Chapter 3 - The Midnight Breach
The hospital was a graveyard at 3:00 AM. The fluorescent lights hummed, casting long shadows down the pediatric corridor. I had dozed off in the chair beside Leo’s bed when a muffled thud jolted me awake.
I glanced at the door. The two police officers stationed outside were gone.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I moved silently toward the door and peered through the narrow glass pane. One of the officers was slumped against the nurses' station, unconscious. The other was nowhere to be seen.
A shadow moved at the end of the hall. Marcus. He was wearing a janitor's uniform, holding a silenced pistol.
Panic flared, but twelve years of emergency medicine had trained me to operate in chaos. I locked the heavy wooden door and barricaded it with the hospital bed, locking the wheels. Leo stirred, whimpering softly in his sleep.
"Shh, buddy, it's okay," I whispered, scooping the boy out of the bed. He was groggy from the painkillers, his splinted leg cumbersome.
The door handle rattled. Then, a heavy kick splintered the wood near the frame.
Thwack. Thwack. Two suppressed gunshots blew out the locking mechanism.
I carried Leo into the adjoining en-suite bathroom, locking that door as well. I opened the small ventilation window that led out to the hospital’s lower roof. It was a tight squeeze, but we had no choice.
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"Hold onto me, Leo," I instructed, pushing him gently onto the gravel roof outside just as the main bedroom door gave way.
I hoisted myself through the window, the cold rain instantly soaking my scrubs. I heard Marcus cursing inside the bathroom, kicking the door. I grabbed Leo and scrambled across the flat roof toward the fire escape. We were descending the rusted iron stairs when I heard the bathroom window shatter above us. Marcus wasn't just a foster parent; he was a professional cleaner, and he was hunting us.
