Flight into Darkness (Flight Trilogy, Book 2) (24 page)

There
is
no
way
they
are
alive
.

Within minutes, a man wearing a white shirt burst from the front door of the Mitchell house. He sprinted across the front lawn, yelling and waving his arms, calling to the ambulance workers, “Wait! Wait for me!”

His behavior was frantic. He was definitely not a member of the SWAT team, and he was definitely not an EMT. The man piled into the rear of the ambulance. The rear doors swung closed, and the big box on wheels sped off, siren shrieking, red lights spinning.

Samael contemplated what he’d witnessed. The urgency of the ambulance crews and the fact that the heads of the bodies atop the gurneys were not covered with sheets was not a good sign. They might be alive.

Impossible
!

The panicked man running and waving his arms had to be Ryan Mitchell. He must have made it to the house in time. Samael took a deep breath, exhaled, and rolled his eyes in frustration. He started the Suburban, shifted into DRIVE, and followed the flashing red lights.

Only minutes ago, the night had seemed gracious, filled with promise. Now it loomed with heaviness—a burden from under which he’d hoped by now to be free. The thought of having to do it all over again depressed him, but he had no choice. After killing the family, he’d be on his way back to LAX, and then off to Istanbul in the morning as scheduled.

* * *

The ambulance raced north on I-5 toward Mission Hospital—a regional trauma center—after learning from dispatch that the local community hospital’s emergency department was requesting bypass of all patients. After the lead paramedic relayed the situation and pertinent patient information to the base hospital physician, the bypass request was honored. None of the patients exhibited any uncontrollable problems, and the estimated time to reach Mission Hospital was twenty minutes.

Sirens screamed while red lights stirred the black of night like infrared mixers as the thundering diesel wheeled up to the emergency entrance at Mission Hospital. The driver jumped out and moved to the rear of the ambulance and opened the double doors. Ryan jumped out, followed by an EMT cradling Martha in his arms. EMTs unloaded the two gurneys and quickly rolled them into the emergency room.

Walking alongside the gurneys, the lead paramedic called out the situations to the ER charge nurse. “We’ve got a mother and two children unconscious and unresponsive after being removed from their house approximately twenty-five minutes ago. They appear to have been sedated with an unknown substance. The mother, a forty-seven-year-old female—temperature 36.9 degrees C; heart rate 77, strong and regular; BP 130 over 78; pupils equally dilated and reactive to light. No signs of trauma or bleeding.”

The nurse said, “Put the woman in room five.” The EMT pushing Keri’s stretcher was assisted by a waiting nurse.

The lead paramedic continued his verbal report. “A fifteen-year-old boy—temperature 36.6 degrees C; heart rate 68, strong and regular; BP 118 over 79; pupils equally dilated and reactive to light. No signs of trauma or bleeding.”

“Put the boy in room eight,” the nurse said. The EMT wheeled David’s gurney toward room eight with the help of a nurse.

The paramedic and charge nurse turned to the third EMT, standing, waiting, cradling Martha’s limp body in his arms. The paramedic said, “A five-year-old girl—temperature 36.7 degrees C; heart rate 74, strong; BP 116 over 77; pupils equally dilated and reactive to light. No signs of trauma or bleeding.”

“Let’s take the girl to room nine.” The nurse led the EMT and the paramedic to the empty room and placed Martha on the bed. Each glass enclosed room had a large window making it easy to view the patients from a central observation center.

Dr. Daniel Aulden, the attending emergency room physician, moved from room to room examining each patient and assimilating all the details available from the paramedic. After a careful review of the patient’s vitals, skin color, and breathing, he ordered a battery of blood tests and continued the normal saline intravenous infusion started by the ambulance crews.

* * *

Following close behind the screaming ambulance, Samael raced toward the hospital with only one thought on his mind: how he would finish it.

He parked the Suburban and watched from a distance as hospital workers rushed to meet the ambulance. The driver jumped out and raced to the rear of the vehicle and swung open the double doors. The first one out of the ambulance was the man in the white shirt—Mitchell—followed by the EMT cradling the little girl. The other EMT’s unloaded the gurneys and rolled them into the hospital.

