His nurse went to the radio and answered it. He edged closer to the counter and listened. The gunshot wound victim would be arriving shortly. CJ remembered his dream. Was this the guy who had been thrashing around? The one who'd seemed familiar?
It was all he could do not to pace the hallway between his room and the desk. Blanche passed one time and raised her eyebrow at him as if to ask what he was doing, but she didn't stop to speak to him. Instead, she headed into the room next to his.
A siren sounded, presumably approaching the ER. A nurse walked by carrying an armload of supplies and entered the same treatment room as Blanche. Whatever was coming in must be pretty bad. CJ suddenly felt silly for coming to the emergency room for his own injuries. His side felt a bit better now and if it weren't for the camera and the photos, he'd want nothing more than to be at home in bed.
He looked to the ambulance entrance finding it disconcerting that his dream-self was standing there right now looking out as the doors opened. He tried hard to spot any kind of shadow or hint that could be him, but didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. He shook his head. So weird.
The doors opened and paramedics steered the gurney into the department. As they rolled by, CJ tried to catch what they were telling the nurses, but it was all medical jargon. He understood a few things like blood pressure, estimated blood loss, but had no idea if the estimate was a dangerous level or not. The patient was a lot more active than CJ would have expected. Even strapped onto the gurney, the man fought, coloring the air with his arsenal of F-bombs. None of the medical personnel seemed to care about his language though, and followed the patient into the room.
CJ's gut was telling him this patient was important because there had to be a reason he'd been in that room when the shooting began. Ignoring his lifetime of manners ingrained since childhood that eavesdropping was wrong, he stood as near the entrance to the next room as possible and listened. Anything to help them stop the shooter. The curtain wasn't quite pulled all the way and after a look around, he peeked inside. The patient was transferred to the ER bed and CJ couldn't get over his feeling that he knew the guy. The man's face didn't seem all that familiar, but it was the voice. He concentrated, closing his eyes as he listened to the guy curse out the people trying to help him.
His stomach did a flip and his eyes widened. The voice- it was him-Blanche's attacker. He was certain of it. While they had been fighting in the alley, he'd been treated up close and personal to the same rough, deep voice using the same strings of profanity.
But he had no proof. Nothing. Nobody would believe him based on a voice identification, especially as the attacker wasn't in a line-up of any kind. It would never hold up in court, but he was certain it was the same guy. He saw Blanche drawing something up in a syringe. Had she realized who the patient was? She didn't appear to as she calmly handed the syringe to another nurse.
What did this mean? Had Blanche's attacker been one of the victims in the photos? The gunman had been right outside of this room. As he turned to spray bullets, CJ was sure some would have entered the treatment room. The flimsy curtain was certainly no barrier to a bullet.
"CJ!" The voice was loud, but more of a shouted whisper. He spun to find his dad, Mark, and Jessie approaching from the opposite direction. Thank God. Now they had a chance. He waved them to his room and pulled the curtain for privacy. "Did you bring the photos?" He wanted to refresh his memory and see if the photos made more sense and to see if the patient next door was a victim.
His father. "First priority-we need to get people to safety somehow."
"How do we do that?"
"Fire alarm?" Mark suggested. "They close doors for that."
Jessie crossed her arms as she looked at Mark. "Do you think that will help?"
CJ flipped through the photos, pausing on the one that showed the room beside his. This showed a clear image of the man, and he didn't appear dead. In fact, he stared down at the bodies of two nurses. Neither of the dead was Blanche, but CJ knew she had been killed out by the nurses' station when she tried to help a coworker. The place seemed so deserted now, but they had all been killed while coming out to investigate the sound of gunfire. A fire-alarm wouldn't stop that. He pointed to the images and the placement of the bodies. "No, I don't think it'll work. The people killed by the desk rush out of the rooms at the sound of gunfire, then the gunman goes door to door blasting the patients one by one. Very methodical." He'd seen that part in his dream. "A fire alarm isn't going to stop that reaction."
Pulling back the curtain, CJ held the photo up to get the angles right, comparing the photo to the nurse's station. The other three gathered behind him, craning over his shoulder to get a look. He turned to his dad. "Any idea why someone would be targeting this hospital?"
His dad sighed. "Nothing definite. It could be due to the church bomber being treated here."
"That makes no sense." Jessie shook her head. "Your notes said the gunman had a Middle Eastern accent, but the bomber, while having ties to a group in Syria, was born here. She's American."
"And you said the gunman was blond with blue eyes," his dad added.
"I thought he sounded Middle Eastern, but the accent could have been Russian or Croatian. It doesn't really matter now, I guess. We just have to stop him and let your guys sort it all out later, Dad."
"How much time do we have?" Mark cut to the chase.
CJ looked at the clock and swallowed hard. "Any minute now." He stuck his head through the opening of the curtain. If anyone asked, he'd just say he was getting bored of waiting. Blanche and another nurse rushed out of the room next door. She didn't even look at CJ, but strode behind the desk and picked up a phone. Someone tugged the back of his shirt, pulling him into the room. He let the curtain fall into place.
"Here."
