Chapter 9 - The Recovery of Camden Dennis
The third floor was deathly quiet. I found Room 304 at the very end of the corridor.
I swiped the keycard, and the heavy electronic lock clicked open.
The room was small, painted a dull gray, with a single window covered in reinforced steel mesh. On the bed lay a frail, thin man, his face pale and hollow, hooked up to an IV drip.
"Dad?" I whispered, my voice breaking.
I rushed to the bedside. It was him. He had aged ten years in the three years I had been away. His hair was completely white, and his breathing was shallow and slow.
"Dad, wake up. It's me. It's Finnley."
I shook his shoulder gently. His eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. He stared at me, his lips parting, but only a dry rasp escaped.
"Finn... ley?" he whispered, his eyes struggling to focus. "Am I... dreaming?"
"No, Dad. You're not dreaming. I'm here. We're going home."
I immediately ripped the IV line from his arm, stopping the flow of the sedatives. I grabbed his worn clothes from the metal locker in the corner and helped him sit up. He was incredibly weak, his legs trembling as I pulled him to his feet.
"They... they told me you were dead," he whispered, a tear rolling down his hollow cheek. "Reagan... she said you died in prison."
"They lied about everything, Dad," I said, putting his arm over my shoulder and lifting his weight. "But we're going to make them pay."
Suddenly, the red emergency lights in the hallway began to flash, accompanied by a loud, rhythmic siren.
“Security breach on Sector 3. All units lock down the exits.”
The nurse had called it in.
"Can you walk, Dad?" I asked, my adrenaline surging.
May you like
"I... I will walk," he said, a sudden spark of his old strength returning to his eyes. "For you, son. I'll walk."
We hobbled out of the room, heading toward the emergency exit stairs at the end of the hall.
