“We need to get this girl an MRI scan immediately. Possible concussion and fractured radius, breathing but unresponsive.” The paramedic passed Chloe off to the nurse, who helped lift the stretcher onto another bed.
“What’s your daughter’s name, ma’am?” the nurse asked.
“Chloe.” The entire ER was bursting with new admittances. Everywhere she looked, someone screamed, someone bled, and voices dripped with helplessness.
The nurse guided a needle into Chloe’s arm then tore her shirt open and placed circular white stickers across her chest that ran wires to a machine that beeped with the vertical rise and fall of her daughter’s pulse. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave while we run some tests.”
Another nurse gripped Wren’s arm and pulled her backward. Addison clung tighter to her neck. “What tests? No, I need to be here when she wakes up.” Wren strained against the bodies removing her from the room. She looked to Chloe, still motionless on the cot, and the team of doctors surrounding her.
The doors were shut and locked, and Wren was forced to watch behind the thick glass of a window until one of the nurses pulled a curtain, engirding the staff in privacy. Addison cried into Wren’s shoulder, and she cradled her daughter’s head, rocking her back and forth. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Your sister is going to be fine.”
One of the nurses escorted Wren to the trauma waiting room, away from the mayhem of the ER. The waiting area was small, chairs lining the walls. The seats were filled with nervous friends and family members, anxiety etched on their faces as they stared at the floor with blank eyes, bounced their knees, and fidgeted their fingers.
Wren found that she wasn’t immune to the apprehensive pathology as she paced back and forth, constantly glancing down the halls. Her stomach twisted in a knot every time one of the nurses walked by. Lost in her own worry, she felt a light tug on her shirtsleeve, and Addison looked up at her. “Mom, I’m hungry.”
A vending machine hummed just outside the room, and Wren grabbed a bag of chips. Addison munched noisily as Wren took a seat. The television bolted to the ceiling in the corner of the room was turned on, but only the emergency broadcast signal played on its screen. The high-pitched whine of the signal was just as constant as the bright, multicolored lines on the monitor.
Wren pulled her phone out, and her heart leapt as one of the signal bars appeared on the screen. She immediately dialed her son, but the call went straight to voicemail. Then she tried her husband and received the same outcome. She went back and forth, dialing each of them over and over, their voicemails repeating the monotonous message in her ear. The din of the emergency signal in the background grew louder. More voicemails. Pick up your phone. She clenched the phone tighter then dialed again. Voicemail. The television’s constant din tipped her anxiety over the edge until it finally burst from her lips. “Can someone turn that off?”
Every head in the room turned. Addison cowered in her chair, discarding the bag of chips. Wren massaged her temples, her nerves frayed and the frustration of the unknown slowly taking control of her reason. Her son was missing, Chloe was unconscious, and she couldn’t get a hold of their father.
A sudden quiet overtook Wren’s mind, and she realized the television’s ringing had ceased. The multicolored scrambles had been replaced with a news anchor flipping through notes on his desk. He looked to his left. “We’re on?” He stacked the notes together and cleared his throat. “Good afternoon. I’m Rick Cousins, and this is a Channel 4 News special update. The Chicago city power grid has been down for the past thirty minutes, affecting transportation and communication efforts across the metropolis area. We’ve received reports of activity at the power plant just south of the city, but we have yet to receive any confirmation about the cause of the outage.”
Wren shifted in her seat, leaning toward the monitor. If the power is out across the entire city, then Doug is most likely out on calls.
“Emergency services have been overwhelmed with an influx of callers, and we’ve learned that Mayor Chalmers has declared a state of emergency, seeking federal assistance through the National Guard as well as state aid.” The anchor placed his finger to his ear. “I’m being told that we have some video feed coming from one of our traffic helicopters. Tom? What do you see up there?”
