the ones Giant Eagle used for their take-out chicken had slid out the doors.
Trey knelt behind the sideways-facing driver’s seat, trying to ratchet it back to free the driver, but gravity and the driver’s weight worked against him. All Lydia could see of the man were his legs trapped beneath the dash and his belly squeezed up against the steering wheel.
“Forget me,” the driver protested, his voice muffled, since his head was lying to the side. “I’m fine.”
Trey ignored him and spoke to Lydia. “Can you call it in so the utility guys can check this light pole and the wreckers can add it to their list?”
“Sure.”
She positioned her flashlight to help Trey see better and reached for her phone. It wasn’t there—wasn’t in any of her pockets. Must have dropped it when Trey carried her out of her SUV. “Damn. I lost my phone.”
“Mine’s in Bessie, on the charger. That’s okay, cell coverage has been spotty. I’ll radio it in. I need to get some tools anyway. Keep him calm, will you?” He crawled past her and out the van door.
Lydia took Trey’s spot, kneeling between the seats, angling her body through the narrow space. Now she could make out the driver’s features. He looked to be in his mid-forties, his face flushed with exertion and the effects of gravity—it had to be uncomfortable, hanging halfway upside down, squeezed in place by the steering wheel and his shoulder harness.
“I’m Lydia,” she said. “I’m a doctor. Are you sure nothing hurts?”
He raised his head with an effort. “I’m Zimmerman. I’m fine. But you need to find them. They’ll die in the cold.” His head slumped back against the door frame. “Damn Olsen. I wasn’t even supposed to be here—all I do is muck out the habitats.”
Lydia wondered if the man had a head injury. He seemed confused and agitated. “Mr. Zimmerman, was there someone else in here with you?”
“It’s just Zimmerman. No Mister. And there were twelve of them.”
She looked around. There were only the two front seats in the cargo van and the passenger seat was empty, the only signs of life a overturned coffee mug and a clipboard with papers that had gotten wedged between the seats. She grabbed the clipboard. On top was a receipt from a cargo transportation company. “What is Spheniscus?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
Trey returned and crawled under the seat with his tools. “How are you guys doing?”
“I keep telling you, I’m fine.” The driver yelped as Trey rocked the seat abruptly. “But I need you to rescue my Spheniscus. The penguins.”
Trey stopped at that and exchanged a glance with Lydia. “Penguins?”
“I’m not joking. I wasn’t even supposed to be the one transporting them—Olsen is going to kill me if anything happens to them. They’re very rare, an endangered species.”
“But”—Lydia gestured to the snow all around them—“they’re penguins. They’ll be okay. We can call animal control to come collect them.”
Zimmerman shook his head so hard the seat belt dug into his flesh. “No, you don’t understand. They’re Galapagos penguins.”
“So?”
“As in they live at the equator, where it’s really hot all the time?” Zimmerman grabbed Lydia’s hand, almost pulling her off balance and sideways into the seat with him. “Please don’t let anything happen to them. It’s my job on the line.”
Trey looked up from his work. “Go on, look for his penguins.”
Ugh. Last thing she wanted to do. Lydia was not a big fan of birds.
“How am I supposed to catch them?” she asked, waving her cast, using her arm as an excuse for the first time since she’d broken it. Trey did a double take, raising one eyebrow.
“What’s wrong? You’re not afraid of a little penguin, are you?”
No. It was their big beaks she was afraid of. Not to mention their flapping wings and sharp little claws. Did penguins have claws? They definitely had beaks—maybe teeth as well. And who knew what kind of diseases they carried?
Her face twisted with revulsion. Trey’s laughter filled the van. “You are. Dr. Lydia Fiore who isn’t afraid of anything—fire, guns, hit men—is frightened of cute, cuddly little birds.”
“I’m not afraid. Just”—she fumbled for an excuse—“inexperienced. I’ve never been around birds.” By choice. Not after the viewing of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds that she and Maria had sneaked in out of a rainstorm for and stayed all day, watching the movie three times before leaving. She’d been six or seven at the time and still had nightmares, would even cross the street if she spotted a crow or starling in her path.
“You can’t let them die,” Zimmerman said. “I’ll lose my job!” He sounded more concerned about his job than his wayward birds.
“We’ll come help you as soon as we’re done,” Trey assured her. “But this seat jumped its track. It’s going to take me a while to saw through the supports.” Lydia stood there, not really liking her options. “C’mon, you don’t want to be responsible for them freezing out there.”
Lydia sighed. “Okay, I’ll go look for your penguins.” “They’re in carrier boxes, but those are only for convenience, not very sturdy. You need to keep them warm,” Zimmerman said.
