“Was ist los?” the old cadaver croaked from the shadows.
“Oh my god! What?” Sam gasped, “Do you want to kill me?” His legs almost gave way over the shock when he spoke.
“What is up with you?” the old man asked in a heavy German drawl. “Why do you wake me up?”
The young man by his bed looked frail, clutching the bed and leaning on the mattress for support while he gathered himself. He finally looked at Methuselah with a desperate expression and lifted up the pack of Marlboro’s with a matching smile.
From where the nurses were posted they could observe the entire corridor all the way down to where the thick bolted doors led to the fire escape. It was impossible to leave any of the rooms without being in plain sight.
Nightshift was a dreadful night for the both of them. The trainee nurse had a social life that she did not enjoy abandoning on account of work, but if she finished her training this week, she would have her nights free for the following five days.
Her pursed up, miserable counterpart simply found trainees insufferable most of the time. Being a swift and able medical professional she absolutely detested being held back or burdened by the ineptitude of fresh meat. They had to be watched like toddlers all the time to make sure they did not kill anyone in the process of learning the traits of their profession. It was rather taxing to say everything twice, to show everything first, because then one may as well have done it oneself, she argued.
A sudden movement from halfway down the corridor instantly drew their attention.
“Gott im Himmel!” the nurse grunted with her nose pulled up into deep wrinkles over an astonished sneer.
Mouths agape, the two women briefly sat unmoved, stunned, at the sight before them. There, right outside room 4 roamed Herr Glocken, the asthma attack patient who was brought in three days before, fag in hand, smoking. The charge nurse jumped out of her seat at once, “Come! Come, Anke!” They rushed as quietly as their feet allowed towards the old man who was walking in the opposite direction, carelessly smoking.
“Herr Glocken!” they both called him in the loudest whispers they could muster without waking the entire ward in their pursuit. To make matters worse, Herr Glocken was known for his temperament at being apprehended, so they were uncertain whether they could seize him by hand at all without him throwing a tantrum and causing havoc in the middle of the night.
The sight of his flapping hospital gown failing to cover his 94 year old ass crack was not intentional, but yet distracting. Like task force members they communicated in hand signals as they followed the old man. Sam watched the show from his doorway, shaking with laughter at the hilarious scene that played out in the corridor. He knew he had to get moving before security saw this on the CCTV monitors and came to assist.
Stealthily he moved in the other direction and left the ward to take the stairs. He did not know if the Black Sun’s hounds had already arrived, but he knew it would be foolish to take the elevators down to the ground floor. At least outside the wards the hospital was a bit more lively with night staff and security personnel passing through, so it was easier for Sam to look unassuming until he reached the vast glass doors that slid by means of motion detectors. As he stepped out of the large brightly illuminated lobby he felt like a lizard in a terrarium, surrounded by glass panels on all sides. Slowly the front sliding doors opened for him and he pulled the neck of his sweater over his nose to keep the night air out of his face. It was freezing outside and the sky was clear, save for a few small clouds passing across the starry heavens. His eyes adapted to the light of the countless lamps that lit up the extensive parking lot which stretched ahead of Sam in the absence of all the vehicles that cluttered it during the day.
He made for the street, where Nina said she would pick him up in a taxi, but there was no-one there. It was an awful night. Sam stood outside the perimeters of the Sophien-und Hufeland Klinikum Weimar and waited. There was not much else he could do. Not having a cell phone posed a problem that grew with every day that passed, it seemed. There was no way to find out what was holding Nina up, and no way to call for help in case the mercenaries had come around the corner. The wind licked at his hair, his snapped collar bone was killing him and he opted out of painkillers since they primarily made him drowsy and he needed to be at the top of his game.
Sam felt so lost.
In the miserable night and its mute malevolence he stood waiting, cold and sore, tired and very concerned for his safety. And of course, he wondered if they had discovered that he was missing yet. An ill feeling crawled over Sam’s skull and he knew now what people spoke of when they referred to that sixth sense that predicted trouble. He had it in spades.
Nina, where are you? Freezing my nuts off out here, for fuck’s sake!, he thought, slowly growing furious at her for deserting him. This was not like Nina. The woman was positively pedantic about everything, the type who always showed up ten minutes early. They had agreed to meet here at this very hour and now he was hung out to dry with nothing but the clothes on his back.
A mild commotion ensued at the side entrance of the hospital, doors opened and four men exiting briskly. They looked around across the empty parking lot, searching for him. Sam hunkered down, his heart pounding wildly. He was not lying to himself. He was terrified and he knew that there was nowhere for him to go undetected. And staying put would only make him easier to find. They spread out.
Minus their canine accomplices this time, thank god! Sam noticed. No matter which way he’d go, they were close, leaving him with no margin to slip through without being seen.
Sam stayed low, listening to their conversation in German, some of which was understandable. He was not completely unfamiliar with the language, but he was nowhere as competent as Nina. Fortunately for him he recognized the helpful parts where the one told the other that they would wait him out and shoot him the moment he rose to his feet. Sam was aware that he would have to do just that sooner or later. He could not run or move without standing up and here, outside the parking lot, it would reveal him completely to them. For now, he remained still, dead still, as if he had become part of the scenery. Under the sweater his shoulder burned under the strain of the broken bone that ached and pulsed more with every passing minute without his pain meds.
Sam feared he was in deep trouble as they slowly shifted bit by bit, combing the surroundings incessantly for any movement. Wounded targets were as good as strong ones to them. They did not care, as long as it ended up dead before they went home. Suddenly the noise of combat boots on asphalt crunched behind Sam and before he had time to turn he felt the excruciatingly painful impact of a rifle butt between his shoulder blades.
He collapsed onto the side of his face on the ground, struggling to recover his breath through unwilling lungs. Sam coughed profusely, his fear now topped by the sheer torment of the blow and the subsequent trauma to his already wounded shoulder. He pinched his eyes hard, grinding his teeth as his breath refused him. Face down he lay panting, the smell of tar, rubber and dog piss reached his nostrils.
Sam waited for the next strike, but instead he only heard the men discussing his fate in hushed tones of everything from hate to mild sympathy, but he could hardly stay conscious, let alone distinguish between the words they all spoke at once. Maybe it was just his fading mind, or the delusion induced by the unbearable pain he was forced to endure. Sam thought about how hunting was not restricted to a specific terrain. Here he was in the middle of a complex of modern buildings with civilized people inside, in a First World country of elevated technology and prosperous economy, and he was being cornered in plain sight by a group of killers.