The screen cut to an aerial view of the city. The once-flowing veins of life that were the city’s roads and highways had frozen like rivers of ice. The camera zoomed in on specific pileups and the struggling emergency vehicles attempting to navigate through the chaos. People poured out of stores and shops, the crowds wandering the streets in dazed confusion. “As you can see, traffic is shut down. Hardly any movement along the roads here as authorities scramble to try to restore order, and—wait. Go back there. Did you see that?”
The camera jerked sharply, the operator zooming in and out, the pixelated image blurring out of focus. The pilot and cameraman whispered to one another, and the picture suddenly returned to the news anchor. “With all of the confusion on the ground, I’m sure it’s been difficult for police and rescue personnel, and we here at Channel 4 would urge everyone to remain calm.”
Every face in the waiting room was glued to the television, the sheer size of the chaos around the city too much to fathom. Zack is out there somewhere. She jumped from her seat and turned to Addison. “I need you to stay here for a second, okay sweetheart?”
Addison protruded her lower lip. “Where are you going?”
Wren kissed the top of her head. “Just stay put. I’ll be right back. I promise.” She stepped out into the hallway, the right leading back into the emergency room where the double doors swung back and forth as staff members shuttled patients down the hall, while her left led toward the trauma and operating units where Chloe was being tended to.
Noise spouted over the intercom with requests for doctors and nurses. Wren dodged out of the way of speeding paramedics, the hall densely trafficked with the sick and wounded. The emergency lighting had kicked in, offering the hallway an eerie glow from the hospital’s backup generators. Finally, she arrived at the nurses’ station. “Excuse me.”
Piles of papers were stacked high, engulfing the nurse in small towers. She kept her head down, the two phones on her left blinking with calls as she scribbled notes, oblivious to anything beyond the paper under her nose. Wren waved her hand under the nurse’s face, which triggered an agitated sigh, and the nurse finally looked up. “Can I help you?”
“I need to get in contact with Doug Burton. He’s a paramedic with station—” The nurse held up her finger then answered the phone. The thin wire of patience holding Wren’s civility frayed then snapped as she reached across the counter and yanked the phone from the nurse’s ear and slammed it back onto the receiver. “My son is missing, and I need to speak with the police.”
The nurse angrily picked the phone back up. “Ma’am, you can have a seat, and I’ll speak to you when I’m done.”
Wren slammed her fist on the counter, knocking over a pen holder and spilling them to the floor. “No! You’ll speak to me now!” Wren’s voice silenced the noisy hallway, her outburst drawing the attention of everyone within earshot. “Now, I know you can contact dispatch, so what I need you to do is pull your head out of your ass and do something that actually matters!”
“Mrs. Burton?” The touch that accompanied the words was as light as the voice. “Your daughter is awake. You can see her now if you’d like.”
The anger fled from Wren’s mind as quickly as her disappearance from the nurse’s station as she followed the other staff member into the recovery rooms, where she found Chloe propped up on a cot with a cluster of pillows. Her daughter’s head was wrapped in a white bandage, her left forearm was in a cast, and her lips and mouth were stained purple from the popsicle dripping down her right hand. “Hi, Mommy.”
Wren gently pressed Chloe’s head to her chest. A doctor hovered close by with a clipboard in his hands and a stethoscope hung over his neck.
He extended his hand. “Mrs. Burton?”
Wren reached over to greet him. “Is she going to be all right?
The doctor smiled. “Well, as long as she cuts back on her diet of popsicles, I think she’ll pull through.”
“No way,” Chloe said, taking a big lick up the side.
While her daughter enjoyed the playfulness, Wren’s mind still wandered the dark corners of fear she’d been worrying about since the wreck. “So sh—”
“She’s fine.” The doctor smiled, the tone in his voice oddly reassuring. “A minor laceration to the head, which we stitched up. No concussion. She had a fractured radius, so the cast will have to stay on for at least six weeks. Other than that, she’s healthy as an ox.” He gently brushed Chloe’s hair back. “And from the look of that popsicle, she eats like one too.”
Chloe flashed another grin, her teeth stained the same harsh purple as her treat. Wren let out a sigh, the tension slowly melting away.
