Chapter 7 - Blood Ties and Broken Alleys
The metal archive box collided heavily with Richard Vance’s chest, sending the corporate titan crashing backward into a towering row of steel shelves.
Files, folders, and dust rained down in a chaotic avalanche.
“Get her!” Richard choked out, coughing as he struggled to right himself from the floor, his face flushed with sudden, furious rage.
The two armed guards abandoned their post by the aisle entrance, charging toward Sarah just as she dove beneath the low-hanging crossbeam of the shelving unit.
Her heels clattered against the concrete floor as she scrambled on hands and knees down the adjacent aisle, heading straight for the emergency exit where the commotion had originated.
Heavy boots pounded the floor right behind her.
“Sarah! This way!” a familiar, breathless voice yelled from the shadows near the basement stairs.
It was Mark.
Her brother stood in the doorway of the utility vestibule, holding a heavy iron pipe he had ripped off a loose wall mount.
As the first guard rounded the corner, Mark swung the pipe with all his might, catching the man squarely across his tactical vest and sending him crashing into a stack of empty storage crates.
The second guard drew a sidearm, leveling it directly at Mark.
Sarah didn’t hesitate.
She lunged forward, grabbing a heavy fire extinguisher off the wall bracket and hurling it directly at the guard's face.
The metal cylinder clipped his shoulder, knocking his aim wide just as he pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The deafening crack of the gunshot echoed off the concrete walls, shattering a fluorescent bulb overhead and raining glass shards down upon them.
“Run!” Mark grabbed Sarah by the arm, dragging her through the steel service door and out into the cool, damp alleyway behind the building.
Rain had begun to fall, slicking the pavement and turning the shadows into an inky labyrinth.
They sprinted through the maze of commercial dumpsters and loading docks, their lungs burning as the crisp midnight air filled their throats.
Behind them, shouts faded as Richard’s guards struggled to navigate the dark, tangled service corridors.
They reached Mark’s rented sedan parked illegally beside a curbside hydrant.
Mark fumbled for the keys, unlocking the doors with a frantic beep, and shoved Sarah into the passenger seat before diving into the driver's side and slamming the door shut.
He jammed the key into the ignition, the engine roaring to life with a desperate whine.
As Mark peeled away from the curb, tires screeching against the wet asphalt, Sarah looked down at her lap.
Clutched tightly in her trembling fingers was the single, crumpled page she had managed to rip from the intake log before Richard caught her.
Patient B: Unidentified Male Minor, Age 7.
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And scrawled in the margin beside the entry was a handwritten note in David’s own unmistakable handwriting:
They took him to Sector 4. If Emma remembers, she holds the key.