“Right.” She edged past Trey, bracing against the overhead wall of the van as she made her way back to the door. She grabbed the first of the brown cartons she’d noticed before. It was just cardboard folded together. The inside was empty except for the stench of bird poop.
But as soon as she touched the second box, she knew she’d found something, though it wasn’t very heavy, maybe five or six pounds. She thought penguins were big fat things, waddling around on ice. “Here’s one.”
“Is it okay?” Zimmerman called.
She risked a peek inside. The bird was curled up, filling the entire container.
“It’s not dead, is it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. If it was hurt, what the hell was she supposed to do about it? She knew nothing about bird anatomy except which bits of a fried chicken tasted best. “It’s not moving.”
“You’re a doctor,” he shouted. “Do something!”
GINA RAN THROUGH THE DARK, EMPTY HALLWAYS of the ER, her pulse beating so hard that it made her vision throb. She could only focus on a small area in front of her, had to whip her head around every time she heard a sound, imagining one of Harris’s men lunging out of hiding to tackle her. This wasn’t fear, fight, or flight. This was outright terror.
The lights went out for a few moments and she froze, certain it was a trap. Then Tillman’s voice whinnied through the overhead speakers. Something about losing power. Liar. They should have plenty of power.
“They’re just herding everyone into the auditorium,” she said aloud. Her voice sounded loud in the empty corridor. Too loud. She forced herself not to run—that had been a mistake, galloping through the hallways like that. She had to be smarter, more careful. Guerrilla warfare. Sneaky, silent.
Hard to do when your heart was about to scramble right up and out of your throat. She slowed her breathing. After a few deep breaths her vision returned to normal. She stuck to the little-known back hallways and entered radiology from the employee entrance. The door shut behind her with a squeak that made her jump although there was no one else to hear it. The place felt even more cold and deserted than the ER.
Even in the best of times radiology was a maze. The lights were still on here, but that didn’t do much to ease the whole spooky-mansion-with-Freddy-Krueger-ready-to-jump-out atmosphere.
ER docs hated radiology—patients got lost there, both physically and medically. Not that radiology and its denizens didn’t feel the same about the ER, a place that seemed to exist solely to thwart their carefully arranged schedules and pull their techs for stat portable films. The Hatfields and McCoys played out in the so-called civilization of an urban medical center.
Despite that, right now, Gina would love to stumble across a surly radiology tech. She’d never find an actual radiologist—they were an obscure race of creatures, rarely seen in the daylight, and never on a weekend or holiday, especially not since new technology allowed them to do most of their work from home. One of the ER staff’s greatest joys was to pull a radiologist out of bed at three A.M. to perform an intervention like an angiogram that they couldn’t turf to the poor tech working nights.
But now it was just Gina wandering empty hallways, head twisted so that she could look over her shoulder, back pressed against the wall, and feeling like a gothic heroine entering Bluebeard’s forbidden chambers. She’d come into radiology from the back, the X ray area, which meant weaving through a myriad of
changing rooms, waiting areas, viewing rooms, and procedure areas before she’d reach the CT suite where she hoped to find her mother. Maybe she’d feel less nervous if she had any idea about what to do after that, but she’d settle for finding LaRose first and figuring out the rest after she knew her mother was safe.
Footsteps sounded behind her. Gina froze, pressing her body against the wall—as if beige paint could conceal a five-ten black woman in a bright white lab coat. Holding her breath, she listened. Nothing. Maybe she’d imagined it.
There was a fluoroscopy suite across the hall. Looking both ways, seeing no one, she flung herself across the empty space and through the door. She grabbed it before it could click shut and closed it herself, slowly, slowly, without a sound.
The room was dark. She didn’t dare turn on a light. The Maglite seemed too bright, too risky, so she used her penlight. The patient bed with the c-ring was in the center of the room, carts of supplies pushed against the walls surrounding it.
On the opposite wall was the revolving door leading to the darkroom and film-developing area. To the left of it was another exit leading to yet another hallway—one that would get her closer to CT.
Using her tiny beam of light to guide her, she skirted the equipment and edged along the wall toward the exit. Her breathing was so loud, it sounded like she was using a megaphone, but it wasn’t as bad as the pounding in her ears echoing her pulse. She wasn’t tiptoeing, but each step felt as treacherous as stepping off an abyss.
She’d almost reached the black plastic revolving door when she heard footsteps again. She wasn’t imagining them. They were close—and getting closer.
A shadow passed beneath the slit of light below the exit she’d been aiming for. Was he coming here? She skipped her penlight’s beam around the room. There was nowhere to hide. The footsteps stopped and she heard a man’s voice, although she couldn’t make out his words. There were two of them!