“I’ll be back to check on her in another hour,” the doctor said. “If you need anything, just flag down one of the staff, and they’ll be able to help you.”
“Thank you.” Wren shook his hand then was left alone. She knelt beside the bed, stroking Chloe’s hair as she finished her popsicle and pointed to the cast on her arm. “You know, we could get people to sign that.”
The idea perked Chloe up. “Really? Can I draw on it too?”
A welcome laugh escaped Wren’s lips as the corner of her eyes crinkled. “Sure, we can do that.” She kissed Chloe on the cheek. “I’m going to get your sister. She can be the first to sign it.”
Chloe frowned. “Okay, but do I have to share my popsicle with her?” She batted those blue eyes, pulling the treat closer to her.
“No,” Wren answered. “That’s all yours.” Wren left Chloe to her snack then found a nurse just outside the hall. “Could you watch my daughter for a moment while I go and get her sister?” The nurse obliged and Wren took another look at her daughter propped up on pillows, the popsicle juices draining down her hands, before leaving.
The hallways were even busier than before, the rooms she passed so full that some of the injured were forced to seek treatment in the hallways. Wren did her best to keep her gaze away from the moaning, screaming patients that lined the halls.
When Wren turned into the waiting room, she found that all the seats were empty, save for Addison in the corner. Everyone else was huddled around the television, which still aired the news broadcaster from earlier. She watched the crowd curiously, as they were seemingly entranced by the images on screen.
Addison looked up from her seat, the tiny lines on her face forming the worried look reserved for mothers and others far beyond her age. “Is Chloe okay?”
“She’s fine,” Wren answered. “Do you want to go and say hi?” Addison nodded, and Wren scooped her up, heading for the door. But just before she left, the panicked tone of the broadcaster stopped her dead in her tracks.
“I repeat, anyone in the downtown area of the city, please lock yourselves inside your homes, and do not venture into the street. We have eyewitness accounts as well as footage from our traffic chopper of masked individuals roaming the streets, armed with assault rifles, targeting anyone in their path. Police have warned that these individuals are incredibly dangerous and highly unstable. And— Wait. We have some new footage coming in from our traffic chopper. Tom, what are you looking at?”
Wren inched closer, her shoulders brushing against the tightly packed group, all of them drawing in a collective breath.
“Rick, a group of the terrorists are making their way down Roosevelt. People are running, we’re seeing— Oh my god, did you get that?” The camera zoomed in on three individuals circling around an elderly woman on her knees. One of them placed the tip of their gun to the back of her head and squeezed the trigger.
Wren gasped and shuddered with the rest of the huddled masses, using one hand to cover her mouth and the other to keep Addison’s face away from the images.
“Tom, do the authorities know what these people want?” the news anchor asked.
“No. I’ve radioed with a few of the police choppers in the area, helping keep an eye on things for the law enforcement on the ground, and they haven’t received an explanation as to who these people are or their demands.”
Another shot of the chaos in the streets flashed, and Wren found herself drawn in to take a closer look. The background images on screen were oddly familiar. A tingling sensation crawled up the back of her spine as her mind returned to the words the traffic pilot uttered. Roosevelt. The next image on the screen revealed a building close to the hospital, and Wren realized where the terrorists were heading. The medical district.
Chapter 3
Wren quickly backpedaled out of the waiting room, still carrying Addison on the way, and made a beeline for Chloe’s room. They needed to get out of the hospital. We need to get out of the city.
The rest of the people in the waiting room were frozen in place like the traffic outside, but if the murderers on the television were looking for a place for mass casualties, then there wasn’t any better location than the hospitals that comprised the medical district. Wren hastened her pace, her shoulders smacking into unsuspecting hospital staff members on her way to Chloe.
The nurse Wren left to keep Chloe company had her daughter giggling when she skidded through the door, her voice catching in her throat as she struggled to breathe. “We need to go. Now.” Wren reached for her daughter’s hand, pulling her from the cot as the nurse stepped aside, confused.