Entering the hospital emergency room would certainly draw the attention of medical personnel. His freakish appearance and enormous size would make it impossible for him to blend in. He needed a uniform—a form of camouflage or disguise—that would allow him to enter the hospital without being questioned.

A white, lab coat with one of those colored, surgeon caps would be nice; maybe a stethoscope dangling from his neck, and a mask to hide his face. Masquerading as a nurse or doctor would ensure him easy access into the hospital. Unnoticed, like a viper coiled in the brush, he would strike. Perhaps he could wait and catch a doctor leaving the hospital after finishing his nightly rounds, or perhaps a late-night surgery. He’d follow the unsuspecting scientific healer to his car, then “borrow” his stethoscope and iconic, white coat.

As he imagined the plan, he realized it was no good. First, it would be a rarity to find a physician wearing his work clothes. Second, it would probably be impossible to find a man his size.

Scanning the parking lot, Samael noticed a security car parked at the curb beneath a street lamp. Stuffed behind the wheel of the subcompact, security cruiser, a robust man sat motionless. The guard appeared to be on break, perhaps sipping a coffee or stuffing down a cream-filled donut before continuing his graveyard shift at the hospital. Based on the silhouette of the man’s broad shoulders and large head, which appeared to be scrunched up against the ceiling of the small car, Samael believed the man might have what he needed.

Samael unzipped his satchel and removed a pouch containing several hypodermics he had preloaded with lidocaine. He took one of the hypodermics, returned the satchel and the pouch to the passenger’s seat, and exited the Suburban, gently closing the driver’s side door. He moved quickly and quietly along the sidewalk towards the parked cruiser. Approaching the car from the rear, it appeared that the guard was napping. As he walked, he removed the protective, plastic cover from the needle. An injection of lidocaine would ensure that Humpty continued his blissful sleep into the next life.

The driver’s side window was down, the guard’s head was propped against the raised headrest with his mouth hanging open. Samael positioned the syringe between his index and middle finger, his thumb on the end of the plunger.

Careful with his steps, he eased up to the window and jabbed the needle into the exposed neck of the exhausted guard, quickly pushing the plunger flush with the barrel of the syringe sending the overdose of toxic liquid into the unsuspecting defender of the night. Within seconds the guard slumped forward. His head pounded against the top of the steering wheel.

He dragged the guard’s limp body into the street. Sizing up the man, Samael smiled. “Perfect.” He stripped the uniform from the corpse and wrestled the body onto the backseat of the car. After changing into the guard’s uniform, Samael adjusted the car’s side mirror and admired his appearance.

Nice
.

The shirt was a bit snug—stretching tight against his wide chest, shoulders, and bulging biceps—but that was good. Samael smiled at the official-looking patches and ID badge. The security company had done a great job in designing a police-style uniform—minus a gun.

He wished for something to cover his bald head and white face. He scanned the inside of the car for a hat. The passenger’s seat and darkened, floor area was littered with a Krispy Kreme bag, a Big Gulp cup, and assorted food wrappers and newspapers. He opened the rear door. After checking the area behind the front seats, he reached in and rolled the guard’s naked body to the floor. On the back seat was the guard’s uniform hat—slightly crushed from the weight of the guard.

He retrieved the hat, reformed it, and checked the size. Luckily, the guard had a fat head. He adjusted the brim of the hat to hide his forehead, as much as possible, and checked it in the mirror. He smiled—especially impressed by the official-looking badge on the hat’s crest. The dark-colored, police-style uniform was certain to convey power, strength, and authority, demanding cooperation while inducing feelings of safety.

Camouflaged as a defender of the night, Samael would waltz through the unsecured entrance to the emergency room and free the Mitchell family—all four of them—from their fearful bodies, once and for all. He planned to work quickly—in and out—while hospital workers continued their noble task of saving lives.

He preferred to use the lidocaine—it was quiet and clean—but, if need be, he would slice their necks starting with Ryan. The uniform should allow him to walk within arm’s reach of the weary and concerned husband and father. After Ryan, he would quickly take care of the rest of the family. They should be sleeping, if not in a coma, or already dead.

