Tiffany takes off, heading around the counter and then down the hallway. I don’t watch her leave as I reach for her stack of charts. What Tiffany doesn’t know is that I double-check her work, too. No need for anyone to be found slacking while I’m on duty.
I’m donewith her charts before Tiffany returns. That’s not unusual. Tiffany likes to text and video call her current boy toy in empty rooms. I’m pretty sure she does more than just chat but I don’t ask about it. I only know because of the peak of lingerie I catch sight of every time she bends over and her scrubs ride up. But that doesn’t usually add too much time to her walk-through.
When another fifteen minutes comes and goes, however, unease begins to collect in the middle of my chest.
I pull out my phone and send her a text asking if everything is okay. Twenty minutes later, not only is there no response but it’s clear she hasn’t even read my text. That’s not like Tiffany at all. She’sgluedto her phone.
This place isn’t big enough to disappear like this. With only twenty-two patients and rooms all on the same floor, it should take an hour tops. I frown. Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen Eddy either. Our security guard, an older man who refuses to retire, usually stops by the desk by now to say hello. I glance at the time: midnight.
A small, silent alarm bell rattles in the back of my head.
I step around the counter to stand in the middle of the hallway, looking in the direction Tiffany had gone. The newly painted beige-gray walls are only broken up by doors. All windows to the outside are in the patients’ rooms, leaving the wide hallway dark, except for the emergency lights every few feet. At the far end, it hooks right where more rooms are before it opens up to a space for guests and patients—the ones with the strength to visit and hang out. Beyond that is another hallwaythat wraps around the building and returns here, to the other side of the nurse's station.
Without realizing it, I adjust my weight to the balls of my feet as I turn to look in the opposite direction.
This hallway is just as empty. I strain to hear something, anything, that would tell me where my co-worker is. All I hear is the gentle hum of electricity coming from the light overheard. Where could Tiffany have gone? Has something happened? No. If there was something wrong, Tiffany would’ve pushed a button in a patient’s room to alert me of an issue.
I glance at the electrical board on the desk.
Not a single light is flashing.
The muscles in my back stiffen and my breathing slows down, allowing me to focus on listening for anything out of place. My eyes slide over each and every shadow.
The unease that’s gathered in my chest intensifies.
A small voice whispers in my ear that I’m being paranoid. Years growing up alongside my dad have made me overly wary and cautious. A louder voice, one that sounds awfully similar to Dad’s, screams:always trust your gut.
I bow my head, wavering about what to do. The obvious, non-paranoid answer would be to go search for Tiffany and Eddy. We’re not supposed to leave the nurses’ station unattended but if I’m quick, no one would be the wiser.
My hands flex at my side.
Icoulddo that. Yet, the thought of leaving the desk and walking these eerily quiet halls without a weapon doesn’t sit right with me. Slowly, I look over my shoulder toward the door that leads to the break room. It’s several dozen steps down the other hall on the other side of the nurses’ station. There, inside my locker, is my go-bag.
While the rest of the women I know carry purses, I carry a backpack full of lifesaving gear.
Just one more thing that sets me apart.Thisthough, I don’t mind. When it comes to my safety, I don’t play around.
You never know when you’ll have to run, Blair Bear.Hopefully you’ll never have to, but if you do, at least you’ll be prepared.
If nothing’s wrong, I can just put the gun back…
Making the decision, I move. Darting on silent feet, I pass the nurses’ station, take a left and sprint toward the break room. My keycard, attached to a retractable lanyard on the waistband of my pants, is in my hand before I reach the door. I swipe it and shove open the door when the light flickers to green. As I step inside, the motion-sensor lights flicker on overhead.
It’s immediately followed by the sound of glass shattering and a bullet sailing past my face. It misses me by mere inches before it lodges itself in the door with athwack.
My teeth clench together as a lifetime of survival instincts kick in. Everything that makes me human shuts down instantly. My soul practically blinks out of existence as it bunkers down so deep inside of me that I can no longer feel it—a necessity during times like this. There’s simply no place for it here.
And while that happens, everything that makes me a killing machine boots up.
Rather than panic or scream, I throw myself down and army crawl across the wood floor toward the lockers on the other side of the room. My heartbeat remains steady and my focus doesn’t waver as I reach up and turn the dial on the dial lock. It spins right, then left, then right once more before it disengages and the door unlocks.
As the metal door swings open another bullet sails through the glass. It hits the door of the locker. I pretend not to notice the bullet. Instead, I focus on feeling around for my backpack. When my fingers find a strap, I yank the bag out and pull it down onto the floor with me.
Unzipping the bag, I reach for my gun and car keys. When I have both, I reach for my satellite phone. I flip it open, ready to text Dad and let him know that, despite all our precautions, somehow trouble has still found me.
I find a message already waiting for me.
That’s not good. This phone is used solely for emergencies. If there’s a message there’s a problem. With trembling hands, I pull up the message.