Turning, CJ found his father offering a handgun to him. "It's legal, registered, and now yours."
Surprised, but relieved to have a way to defend himself, CJ accepted it, checked to see if it was loaded and was glad to find that it was. It was similar to the one he'd left at the scene of the church bomber, but he knew it couldn't have been the exact same gun. That one would be in evidence somewhere. CJ hadn't had time to think over the consequences of buying an illegal handgun, but he figured at the very least, he'd get a hefty fine and it would ruin any lingering ideas of joining law enforcement or the CIA. He'd have it on his record. So, how in the world had his father acquired a legal weapon for him?
"I called in some markers and you're now officially working for us. Sort of. I acquired the gun this afternoon after the bomber incident. Good thing some people owed me and I rarely collect. I was going to explain everything in the morning when you were rested, but-"
Nodding, CJ zeroed in on one part of the explanation. "Sort of? How does that work?"
"We'll discuss this later."
CJ recognized his father's tone and didn't push the issue-there wasn't time. He checked the safety and tucked the gun into the waistband of his sweats, wishing he had a more secure way to carry it. As he tightened the drawstring on his waist, he couldn’t resist one comment though, "I hope sort of doesn't come back to bite me in the ass."
Mark winced and Jessie glanced at him, eyebrow raised. CJ missed the subtext, but it was Mark's experience in D.C. that had CJ worried about his own future after becoming official.
His dad gave him a long look, but then shook his head and opened the photo envelope.
After a moment of studying the images, Mark pointed at one that showed an angle from the front of the nurses' desk. "I'm going to take this corridor, and Jessie will take that one." He indicated the one on the other side of the desk. Both hallways leading up from one end of the department to the front by the desk, were visible. Only one hallway on the far end of the department was hidden from view and CJ didn't recall any activity there. It was all in the front and individual rooms.
Jessie nodded. "Good idea. We can keep the guy from getting to these patient rooms. You told Jim
that some of the victims were in their treatment rooms, right?"
"Right. I remember a mom and two little kids. I saw them earlier tonight and I think they're in this room." He tapped the photo on the correct door.
Wondering how Mark was going to stop the shooter, CJ asked, "You have a gun, Mark?" He managed to keep his voice low, but he had been under the impression that the other man didn't carry a gun.
"Yep. I even know how to use it." Mark's mouth quirked into a faint smile. "I may not be quite the marksman you are, but I can at least wave one around and look scary."
Jessie elbowed him. "Hey, you're getting to be a decent shot, Mark. Last time we went to the range, you almost did better than me."
"Almost. Isn't there a saying that close doesn't count except for-" Mark elbowed her back, but broke off and took a deep breath. "Anyway, yeah, I'm ready."
CJ turned to his dad. "I guess that leaves me and you to try to get the guy as he enters." He had planned to take a stand near the nurses' desk, but even as he thought it, Blanche left the desk and returned to the treatment room next door. She'd be completely vulnerable in there, and in his dream, she had been coming from that room when she'd been killed. If he blocked the entrance, she would have to go around him, so he changed his plan and decided to take the doorway of that room as his spot. He pointed to his left towards the entrance to the room. At least the wall beside the door would afford him some cover. "I'll stand just over there, and cover him. Dad, can you take the nurse's desk? If Mark and Jessie keep the nurses from heading there and I keep the group in the next room away, there shouldn't be too many targets for the gunman. Plus, the desk will give you some protection."
"Why don't we take him out before he enters the ER?"
Jessie's suggestion made sense, but then CJ shook his head. "I didn't see where he came in. As far as I know, there are at least four entrances. Two on that side of the department that I went through on my way to tests, the one from the waiting room, and the ambulance entrance. We could each take a spot, but then we'd be all alone." After he said it, CJ wondered if should just go with Jessie's suggestion. She was a former detective and a current FBI agent and had a lot more experience than he did, but she nodded in response to his logic.
To his surprise, his father also agreed with him. "Yes, I don't like the idea of us splitting up. With this plan, we'll all be close enough to communicate. The best option I can think of is I go out there and tell the doctor I have evidence and get them to lock down the ER."
"Do you have time to convince them?" It sounded like a great solution to CJ.
His dad pulled out his badge. "This should help me. Jessica, you come with me so we look more convincing. Be ready to take your position if we don't have time, though."
They left the room and CJ couldn't help following a little ways, Mark right beside him. CJ looked at him. "Should we just wait back, or what?"
Mark shrugged, but his eyes scanned the department, then stopped, widening. CJ followed the direction of his look.
"Shit!" Too late for a lock down.
* * *
The gunman had entered from the waiting room and was strolling down the hall, his weapon partially hidden by the way he held it along the inside of his arm, but he wasn't trying too hard to blend in. The mask ruined that attempt. It hit CJ then. This wasn't a suicide mission. That thought gave him a spark of hope. The guy didn't want to get caught, hence the mask. That detail had slipped past all of them, but if they could corner him, maybe they could end this without anyone getting hurt.
CJ and Mark started for the desk, but staying left to keep their eyes on the gunman, still at the far end of the corridor. Too far away to try for a clean shot. His dad and Jessie were blocked from the view of the corridor by the wall that opened into the nurses' desk.