Samael gathered up his clothes and stored them in the Suburban for safekeeping. He would need to change after saying goodbye to the Mitchell family. He took the pouch and his blade, locked the doors on the Suburban, and marched toward the emergency entrance of the hospital.

CHAPTER 36

Ryan hovered over Keri’s motionless body, holding her limp, left hand while he stroked her arm slowly. An intravenous glucose-saline drip fed her body to prevent dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Supplemental oxygen hissed through the two prongs of the cannula placed in her nostrils. A pulse oximeter was clipped to her right, index finger providing pulse and oxygen saturation levels. Electrodes and sensors attached to her body recorded blood pressure and respiratory rate. The combined information was displayed on a central monitor hanging above her bed.

From where he stood, he could easily see the children in adjacent rooms, separated by glass walls. Every few seconds, he glanced at their corpse-like bodies, searching for any signs of movement. He closed his eyes.

Please
God
,
bring
them
back
to
me
.
You
know
I
can’t
live
without
them
.
Don’t
let
them
die
.
Please
…
I
will
never
leave
their
side
—
ever
again
.

The sound of footsteps drew his attention. He opened his eyes and turned. A man entered the room. “Mr. Mitchell, I’m Dr. Aulden.”

“Doc, are they going to be okay? How long before they wake up?”

“They’re going to be fine. The lab results are normal.”

“Thank God,” Ryan said.

“Yes, we can thank God. However, your wife and children did receive a non-lethal dose of sodium thiopental. Thiopental is basically a rapid-onset, short-acting barbiturate used in general anesthetics. The time it takes for them to wake up will vary, depending on the amount of the drug they each received. Once the drug redistributes to the rest of the body they will wake up. Be thankful, Mr. Mitchell, that you arrived when you did. You saved their lives.”

Ryan didn’t want to spend the time to correct the fact that it was Rex who saved his family, not him. After all, how could he explain it to the doc when he barely understood it himself.

“Are we talking, one hour…five hours…how long?” Ryan said.

“Considering when the injection was removed, it can be as soon as a few minutes or as long as a few hours. Thiopental would have to be given in large amounts to maintain an anesthetic plane. In that case, due to its 12 to 24 hour half-life, consciousness would take a long time to return. In the case of your family, there’s nothing to worry about. Let’s give it an hour. I think they’ll be fine. I’ll check back.”

“Thank you, Doc.” Ryan felt a weight lifted and his prayers answered. He turned to Keri. She was still sleeping but he wanted her to hear the news. “You’re going to be fine, Honey.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. Tears spilled from his eyes and down his cheeks. He contained the urge to burst out crying. “Thank you God,” he whispered. His family was safe.

I
hope
Rex
is
okay
.

Without proof that the same lunatic was responsible for the murder of Emily and the attempted murder of the Mitchell family, Rex would definitely be held as a suspect for both. Ryan had many more questions concerning Rex: How had he escaped the crash? Where had he been for the last ten months?

Footsteps at the door drew his attention again. He turned, expecting to see Dr. Aulden. Instead, the sight of a large, albino security guard, filling the doorway, startled him.

“Mr. Mitchell?” the guard said.

“Yes, I’m Ryan Mitchell.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your family. Are they going to be okay?”

“The doctor said they should be fine. It might take a little while, but they will be fine.”

In a soft voice, the guard said, “I’m glad to hear it.”

The guard was enormous—at least six-foot-five. From the looks of him, his company must have had trouble finding a shirt large enough to fit. Any sudden movements might rip the shirt off his back, much like the Green Hulk during one of his man-to-monster transitions.

Ryan glanced down at the giant’s legs. The material strained against the man’s bulging thighs. At least two inches of white sock was visible from where the man’s pant leg ended and his black shoe began.

“I was asked to come update you on the situation at your house,” the guard said.

Thinking, the man might have information about Rex, Ryan said, “Listen, did they tell you anything about Rex Dean? Is he okay? Where did they take him?”