Chapter 7 - The Last Line of Defense
On the fourth floor, the double blast doors of the ICU were buckling under heavy blows.
*BOOM. BOOM.*
Inside, Dr. Ryan Cole was bracing a heavy stainless steel crash cart against the doors, his muscles straining, veins bulging along his neck.
"Hold it!" Ryan shouted, his voice cracking. "Karen, help me!"
Karen Boyd threw her entire weight against the cart. Priya was behind them, shielding bed six with her own body, holding a pair of heavy surgical bone cutters like a makeshift weapon.
On the bed, Colonel Marcus Vance was trying to pull himself upright, his surgical incision burning with agonizing pain.
"Move... kids..." Vance rasped, his face pale as chalk. "Get out of here... he’s here for me... let him take me..."
"Shut up, Colonel!" Priya yelled through tears. "You're our patient! Nobody dies on our shift!"
*BANG!*
A breaching shotgun round shattered the deadbolt. The steel doors burst inward, throwing Ryan and Karen across the floor.
The fourth mercenary stepped through the breach.
He was massive, wearing a heavy tactical blast suit and a full-face ballistic shield helmet. In his hands, he held an automatic shotgun loaded with heavy slug rounds.
He looked around the darkened ICU, his eyes settling on bed six.
"Target acquired," the mercenary muttered into his throat-mic, raising the weapon.
Priya stood her ground, trembling violently, raising the bone cutters in front of her. "Don't touch him!"
The man laughed—a low, metallic sound through his helmet filter.
"Out of the way, little girl."
He raised his armored arm to swat Priya aside.
Suddenly, the acoustic ceiling directly above him exploded downward in a cloud of dust and aluminum framing.
Elena Ward dropped from the maintenance shaft like an angel of death.
She did not land on the floor. She landed with both knees driving straight into the back of the mercenary's neck, forcing his head downward into the ceramic tile.
The mercenary roared in shock, his armored bulk absorbing the impact. He surged upward, tossing Elena off his back.
Elena rolled across the floor, coming up in a combat crouch between the gunman and the patients.
"Ward," the armored man grunted, bringing his shotgun to bear.
Elena didn't have her Benelli—she had dropped it down the elevator shaft to make the rapid climb up the service cables.
She was unarmed.
Except for what was around her.
"Ryan!" Elena shouted, her eyes locked on the mercenary. "OXYGEN VALVE! NOW!"
Dr. Cole, lying bruised on the floor, looked up. Right next to his hand was the master oxygen manifold for the ICU pod.
Ryan didn't hesitate. He grabbed the heavy brass wrench on the wall and pulled the master release valve with all his strength.
A hurricane of pure, pressurized medical oxygen screamed out of the wall pipes with an ear-splitting hiss.
The mercenary flinched, disoriented by the deafening acoustic roar of escaping high-pressure gas.
Elena moved instantly.
She grabbed a heavy, fully charged defibrillator paddle from the crash cart beside her. She set the energy selector to the maximum: *360 JOULES.*
She charged the capacitor. The high-pitched electronic whine cut through the hiss of oxygen.
*READY.*
Elena charged the armored mercenary.
The man swung his shotgun barrel toward her chest. Elena ducked under the swing, stepped into his personal space, and slammed the charged defibrillator paddle directly against the wet, sweat-soaked collar of his neck beneath his ballistic helmet.
She pressed the orange discharge button.
*CRACK-ZAP!*
Three hundred and sixty joules of raw electrical current surged through the man’s cervical spine.
The mercenary convulsed violently, his muscles seizing in an instant tetanic spasm. The shotgun flew from his paralyzed grip. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, smoke rising faintly from the contact point on his collar.
He collapsed to the floor like an oak tree cut down at the roots, unconscious before he even hit the linoleum.
The room fell into stunned, echoing silence, broken only by the fading hiss of oxygen and the ragged breathing of the exhausted nurses.
Elena stood over the fallen giant, the defibrillator paddle still smoking in her hand.
She turned around.
Priya was staring at her, her mouth open, tears drying on her cheeks.
Dr. Ryan Cole was sitting on the floor, holding his bruised ribs, looking at Elena with a mixture of reverence, awe, and disbelief.
Karen Boyd slowly got to her feet, adjusting her glasses with trembling fingers.
"Elena..." Karen whispered. "Is it... is it over?"
Elena carefully placed the defibrillator paddle back into its charging cradle on the crash cart.
She reached up, tucked a loose strand of chestnut-brown hair behind her ear, and checked her wristwatch.
"Shift ends in thirty minutes," Elena said quietly, her voice returning to its normal, calm, nursing cadence. "We need to clean up this debris and secure these patients before the morning shift arrives."
Ryan began to laugh—a ragged, hysterical, joyful laugh of pure relief. "Elena... you just took down an entire mercenary platoon with medical supplies, and you're worried about the morning shift?"
Elena looked at bed six.
Colonel Marcus Vance was looking back at her, his eyes shining with profound gratitude. He slowly raised his right hand to his brow, offering her a crisp, trembling military salute.
Elena stood tall, her posture immaculate, and returned the salute with quiet pride.
May you like
"Rest, Colonel," she said softly. "You're safe now."
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