Chapter 9 - The Final Seconds
The sound of the breaking glass echoed through the intercom like a gunshot.
Upstairs, the alarm on Harper's monitor flatlined for the second time today.
"I'm losing her!" the doctor screamed, starting compressions all over again.
I fell to the floor, my hands tearing at my own hair as the world collapsed around me.
Lauren was crying hysterically from the corner, begging God to fix what she had started.
In the basement, the SWAT team breached the pharmacy doors with a battering ram.
They swarmed my mother, tackling her to the ground and wrestling the lighter away.
She was laughing.
A cold, triumphant cackle that bounced off the steel shelves.
My husband didn't even look at her as they slapped the handcuffs on her wrists.
He dropped to his knees, desperately dragging his fingers through the puddle of spilled medication.
It was entirely contaminated, completely useless.
The tactical commander placed a heavy hand on my husband's shoulder, shaking his head.
"I'm sorry, son."
My husband closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
Then, he opened them, and a fierce, terrifying focus washed over his face.
He remembered the exact moment my mother had moved his work bag by the front door.
He remembered the exact weight of it when he picked it up to run to the ambulance.
It had been too heavy.
Because as an elite first-responder, he never carried just one emergency kit.
He carried a secret, secondary trauma pouch hidden in the lining of his bag, meant for mass-casualty events.
He bolted out of the pharmacy, running faster than he ever had in his life.
He hit the stairwell, taking the steps three at a time.
He just had to pray that the bag was still sitting in the front seat of the ambulance parked outside.
He crashed through the emergency room lobby doors, sprinting toward the loading bay.
May you like
But as he burst out into the night air, the parking spot was completely empty.
The ambulance had been moved.
