Chapter 7 - The Trembling Hands
“Code Blue! Room 3!” Mara shouted into the hallway, slamming her hand against the emergency button on the wall.
She didn't wait for the crash team.
Mara jumped onto the bed, straddling Daniel Mercer’s chest, and began aggressive chest compressions. Her palms locked together, driving downward with rhythmic, brutal force.
“One, two, three, four,” she counted out loud, sweat immediately breaking out on her forehead.
She looked down at Vale, who was still paralyzed on the floor, weeping.
“Get up, Adrian!” Mara roared, the voice of the Chicago Chief of Trauma echoing off the walls. “I don't care about your pension! I don't care about your tremors! Grab the atropine syringe under the bed and push it now, or you’re an accomplice to murder!”
Vale stared at her, terrified.
“Get up!” Mara screamed.
Vale scrambled to his hands and knees. He reached under the heavy metal bed frame, his fingers fumbling in the dust until he closed around the plastic barrel of the syringe.
He stood up, rushing to the IV pole. His hands were shaking so violently he couldn't align the needle with the rubber port.
“I can’t do it,” Vale choked, dropping his hand. “I can’t stop shaking.”
“Take a breath,” Mara ordered, still pumping Daniel’s chest. “You are a surgeon, Adrian. Muscle memory. Lock your elbow, brace your wrist against the rail. Do it!”
Vale squeezed his eyes shut. He took a ragged breath. He braced his forearm against the cold metal of the bedrail, stabilizing his wrist.
He opened his eyes. The tremor slowed just enough.
He slid the needle into the port and pushed the plunger, sending the life-saving atropine directly into Daniel’s bloodstream.
Seconds later, Emily and the crash cart team burst into the room.
“Charge to two hundred!” Mara ordered, rolling off the bed and grabbing the defibrillator paddles.
Emily smeared the gel on Daniel’s chest.
“Clear!” Mara shouted.
Daniel’s body arched off the bed as the electric current hit him.
Mara stared at the monitor.
A jagged line appeared. Then a pause. Then another line.
Beep... beep... beep.
A steady, sinus rhythm returned. The atropine had counteracted the neurotoxin. Daniel Mercer was alive.
The ICU nurses quickly stabilized the lines, pushing oxygen and checking his vitals.
Mara leaned against the wall, exhausted, dragging a hand through her messy brown hair.
Vale stood beside her, staring at his hands. For the first time in a year, he didn't look afraid. He looked free.
A low groan came from the bed.
Daniel’s eyelids fluttered open. He was groggy, disoriented, fighting against the endotracheal tube. Emily gently adjusted it, speaking softly to calm him.
Daniel’s eyes darted around the room until they locked onto Dr. Vale.
Daniel’s heart rate spiked on the monitor. He raised a weak, trembling hand and pointed directly at the surgeon.
“He was there,” Daniel rasped, his voice barely audible around the tube.
Mara stepped forward. “Daniel, it’s okay. Dr. Vale just helped save you.”
“No,” Daniel whispered, his eyes wide with fear. “He was at the chemical plant. The night I took the soil samples. I saw him talking to Sterling in the dark.”
The room went dead silent.
Mara turned slowly to look at Vale.
The reversal hit her like a physical blow. Vale hadn't just been blackmailed to look the other way. He was deeply, personally involved in the cover-up long before the crash.
Vale’s face drained of the little color it had left.
“Adrian,” Mara said softly. “What did you do?”
“Sterling told me it was just a legal consultation,” Vale pleaded, backing away toward the door. “He paid me to write medical exemptions for the toxic soil! I didn't know he was going to dump it near a school! I didn't know kids were going to get sick!”
“You forged the medical reports to hide the poison,” Emily said, disgusted.
Before anyone could say another word, the heavy double doors of the ICU swung open.
Richard Sterling walked in, flanked by four men in tactical uniforms holding large black duffel bags. They weren't hospital security. They were a private medical transport team.
Sterling looked at the monitor, a flash of genuine annoyance crossing his face when he saw Daniel was alive.
“Nurse Callahan,” Sterling sighed, stepping into the room. “I thought I fired you.”
“You did,” Mara said, standing her ground between Sterling and the bed.
“No matter,” Sterling smiled smoothly. He held up a thick legal document with a fresh signature on the bottom line. “Mrs. Mercer has just signed an emergency transfer authorization. I am moving her husband to a private, specialized facility in Cleveland. My transport team will take him from here.”
Emily gasped. “He won’t survive a transport! He’s too critical!”
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“He’ll be fine,” Sterling said coldly, signaling his men to move in.
They weren't taking him to a hospital. They were taking him somewhere to finish the job.
