Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the WardThe impact of the crash cart against Trevor’s leg was the opening salvo of a battle I hadn't prepared for, yet one I had been expecting my entire life. Trevor snarled, his mask of professional apathy slipping to reveal the raw, violent predator beneath. He lunged at me, his fingers closing around my throat, not with the intention of restraint, but with the intent of erasure.
"You nosy little bitch," he hissed, his breath hot and sour. "You were supposed to just be the fall girl. The rookie who messed up the dosage."
I didn't struggle against the hold; I used his momentum. I brought my knee up into his solar plexus, feeling the air escape his lungs as he doubled over. I grabbed the tray of saline and swung it with all my might, the heavy metal clattering against the back of his head. He dropped like a lead weight.
Caleb, despite his condition, was moving. He had slipped from the bed, his movements fluid and silent, and was now standing in the shadows behind the door. He caught the look in my eye—the signal. We need to leave, now.
The hallway was still echoing with Concincaid’s voice. "I don't care what the chart says, verify the pulse and terminate the intake."
"He’s coming," I signed to Caleb, my hands moving so fast they were a blur in the dim light. The service elevator is at the end of the hall. It’s not mapped on the public floor plan. Go. I’ll follow.
Not without you, Caleb signed back, his face a testament to the iron-clad loyalty that defined the SEALs.
"You aren't a patient anymore," I whispered, helping him stabilize against the wall. "You're a ghost. Move."
We stepped out into the hallway just as Concincaid turned the corner. He stopped dead. He saw Trevor on the floor, the overturned cart, and the two of us standing there. He didn't look surprised. He looked disappointed.
"So, the act is over, Lily," Concincaid said, pulling a suppressed pistol from his waistband. It was a clinical, efficient weapon. "It’s a shame. You were so good at being invisible. Almost as good as your friend here."
"Who do you work for?" I asked, keeping my body angled to protect Caleb, my hands hidden in the folds of my scrubs.
"That doesn't matter," Concincaid replied, his finger tightening on the trigger. "What matters is that this hospital has a very efficient incinerator system, and you two will be nothing more than medical waste by the time the morning shift arrives."
He moved to fire, but I had already triggered the emergency override on the wall. The fire suppression system in the room behind us exploded. A deluge of industrial-grade chemical foam and high-pressure steam filled the hallway, turning the world into a chaotic, white-out nightmare.
Concincaid fired, the bullet whistling past my ear, but he was blinded by the steam. Caleb, his tactical instincts overriding his injury, tackled Concincaid into the blinding white wall of foam. There was a struggle—a dull thud, the sound of a bone snapping, and then silence.
May you like
I pulled Caleb toward the elevator shaft. We had to get out of the hospital, out of the city, and into the dark, hidden places where the ghosts could actually disappear. But as the elevator doors slid shut, I saw a reflection in the stainless steel. It wasn't just Concincaid and Trevor. There were others in the shadows of the hospital.
The organization hadn't just sent a doctor. They had sent a team.
