A nurse spots us, eyes widening at the sight of leather cuts and drawn weapons.But instead of fear, I see recognition in her eyes.And relief.
“They went that way,” she says, pointing toward double doors leading deeper into the hospital.“Looking for someone specific.A doctor.”
My heart stops, then hammers against my ribs with renewed force.A doctor.They’re looking for a doctor.
For Xavier?
The thought sends ice through my veins, followed immediately by a wave of molten rage so intense my vision blurs at the edges.If they’re specifically targeting Xavier…
No.Focus.I force the thought away, channeling the anger into the cold precision I need right now.
“How many patients are still here?”Greyson asks the nurse, voice calm and authoritative.
“Most of the ambulatory patients evacuated through the west exit,” she replies.“We’ve got about a dozen critical cases that couldn’t be moved, plus staff.”
Greyson nods, already formulating a plan.He signals to brothers, splitting us into teams with hand gestures we’ve used for years.My father, me, and Greyson will pursue the Reapers.The others will secure this area and protect the remaining patients.
We move toward the double doors, weapons ready, every sense heightened to the point of pain.The fluorescent lights hum overhead, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense silence.Our boots squeak against the polished floor, each step measured and deliberate.
Beyond the doors, a long corridor stretches before us, eerily empty.Papers scattered across the floor, an abandoned wheelchair pushed against one wall.Signs of a hasty evacuation everywhere.
A crash echoes from somewhere ahead, followed by a man’s shout.We quicken our pace, moving in formation with Greyson on point, me covering the right flank, and my father on the left.
Another corridor branches off, leading toward what the sign indicates is the radiology department.A trail of blood droplets leads that way, smeared as if someone wounded was dragged or stumbled in that direction.
I move toward the blood trail, signaling to my father and Greyson with a quick hand gesture.The droplets lead us down the hallway, growing larger and more frequent splatter patterns that tell me someone’s bleeding badly.The metallic scent of fresh blood mingles with hospital antiseptic, burning my nostrils with each breath I take.
My boots make soft squeaking sounds against the polished floor.The fluorescent lights above cast harsh shadows, making the blood appear almost black against the sterile white tiles.I keep my weapon at the ready, finger resting just outside the trigger guard, muscle memory from years of training guiding my movements.
A scream pierces the air.Sharp, female, terrified.The sound slices through the eerie silence, making my pulse spike.We break into a run, my father’s footsteps heavy behind me, Greyson’s breathing controlled and measured to my right.We round the corner into radiology, and the scene before us stops me cold.
Xavier kneels on the floor, his blue scrubs already soaked dark with blood.His hands press firmly against a woman’s chest, crimson seeping between his fingers despite the pressure.The woman, a nurse based on her uniform, lies pale and still, her breathing shallow and labored.Xavier’s face is set in intense concentration, brow furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line.He hasn’t noticed us yet.
“I need more gauze, Kelly.Now.”His voice cuts through the chaos, steady, authoritative, completely at odds with the destruction surrounding him.“And get me another chest tube kit if you can find one.”
Another nurse frantically digs through an overturned supply cart, packages of medical equipment scattered across the floor.A trail of bloody footprints leads from their position through another doorway.The Reapers have been here, left this carnage, and moved on.
I scan the room methodically, weapon raised, checking every corner, every potential hiding spot.The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.We’re exposed here, vulnerable.
“X,” I call softly, not wanting to startle him.
His head snaps up, eyes widening as they lock with mine.I watch emotions flash across his face in rapid succession: shock, relief, fear, then something else, something that makes my chest tighten.Recognition.Trust.
“Zach,” he starts, but gunfire erupts somewhere nearby, the sound bouncing off the walls, and impossible to pinpoint exactly.
Xavier flinches at the noise, but doesn’t abandon his patient.His hands remain steady on the wound, applying crucial pressure.I watch a drop of sweat track down his temple, leaving a clean path through a spatter of blood on his cheek.
“GSW to the chest,” he reports, slipping into clinical language.“Through and through.She’s lost at least two units.Need to get her to an OR, but we’re cut off from the surgical floor.”
Greyson moves to secure the doorway while my father checks the connecting room, their movements synchronized from years of working together.I position myself between Xavier and the most likely entry points, creating a human shield with my body.
“How many?”I ask, voice low, eyes never stopping their constant scan of our surroundings.
“Three men,” Xavier answers, glancing down to check his patient’s pulse.“Motorcycle cuts.Black with red trim.They came through, shooting.No warning, no demands.”His voice tightens.“Just opened fire on unarmed medical staff and patients who couldn’t even run.”
More gunshots echo, closer now.The wounded nurse moans softly, her breathing becoming more labored.I hear the wet, sucking sound with each breath she takes, a sound I recognize from too many battlefields.
“She’s decompensating,” Xavier mutters, pressing harder.Fresh blood wells between his fingers despite the gauze pads.“Likely tension pneumothorax developing.I need to release the pressure or she’ll die.”
