The Edge of Death: (Sequel to ADRENALINE)

by John Benedict

  Chandler dropped like a rock, unconscious or dead.

  Doug ran back into the scan room and leaned over Laura. “Laura, are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she said, her eyelids fluttering open. “I heard a loud bang. Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine now, hon.” Doug slipped his arms under her and began to lift her off the gantry. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  As Doug hoisted Laura off the gantry, he saw tremendous clouds of vapor billowing out of the bullet hole in the magnet. The hissing noise was growing louder, the temperature in the room dropping rapidly. With Laura in his arms, Doug took two steps toward the door. He felt immense pressure building in his ears and a bolt of pain shot through his skull. Before he could carry Laura out of the room, the large door swung closed and he heard the latch engage.

  “God damn it!” Doug yelled in exasperation. He set Laura back down on the litter. How long could they survive in a room filling up with cold, pressurized helium? Five minutes? Ten at the most. They would either freeze to death or asphyxiate.

  Doug searched the room for anything useful. Behind the scanner he found a service door, but it was locked. Further searching yielded nothing. With no other options, Doug pounded on the main door, even though he was pretty sure it was hopeless; he doubted anyone could hear him through the thick, metal-shielded door.

  “Anyone out there! Help us! Open the door!”

  After several minutes, hands stinging, Doug sat back down beside Laura, resigned and discouraged. His ears popped, relieving some of the intense pressure inside his head. But the temperature continued to drop and the air already felt much thinner. So this is how it ends, he thought. He cradled his aching head in his hands and gazed at his wife. She still appeared deeply sedated and he was thankful for small favors. Doug stroked her arm, then leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “I love you,” he said. Laura gave no response.

  Doug glanced at Chandler’s body. His chest rose and fell with shallow breathing, so he wasn’t dead. The only good thing that would come from their deaths, Doug thought, would be that Chandler would die, too.

  Abruptly, the wall intercom came to life. “Dr. Landry! It’s me, Chip. Can you hear me?”

  “Chip!” Doug sprang to his feet. “Open the door! Get us out of here.”

  There was a brief pause, then Chip’s voice came through the tinny intercom. “I can’t—the door’s locked. I don’t know the code.”

  “Try your swipe badge.”

  “Already did—no dice.”

  “The tech’s around somewhere—she went to the ER,” Doug said. “Find her. Call someone.”

  “Okay,” Chip said. “I followed Chandler to the med center. The ICU nurses said you were down here. What happened?”

  “No time to explain,” Doug said. “The helium’s boiling. Oxygen level’s dropping fast. Get us out of here!”

  “Okay,” Chip said. “I’m on it.”

  “Hurry!” Doug said through chattering teeth.

  Doug wrapped Laura’s shivering body in her blanket and tried to ignore the cold seeping into his own body. He crawled under the blanket beside her in an effort to conserve their body heat. From this position, he looked directly up at the green oxygen cylinder stuck to the magnet housing above them. It reminded him of a circumstance several years ago at Mercy Hospital, when an oxygen cylinder had saved his life.

  With a flash of intuition, he reached up and screwed the pressure valve on the tank all the way open. At first he thought the valve had been damaged on impact; he didn’t hear any air flowing. But then he felt the fresh gas wash over his face and realized the loud hiss of the leaking helium was masking the sound. Precious oxygen was flowing out of the cylinder toward Laura and him, creating a halo of enriched air for them.

  C H A P T E R 6 6

  Wednesday, 1:05 a.m.

  “Kristin gave me the code!” Chip shouted toward the intercom, hoping he wasn’t too late. “Couldn’t find the tech.” On the video monitor, he saw Landry slowly getting to his feet.

  “Great,” Landry said, sounding weaker than he had several minutes ago.

  “Punching it in now,” Chip said.

  The door latch clicked loudly. Chip grasped the handle and pushed hard on the heavy door. “It’s stuck!” Chip said, horrified. “It’s unlocked, but I can’t open the door.”