From CJ's position, he saw not only the gunman, but Blanche exiting a treatment room the gunman had just passed. When had she left the room beside his? How had he missed that? She didn't appear to have noticed the man as she turned in the doorway and said something to the patient in that room. The doctor was beside the clerk, his brow furrowed. He looked doubtful. Two more nurses and some other healthcare worker gathered around, curiosity drawing them to the conversation. The doctor finally shrugged and waved at the clerk as if to say 'Go ahead.' She picked up the phone.
CJ heard a groan from the next room. He shot a look at the clock. Two minutes to three. Where was Blanche now? She was still behind the gunman, but walking towards the nurses' desk. Any second, the gunman would start shooting. He was only steps away from the desk. Then Blanche would dash forward to help her coworkers.
CJ opened his mouth to give a warning, but the gunman saw him and he lifted his rifle.
Mark called out, "Jim! Hallway! Left side!"
His voice drew the gunman's attention. That, and the shove Mark gave CJ to the left into the treatment room with the gunshot victim, probably saved CJ's life. He looked over his shoulder as he stumbled left and called out, "Gun!". Mark dove the other direction, toward Jessie. So much for their positions.
CJ skidded on his knees into the next treatment room, yelling for everyone to get down as he fell onto his left side, completely tangled in the curtain. Mark's intention had been to save him. He knew that, but he swore as gunfire ripped through the curtain above his head. Glass exploded beside him and something burned across the top of his shoulder. It barely touched him, just skimming across his skin leaving a red streak. It might have been a bullet, but it could have been a shard of glass from the shattered sliding glass door of the treatment room.
Untangling himself from the curtain, he spotted the nurses in the room, raising up from where they had hit the floor when the shooting started. They both appeared unhurt, although obviously shaken. He motioned with his hand for them to stay down. He looked for someplace where they could take cover, but it was just one big room with glass cabinets built into one wall and equipment lining the other. A large red cart drew CJ's attention. He waved to it and said, "Get behind that."
The one closest nodded, and scurried over, wheeling the cart away from the wall, and hiding behind it. The other nurse was on her heels, but the patient yelled out, "What about me? You bitches just gonna leave me here to die?"
The second nurse glanced into the hall and then quickly undid the restraints on the patient's arms and lowered the rail. Whatever injuries he had must not have been as bad as what CJ feared, because the patient scrambled off the cart, yanking out an I.V. He tore electrode patches off his chest, flinging them away, still connected to the wires. Alarms started ringing, adding to the din of other alarms going off out in the hallway. Glass crunched on the floor, people screamed and someone was shouting in heavily accented English. CJ couldn't understand him and doubted anyone else could either.
More gunfire erupted and CJ stood, shaking the glass from his hair. Where was the gunman? Where was his dad? And Jessie? Mark? Had they been hit?
He didn't spot anyone in front of the treatment room, but heard footsteps to his right, towards his own room, but the wall dividing the rooms blocked his vision. He'd have to step into the hallway to see anything. The bodies he'd spotted in his dream were missing from the left side of the nurses' station and that gave him hope.
Gun at the ready, he entered the hallway. He didn't see his dad in front of the desk. He could be lying behind the desk waiting for an opportunity to strike back. CJ tried not to think of the alternative. CJ's heart threatened to punch a hole through his ribs and his breathing raced.
The gunman emerged from what had been CJ's room. Apparently he'd been looking for victims. Blood streamed down one arm and CJ hoped he'd been hit by gunfire from one of the other three.
His finger started to squeeze the trigger, but something crashed into his back, causing his arm to jerk to the right, The shot missed the gunman. CJ caught his balance and looked up to see what had hit him. It was the patient, Blanche's attacker. Instead of hiding behind the red cart with the nurses, the man rushed had
into the hallway. His wrist restraints snapped in the air as he darted down the corridor. The guy didn't seem to even notice the gunman, and instead, seemed intent on escaping the hospital.
The gunman had barely flinched from CJ's shot, but leveled his assault rifle at the patient. CJ braced for a barrage of bullets, sure that he'd be torn to bits any second as the patient was almost exactly between him and the gunman, but instead, the gunman reached out and grabbed the man as he tried to dodge past him, catching the patient by the dangling straps from one of his wrist restraints. With a quick flick of his wrist, the gunman used the strap to his advantage, winding it around the patient's other arm as he struggled to escape. The patient was no match for the gunman though. Not with his wounds. Blood dripped from some injury and from the amount, CJ guessed it came from the patient as the gunman's wounded arm didn't seem too serious. The gunman pulled the patient against his chest, using him as both a shield and a hostage. He handled the assault rifle as though it weighed nothing, putting the barrel against the hostage's ear, but looking as CJ when he demanded, "Where is she?"
Feeling exposed, CJ stood in the corridor, too far from the nearest room to dive in, and the safety of the desk was on his left, but there was no way he'd be able to scramble over it before the gunman could shoot him. He had to keep him talking. "Who?"
Shoot: A Crime Thriller (CJ Sheridan Thrillers Book 1) Page 18
