Chapter 9 - The Final Reckoning
Z
"NO!" I screamed.
Without thinking, I threw my weight across the bed, grabbing the woman's wrist just as the needle was inches away from Wade’s primary IV port. The sharp tip scraped against my scrub top, tearing the fabric.
"Get off me, nurse!" the woman snarled, swinging her free elbow back and catching me hard across the jaw.
Pain exploded in my head, and I crashed against the bedside table, sending metal trays and blood pressure cuffs clattering across the floor.
Despite his agonizing surgical wounds, Wade let out a primal, guttural roar. He reached up with his uninjured arm, grabbed the woman by the lapel of her lab coat, and slammed her violently against the heavy steel medical tower beside the bed.
The syringe flew out of her hand, shattering against the tile floor, spilling a clear, deadly liquid—concentrated potassium chloride—across the tiles.
The door burst open, and the two federal marshals rushed in with guns drawn. "DON'T MOVE! HANDS IN THE AIR!"
The woman, realizing she was trapped, dropped to her knees, raising her hands in surrender. The marshals tackled her to the ground, slamming handcuffs onto her wrists and dragging her out into the hallway, screaming curses at Wade.
I pushed myself up from the floor, holding my bruised jaw, gasping for breath.
Wade was slumping back against his pillows, his face ghastly pale, fresh red blood seeping rapidly through the white surgical dressings wrapped around his abdomen. The monitors were screaming—his heart rate spiking past 160 beats per minute.
"Sarah..." Wade choked out, clutching his side, his breath coming in short, agonizing gasps. "Sarah..."
"Code Red! ICU Room 402!" I yelled into the hallway, scrambling back to his side. "I need a crash cart and Dr. Harrison in here NOW! He’s tearing his internal stitches!"
Medical staff swarmed the room within seconds. Alarm bells chimed across the unit as nurses pushed me back, tearing open Wade’s hospital gown to apply pressure to the burst surgical wound.
"Get her out of here!" Dr. Harrison ordered as he rushed in, grabbing a pair of sterile gloves. "We have to take him back to surgery right now! He’s tearing the hepatic repair!"
"Wade!" I cried out as they unlocked the wheels of his bed and began rolling him frantically down the hallway toward the surgical suite.
Wade’s eyes stayed fixed on me as the bed moved away. Through the mask over his face, he forced out three words that I could barely hear over the chaos of the alarms:
"Thank... you... Sarah..."
The heavy double doors of the surgical unit slammed shut, locking me out in the cold, silent hallway once again.
I collapsed into a vinyl chair, burying my face in my blood-stained hands, and prayed harder than I had ever prayed in my entire life. I prayed not for a miracle of medicine, but for a man who had sacrificed every piece of his broken soul to save a child he didn't owe anything to.
Hours dragged into eternity. The sun began to creep over the horizon, painting the sky in soft shades of orange and pink—the same morning light that used to fill room nine in the NICU.
Around 7:00 AM, the surgical doors finally opened.
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Dr. Harrison walked out slowly. He pulled off his surgical cap, his hair soaked with sweat, his eyes heavy with absolute exhaustion. He walked over to where I was sitting and stopped in front of me.
I held my breath, unable to speak, waiting for the blow.