  “Damn it!” Landry cried out. “Must be the pressure in the room, with all the helium. Let’s try together.”

  For several minutes, the two men tried to force the door, to no avail.

  “Shit, it won’t budge,” Chip said breathlessly. He stood bent over, hands on his thighs. “Kristin’s on her way. She’ll know how to get it open. Can you hold out?”

  “We’ll have to,” Landry said, dropping to his knees, breathing hard. He didn’t sound too hopeful.

  Chip looked back up at the video monitor. “Is that Chandler on the floor? Is he dead?”

  “Unconscious.”

  “How’d you do that?”

  “Oxygen tank. I’ll explain later.”

  “How’s Mrs. Landry holding up?”

  “She’s okay.”

  “Is she awake?”

  “I dunno—I sedated her for the scan.”

  “Kristin told me about the pictures of Mrs. Landry. She said she told you.”

  “I don’t care about Kristin’s pictures,” Landry said.

  Chip was silent for a minute, contemplating the unthinkable.

  “Chip, are you still there?” Landry asked.

  “Yes,” Chip said. “Dr. Landry, listen—you must kill Chandler before he revives.”

  “What! Are you kidding? He’s out cold.”

  “Good,” Chip said.

  “I’m not sure I can kill a defenseless man.”

  “You’re not getting this, Dr. Landry,” Chip said, growing frustrated. “This may be our only chance.”

  “Call the police,” Landry said. “We’ll turn him over to them.”

  “The police are all dead.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “He killed them.”

  “What?” Landry asked, sounding shocked.

  “He must’ve killed them all, otherwise they’d be here by now. He butchered them when they tried to arrest him—I heard the screams on the police radio.”

  Now Landry was silent, staring across the room.

  “Where’s Dodson?” Chip asked.

  “He’s dead, too,” Landry said slowly. “He’s by the door, so you probably can’t see him. Chandler killed him.”

  “Kill him now,” Chip said. “Before someone comes.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Landry said.

  “You can use Dodson’s gun. We can say Dodson shot him.”

  “The gun’s no good—I already tried. It’s stuck to the fricking magnet.”

  “Oh,” Chip said, deflated.

  “How long till Kristin gets here?” Landry asked. “Air’s getting thin and it’s getting colder—we’re running out of time.”

  “Not long, five minutes, maybe.” Chip studied the gauges on the console. Oh shit! “Dr. Landry, the magnetic field strength is collapsing. Maybe you can get the gun now.” Chip also noticed that the temperature of the magnet was approaching redline. Once the magnet warmed above that temp, all superconductivity would be lost and the magnet would heat up rapidly—possibly explosively.

  C H A P T E R 6 7

  Wednesday, 1:10 a.m.

  With considerable effort, Doug pried the gun off the wall. “I got it.”

  Laura suddenly sat bolt upright on the litter, startling Doug. “Why is it so cold in here?” she asked. She seemed more awake and lucid than he would’ve thought possible. Then with alarm she said, “Doug, what are you doing?”

  “Lie down, honey. You’re too weak for this.” Although, she didn’t look particularly weak. “I’ll explain later.” He walked over to Chandler.

  “Are you going to kill him?” she said.

&
nbsp; Doug hesitated. “Lie down, Laura. I’ll handle this.”

  “You are going to kill him,” she said, her voice becoming shrill.

  “He’s evil, Laura. He’s an evil creature. He has to be destroyed.”

  “Think about what you’re doing,” she said, her words coming quick and low with alarm.

  “It’s like putting down a rabid animal.”

  “No, Doug. It would be like murder.”

  “I have to do this, Laura. Chip’s right.” Doug walked over to Chandler’s limp body, gun in his right hand, and inspected the nasty gash on Chandler’s forehead where the oxygen tank had struck him. “He’s probably gonna die from this head wound anyway,” he assured her, although Doug had his doubts about that.

  “No, Doug,” Laura implored him. “Please don’t.”

  “Laura, it’s okay. I need to do this. He tried to hurt you.”