“Mrs. Burton, the doctor said he’d like to keep her under observation for the next twenty-four hours.” She positioned herself by the door, blocking Wren’s exit. “We just want to make sure Chloe is okay.”
Wren set Addison on the floor next to her sister then took a quick step forward, the nurse recoiling from the speed. “You need to put this facility on lockdown. Immediately.”
Chloe and Addison clutched Wren’s legs, burying their faces into her skirt. The nurse placed a hand on Wren’s shoulder. “Mrs. Burton, you’ve been through a lot. Why don’t I have Doctor Avers come have a look at you?” Her fingers went to the bandage on Wren’s forehead. “You’ve had some head trauma yourself.”
Before the nurse had a chance to try anything else, Wren shoved her aside into the doorframe, wiggling past with Addison and Chloe in tow. She hurried down the hallway, the nurse shouting after her. “Mrs. Burton, stop!”
Wren ignored the stares, the shouts, and the staff members she passed who tried reaching out a hand to stop her, which she swatted away. While some of the staff tried to intercept, amidst the chaos of the bustling hospital, one more patient leaving opened up time and resources.
The nurse finally ended her chase, and Wren followed the exit signs that led her back to the emergency room, but she stopped at the nurses’ station attached to the main hallway. She realized she had no car and, with the city in its current condition, no other transportation.
The phones on the nurses’ desk blinked, and Wren looked around to see if anyone was watching. When she determined that the coast was clear, she pushed through the small double-door barriers and looked for the unit codes to get in contact with Doug. She shuffled through the papers, looking for the notebook she knew rested somewhere under the piles of junk.
Three quick, sharp pops sounded down the hall, and the noise stopped everyone in their tracks. Wren’s heart froze as she stepped around the station’s corner, the busy ER hallway becoming eerily quiet, like the calm before a storm. She shoved Chloe and Addison behind her, her pulse racing and her breaths cutting themselves short.
Machine-gunfire erupted, and screams broke through the dam of silence. The ER doors burst open, bringing a flood of people and the deafening sound of gunshots with it.
Wren scooped up both girls, trying to stay ahead of the masses spilling into the hallway, turning into a tidal wave of bodies careening around the corridors. She stumbled twice, t
he heels of the stampede smashing her feet, but she kept her balance even with the added pounds of her daughters swaying her center of gravity.
Patients and staff ducked into nearby rooms, slamming doors behind them, no doubt locking them, but she knew the standard hospital locks could easily be bypassed. She needed to find another place. Something more secure.
Wren’s left leg cramped, and she saw others passing her. More gunshots thundered, and Wren flinched in reflex, ducking her head, the noise too close for comfort.
The next gunshot brought down a man to her left, and Wren felt a warm sprinkle of liquid hit her cheek as the man collapsed, but she didn’t stop. She only kept eyeing the corner up ahead. Just keep moving.
The cramp in her leg loosened a bit, and Wren dug her heels into the tile, the gunfire popping like fireworks now. She turned the corner, hoping to find an exit, but the hallway only led her to an interlocking maze of more hallways. She tried a few of the first doors on her left as she passed, but they were locked. The only signage led her back into the path of the armed terrorists.
Addison and Chloe trembled in Wren’s arms, their bodies vibrating in fear and shock. The back of Addison’s head had bits of red speckled into her strands of black hair. Wren’s heart wrenched, her concentration scattered across her mind, which raced with the tenacity of a sports car.
People rushed past, their faces showing no coherent thoughts other than Run. As Wren stood there, gripped by the same icy fear that had consumed her girls, she shut her eyes, a shudder running through her at the sound of more gunfire. Where do I go?
The memory of a long night at work illuminated the dark recesses of her mind, and Wren snapped her eyes open, rushing toward signage down the hall on her right. She frantically scanned the labels, shifting her weight from side to side impatiently. Where are you? And then she saw it, nearly at the bottom, in white uppercase lettering. The ICU.
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