She had to think about it. “I’m not sure.”
“Goddamn it.” Eli withdrew his own gun. “We don’t have time for this.”
Eli aimed the gun at David but John said, “No, don’t,” and before any of them could respond, John pulled the trigger.
Without the suppressor, the shot was loud, though not as loud as Ashley had expected it to be. Besides, the alarm was still blaring, the strobes still flashing, that the gunshot was just another part of the bedlam.
John’s bullet, however, did not kill David. It did not enter his throat like David’s bullet had entered Marta’s, or his chest, or his head. Instead it entered his leg, his left thigh to be exact. David howled in pain, gripping the leg, squirming on the floor like a fish out of water.
Eli looked up at John, who just shook his head.
“He’s still my brother. I’m not going to kill him.”
Eli seemed to think this over for a moment. He said, “Fine, I will,” and raised his gun at David’s face.
John was moving before Ashley even realized it. He pushed Eli away just as Eli pulled the trigger. The shot went wide.
“What the fuck?” Eli shouted at John. “He killed Marta!”
“We’re not killers.”
“He deserves to die.”
“He’s your son.”
“No,” Eli said, aiming his gun again at David Smith, “he’s not.”
And before John could intervene again, Eli pulled the trigger.
forty-seven
The waiting area is deserted. The flat screen TV still plays that medical infomercial but nobody is watching it. Every chair is empty. A magazine lies on the carpet by the door leading into the hallway, no doubt dropped in haste.
Eli leads the way. He goes to the door, opens it a half inch, peeks through the crack, then lets it shut quietly.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“There are people out there. Patients.”
“How many?”
“A dozen or more. They’re still filing into the stairwell.”
“What should we do?”
“We can’t wait here. We’ll have to try for the other stairwell.”
Each of us has a gun in our hands. Without a word, we slip the guns into our jacket pockets. We don’t let go of the guns, though, and keep our hands in our pockets as we step out into the hallway. With the constant blaring and flashing strobes and almost everyone’s back to us, there’s a chance we won’t be noticed.
Our luck this time doesn’t hold out.
“Where are you going?”
It’s Janice, the nurse who only minutes ago knocked on David’s office door. She appears to be overseeing the evacuation process.
“We’re headed that way,” Eli says, and points like it’s no big thing.
She gives her head a matter-of-fact shake. “This section of the floor needs to use this stairwell.” Her brow creases. “Where is Dr. Smith?”
“He’s coming. He told us to use the other stairwell.”
She doesn’t look convinced. Her eyes narrow. At first I think it’s with suspicion, and then I realize she’s staring at Ashley.
“Is that … blood?”
Shit.
Eli says, “Let’s go,” and we continue down the hallway. It’s a long hallway. At the end we see a few other people shuffling into a stairwell.
Behind us, Janice yells at us to stop.
We start running. Which probably isn’t the wisest thing to do when fleeing a murder scene, but right now we don’t have much choice.
The crowd of people shuffling into the service stairwell has thinned by the time we reach the door. We still have our hands in our pockets, gripping our guns. Eli slips his out when he reaches the door. He peeks in, then glances back at us and nods.
Here the stairs are narrow, the walls cinderblock. A long steady line of people shuffles down the steps. Not just from this floor, but the upper floors, too.
A few of the employees notice us but don’t give us much thought. Eli takes the lead again and starts to get in line but stops.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“They’ll be expecting us to come down.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“We head up instead.”
forty-eight
With the stairwells packed, they had no choice but to take the elevators. Zach had Tyson override the emergency controls so one of the elevators would work, and they rode it to the third floor where there were only a few stragglers left.
One of them, a meaty woman dressed in a colorful nurse’s outfit, said, “Excuse me, you’re not supposed to be using the elevators during a fire.”
Zach and Hogan stepped past her, heading for the door leading into Neurology.
“Excuse me,” the woman said again.
Both men stopped. They turned back around. The hallway was empty now besides them and the woman.
Hogan asked, “Are you going to be a problem?”
The woman placed a hand on her hip, her eyebrow rising. She looked like she was going to say something, but before she could, Hogan said, “Yeah, you’re going to be a problem,” and placed a bullet right between her eyes.
“Christ,” Zach said. “We’re trying to keep the civilian fatality rate as low as possible.”
“What else would you have had me do?”
They headed into Neurology, through the empty waiting area, through the door leading back to the corridor and waiting rooms. They knew which office was David Smith’s. That was where David was supposed to keep Eli and the others until they got there. It was a simple task, but as they neared, something hollow filled Zach’s stomach. Even before they reached the office and opened the door, he knew something was wrong.
“Help!”
David Smith was on the floor just inside the door. Judging by the trail of blood it looked like he had crawled across the carpet. He was reaching up, either for the handle or for them, it wasn’t quite clear, but what was clear was he had been shot in each leg.
“Please,” David Smith groaned, his voice barely a whisper, “please help.”
They stepped over him and entered the office. Marta lay dead on the floor, her blood soaking into the carpet.
Zach crossed to the window, split the blinds to see the street below. Already crowds were beginning to form as patients and visitors and staff exited the hospital.
“Hey,” David Smith said. “Why aren’t you helping me?”
Hogan made a sweep of the room and then crouched down in front of Smith. “How long ago did they leave?”
“I need … help. My-my-my legs!”
Hogan snapped his fingers repeatedly in front of Smith’s face, and when that didn’t seem to do the trick, he slapped him on the cheek.
Smith groaned again.
“How long ago did they leave?”
“I don’t … I don’t know. They were here and then they left. Please … I need help.”
“Who shot you?”
Smith groaned into the carpet. “My brother … shot me! AndEli!”
Zach had to smile at that. He knew Eli could be a coldhearted son of a bitch, but it surprised him to hear John Smith could be, too. Only, the more he thought about it, something didn’t add up.
“Why?” he asked, turning away from the window.
“What?” Smith frowned up at him in pain. “What why?”
“Why did Eli only shoot you in the leg?” Zach crossed the room, crouched down beside Hogan in front of Smith. “Why didn’t he just kill you?”
Smith blinked up at him. He stared for a moment, then understanding seemed to light up in his eyes.
“No”-shaking his head in a sort of spasm-“no, please don’t.”
Hogan took his gun and placed the barrel against David Smith’s temple. “You had one task. One simple, fucking task.”
“I tried! I did everything I could! But they … they overpowered me!”
Hogan shook his head slowly, making a tsking sound. “One simple task.”
A few moments later, two dead bodies now behind them, they headed back down the corridor for the waiting area. Zach’s phone vibrated in his pocket.