  “Do it!” Chip yelled through the intercom.

  “Doug, you don’t understand,” she said.

  “I think I do,” Doug said.

  “He’s not evil,” she said.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about—you’ve been unconscious.”

  “I’ve talked to him.”

  Doug felt as if he had been punched in the gut. “What?” he got out weakly.

  “He came to me tonight in the ICU and spoke with me.”

  “What’re you saying, Laura?”

  “That he’s not an evil creature.”

  “She’s lying!” Chip screamed through the intercom. Chip was pounding on the door. “The camera’s getting frosted over—I can barely see.”

  Doug ignored Chip. “Laura, why are you defending him? What’s gotten into you? I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

  “Doug!” Chip shouted. “Remember, he gutted Kristin’s dog like a butcher.”

  Laura hesitated a moment. “Chandler explained to me about the dog,” Laura said. “He was just defending himself.”

  “What?” Doug struggled to make sense of this. His head was pounding so painfully he could barely think; the cold and lack of oxygen were taking their toll. The hissing was growing louder. It also seemed harder to breathe. God, he wanted to believe her. He wanted to get her out of here. Away from Chandler. Out of this room.

  Laura looked into his eyes for a moment—tenderly, lovingly, like the Laura before the accident. Doug felt his suspicions begin to melt in her gaze. She continued in a sweet, sincere tone, tinged with just the right amount of regret; he wanted desperately to believe her.

  “He didn’t mean to kill the dog,” Laura said, touching his arm. “He said he even felt sorry for Banjo.”

  “Dr. Landry,” Chip said, his voice steady, intense. “Listen to me very closely.”

  “What?” Doug snapped, not taking his eyes off Laura.

  “Did you tell Laura the dog’s name?” Chip asked.

  “What are you talking about?” Doug snapped again, his irritation growing.

  “Have you ever had a conversation with Laura about Kristin’s dog?”

  “No, of course not,” Doug said.

  “Exactly,” Chip said. “Think. How did she know the dog’s name?”

  “I don’t know—who cares?” But Doug noticed Laura’s sweet smile had evaporated.

  “Shut up, Chip!” Laura said coldly. “Leave us alone. Go get help.”

  “Ask her how she knew,” Chip insisted.

  The pain shooting through Doug’s head was now exquisite. In a voice barely above a whisper, he asked, “How, Laura?”

  Laura glanced over at Chandler. She brushed her long hair out of her face. “Chandler told me,” she said finally. “I told you, he explained to me about the dog.”

  That seemed plausible. Doug wanted to believe her, so badly.

  Chip was screaming now. “Banjo’s not the dog’s name!”

  “What are you talking about?” Doug asked.

  “Dr. Landry, I lied to you,” Chip said. “I gave you a fake name.”

  “Why would you do that?” Doug said, confused.

  “She read your mind just now. How else do you think she came up with the name? She can do it, just like he can.”

  “That’s crazy,” Doug said. He stood there staring at Laura, studying the face he knew so well, looking for a sign—anything that would indicate she was in league with that devil. “Laura, did you read my mind?” he asked. “Can you?”

  “Of course not, Doug. I love you. Sometimes we think alike. You know this. You’ve even said it.”

  Doug groaned in anguish—it sounded like bullshit. What the hell is happening? He was being ripped apart and his head felt as if it was going to explode. If he could just complete the MRI scan, he could put all these wild theories to rest and take his wife home. But there was no time.

  “Laura, I’m going to kill him now,” Doug said, his voice strained. “If you can read my mind, you’ll see I’m not bluffing. It’s the right thing to do. I have to do it.”

  “He’s moving!” Chip screamed through the intercom.

  Chandler was indeed starting to stir. Doug put the gun up to the man’s injured temple, now purple and grotesquely swollen. Chandler moaned.

  “Doug, wait!” Laura screamed, and swung her feet to the floor to stand.

  “Hurry, Doug,” Chip said. “Do it!”

  Chandler opened his eyes and said with amazing clarity, “The fucking dog’s name was Smokey!”

