Chapter 5 - The Raid on Ward 3
Back at St. Jude’s Hospital, the storm outside had knocked out a primary power transformer on the east side of the city.
The hospital’s emergency generators kicked in with a low, heavy thrum, casting the corridors in dim, yellow emergency lighting.
In Room 304, Eric sat in the shadow of the window, holding a pair of heavy medical scissors he had taken from the nurse's cart.
Beside him, Ashley was sleeping peacefully, her small hand still holding the paw of her stuffed puppy.
The heavy door to the room clicked open.
It wasn't Dr. Vance.
Two broad-shouldered men in dark raincoats stepped into the room. One of them wore a heavy security badge pinned to his lapel; the other carried a dark leather medical bag.
"Out of the chair, buddy," the first man said, stepping toward Eric with a cold, practiced authority. "We’re transferring the pediatric patient to the private research wing in Evanston."
Eric didn't move. He stood up slowly, positioning his six-foot frame directly between the men and the bed. "Show me the transport orders signed by the attending physician."
"Dr. Vance signed them," the second man said, reaching into his coat pocket. "We don't need to explain ourselves to a dispatcher."
He pulled out a sleek stainless steel auto-injector—the kind used for rapid chemical sedation.
Eric didn't hesitate. He reached down, grabbed the heavy oak tray table beside the bed, and slammed it straight into the first man’s chest.
The man stumbled back into the corridor with a loud metallic crash, knocking over a tray of sterile instruments.
The second man lunged forward, aiming the auto-injector toward Eric’s neck, but Eric grabbed his wrist, twisting it sideways and driving the man’s hand hard against the concrete wall.
The auto-injector slipped from the man’s fingers, skittering across the floor tiles.
"Help!" Eric roared into the quiet hallway. "Security! Ward 3 breach!"
From down the hall, the sound of heavy boots echoed as two genuine hospital security guards ran toward the commotion, drawn by the sound of crashing metal.
The two men in dark coats realized the situation had blown open. They turned and sprinted toward the service stairs, disappearing into the dim emergency lighting just as Officer Natalie pushed through the double doors at the end of the hall, followed by three county deputies.
"Eric!" Natalie called out, running up to the room, her sidearm drawn. "Are you okay?"
Eric stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, a deep cut across his knuckle, but his eyes were fixed on the stuffed puppy lying on the bed.
"They came for the toy," Eric said, wiping a line of sweat from his forehead. "They weren't trying to move her, Natalie. They were trying to destroy the evidence before the state police arrived."
Natalie stepped into the room, walked to the bed, and carefully picked up Buddy.
She pulled out her pocket knife, sliced the hand-stitched blue thread along the stuffed animal's back, and reached inside the soft cotton filling.
Her fingers closed around a thick, leather-bound black notebook filled with dense handwriting, chemical formulas, and stamped clinical trial seals bearing the logo of Vanguard Pharmaceuticals.
She flipped to page forty-two.
May you like
Written in red ink at the top of the page were four words that caused Natalie’s blood to run cold:
Subject Ashley Miller: Toxic accumulation confirmed. Proceed with trial to meet contract deadline.
