Chapter 4 - The Night Drive
The freight elevator rattled violently as it descended through the concrete core of Saint Jude Memorial Hospital.
Inside the small steel box, the only light came from the dull yellow emergency bulb overhead and the glowing green display of the floor indicator: 3... 2... 1... B1... B2.
Owen was whimpering softly in Hannah's arms, his tiny face squished against her scrub top. I knelt beside her, checking his breath, keeping the portable oxygen tube near his small nose.
"He's breathing fine," Hannah whispered, her hands shaking as she adjusted his yellow blanket. "His oxygen saturation was stable at ninety-eight percent before we pulled him out. He just needs to stay warm."
"What happens when we hit B2?" I asked, my lungs burning, my pulse racing at a hundred miles an hour. "They said they were locking down the garage."
"The main vehicle gate at the north exit has a magnetic bar," Hannah said, pulling a set of car keys from her scrub pocket. "My car is parked in Space 42, right next to the laundry loading dock. If we can get inside before Vance's men reach the lower level, we can drive through the wooden perimeter gate."
DING.
The elevator came to a sudden halt.
The heavy steel doors slid open into the cold, damp air of the lower basement garage.
The garage was vast, lit by flickering fluorescent tube lights hanging from concrete pillars. The air smelled of exhaust fumes, damp concrete, and engine oil.
"Over there," Hannah whispered, pointing toward a silver Honda Civic parked thirty yards away near a heavy iron rolling door.
We didn't walk. We ran.
My sneakers slapped against the wet concrete floor, the sound echoing through the empty subterranean space.
We were twenty feet from the car when a black SUV spun around the concrete pillar near the exit ramp, its high beams flashing on with blinding, white intensity.
The light caught us square in the face.
"Stop right there!" a voice boomed over a loudspeaker from the SUV's roof.
It was Officer Vance's backup—two armed hospital security vehicles blocking the main ramp leading up to the street.
"Get in the car!" Hannah screamed, smashing the unlock button on her key fob.
She threw open the passenger door, slid into the driver's seat with Owen cradled against her chest, and started the engine. The Honda's motor roared to life.
I dove into the back seat, pulling the door shut behind me just as a security guard sprinted toward the passenger window, slamming his flashlight against the reinforced glass.
CRACK.
"Drive!" I screamed.
Hannah slammed the gear shift into reverse, floored the accelerator, and the tires screeched against the slick concrete, throwing up a cloud of blue smoke.
The Honda whipped backward in a wide arc, smashing into a plastic orange traffic cone before Hannah threw the transmission into drive.
She didn't head for the main exit ramp where the SUV was blocking the way.
Instead, she turned the wheel hard to the left, heading straight for the narrow wooden maintenance gate marked PRIVATE DELIVERY VEHICLES ONLY — DO NOT ENTER.
"Hold onto him!" Hannah shouted.
I reached over the front seat, wrapping both my arms around Hannah and Owen, shielding the baby with my body as the Honda sped up to forty miles an hour inside the enclosed garage.
The wooden gate loomed ahead—a four-inch thick pine barrier suspended across the narrow exit lane.
CRASH!
The Honda's front bumper smashed through the wood, sending splintered timber flying across the hood and windshield in a shower of sparks. The car jolt violently, its tires catching the asphalt of the rain-slick alleyway outside.
We burst out into the cool night air of 4th Street.
Rain was falling heavily now, washing over the cracked windshield as Hannah swung the car onto the main avenue, her tires spinning before gripping the wet road.
Behind us, the red and blue emergency lights of two police cruisers were already spinning in the hospital driveway, but they were trapped behind the broken barrier gate.
Hannah drove six blocks without speaking, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, her eyes darting constantly to the rear-view mirror.
"We made it," I gasped, collapsing back against the vinyl seat, tears of pure adrenaline spilling down my face. "We actually made it."
"We haven't made it yet," Hannah said, her voice grim as she adjusted the heater controls to keep the cabin warm for Owen. "Dr. Reed has political connections across the entire state. Within ten minutes, every police department in the county will have a bulletin out for this car, claiming I kidnapped an infant from the intensive care unit."
"Then we need to go to someone they can't control," I said, pulling my phone from my pocket.
"Who?" Hannah asked, turning onto the highway ramp toward downtown. "The police report to the city council. The hospital board is packed with judges and district attorneys."
I looked down at my phone screen.
I had one text message.
It was from an unknown number, received forty seconds ago:
LENA. THIS IS DR. ARIS THORNE. DANIEL MANAGED TO CALL MY PRIVATE LINE FROM THE SECURITY OFFICE. I AM AT THE STATE MEDIA BUILDING ON 8TH AVENUE. BRING OWEN HERE NOW. THE CAMERA CREWS ARE WAITING.
I stared at the screen, a surge of hope blazing through the dark, cold terror that had consumed me for the last three hours.
Dr. Aris Thorne—the fetal medicine specialist who had performed Mom's thirty-two-week ultrasound. The doctor who had circled Owen's foot with a blue marker and told us that our baby was perfect.
"Drive to the State Media Building on 8th Avenue," I told Hannah, holding the phone up so she could see the address. "Dr. Thorne is waiting for us."
May you like
Hannah looked at the message, then looked back at the highway ahead.
"Hold your brother tight, Lena," Hannah said, pressing her foot down on the gas pedal. "We're going to give your mother her son back."