  Doug pulled the trigger.

  C H A P T E R 6 8

  Wednesday, 1:15 a.m.

  The frost now completely coated the camera lens, rendering the video monitor useless. The audio was still functional, however, and Chip could make out some low moaning. The ominous hissing noise was also getting louder.

  “Doug, wait!” Laura Landry screamed.

  The next thing he heard made his blood run cold—the unmistakable sound of Chandler’s voice: “The fucking dog’s name was Smokey!”

  Then the loud report of a single gunshot.

  “Did you shoot him?” Chip called out.

  He heard sounds of a scuffle.

  “Is he dead?” Chip said, louder.

  But all he could hear was the hissing noise, which now sounded like the full-throated roar of a jet engine, obliterating all other sounds.

  Chip paced frantically about the control room, dread rapidly consuming him. He heaved his shoulder several times against the heavy door—it remained unyielding. People were no doubt dying in there, and he was stuck outside. Where is Kristin? She should be here by now.

  Chip stood still for a moment and strained to hear anything over the intercom. Nothing but the god-awful hissing noise. He stared at the magnet temp gauge, willing it downward. The needle crept inexorably up to the red line, then passed it. The helium would be boiling uncontrollably now, and the magnet might blow apart any second. Strangely, this didn’t seem to matter that much anymore; they would all be dead shortly, from lack of oxygen or frozen to death. And he was powerless to help them.

  And then it hit him.

  He reached up and slammed the red button on the wall.

  Alarms sounded and he heard the whoosh of several large pumps and fans spin up to speed. The helium would be vented to the atmosphere, thereby relieving the pressure in the room. He couldn’t remember exactly, but he also thought the quench switch would ramp down the magnet, siphoning out the electricity circulating in the core, preventing a meltdown.

  He hoped to God he wasn’t too late.

  A minute later, he heard a loud noise coming from the door; it sounded like an air lock being opened and pressures equalizing.

  C H A P T E R 6 9

  Wednesday, 1:15 a.m.

  Just as Doug pulled the trigger, Laura crashed into his arm. The bullet went wide, missing Chandler’s head by an inch.

  Before Doug could re-aim and fire, Chandler grabbed Doug’s arm and slammed it against the magnet housing with tremendous force. Doug’s knuckles screamed in pain as the back of his gun hand absor
bed the brunt of the blow. The revolver flew from his hand and went sliding across the floor.

  Doug threw several punches at Chandler, ignoring the pain in his hand. Chandler blocked the punches easily, seeming to sense where each one was coming from. Doug reached out to strangle Chandler, but again Chandler was one step ahead and easily parried his efforts. Then Chandler landed a solid blow to the side of Doug’s head, sending spikes of pain lancing through his skull.

  Doug staggered back, struggling to remain standing. He gasped for air—all the exertion on top of the depleted oxygen level was proving too much for him. The room began to spin. Doug’s vision blurred.

  So cold . . .

  Unbearable pressure crushed his eardrums.

  Doug fought to remain conscious—it was his only hope of staying alive and saving Laura—but his legs buckled and he dropped to his knees. He glanced over at Laura. She lay motionless on the floor where she’d fallen after slamming into him. Why on earth did she do that?

  Chandler was on the move. Doug watched in helpless horror as he walked over to the door. Somehow the lack of oxygen was not slowing him down.

  Alarms suddenly screeched. Somewhere overhead, large fans and pumps activated, quickly coming up to speed. In less than ten seconds, the billowing cloud of boiling helium began to slow, then stopped altogether.

  Chandler picked up the gun.

  Doug felt the pressure in his head ease. He heard a loud whoosh of air, and the door began to open inward. “Chip,” he shouted, but his voice was ridiculously weak. “Don’t come in.”

  Chip bounded into the room, his face steeled with determination. Chandler immediately slammed the door behind Chip and leveled the gun at him. Chip froze, bewilderment twisting his face.

  “Over there,” Chandler ordered, motioning with the gun for him to stand next to Doug.