Chapter 9 - The Shocking Escape
Mark screamed in absolute agony as the massive electrical current arched into his body through the metal stretcher.
The shotgun blasted harmlessly into the ceiling of the ambulance before flying out of his convulsing hands.
Mark collapsed onto the rubber floor mat, completely paralyzed and gasping for air.
I scrambled over his twitching body and grabbed the heavy shotgun, aiming it squarely at his chest.
"You always underestimated me, Mark," I said, my voice cold as ice.
I kicked the small partition window separating us from the driver's cab.
"Pull over right now, or I blow a hole through this cabin!" I screamed at the corrupt driver.
The ambulance screeched to a violent halt on the shoulder of the deserted highway.
The driver threw his hands up and bolted out of the door, running blindly into the dark woods.
I kept the weapon trained on Mark while I grabbed the medical radio to call for police backup.
Within five minutes, a swarm of state troopers and FBI vehicles surrounded our hijacked ambulance.
Agents dragged a cursing, defeated Mark out into the rain and threw him into the back of a tactical cruiser.
Real paramedics rushed in to replace the ones we had lost, immediately stabilizing Emmett's dropping blood pressure.
I sat in the corner of the rig, absolutely exhausted, watching them work tirelessly to save his life.
An older FBI director approached me, gently placing a warm blanket over my shivering shoulders.
"You saved his life, Ms. Hayes," the director said with genuine admiration. "Your brother, Julian, and Mark are all going to federal prison for a very long time."
I looked out the back doors at the flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the wet pavement.
The toxic family that had suffocated me for twenty-eight years was finally gone.
I didn't have to hide in the shadows or sit at the kids' table ever again.
Emmett was rushed into emergency surgery the moment we arrived at the trauma center.
I sat in the sterile waiting room for six agonizing hours, drinking terrible coffee and praying to a god I rarely spoke to.
Finally, the lead surgeon walked through the double doors with a tired but victorious smile.
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"He is awake, Jenna, and he is asking for you," the surgeon announced.
I dropped my coffee cup in the trash and practically ran down the white corridor to his recovery room.
