Chapter 15 - Flames in the Purgatory and the Oath That Cannot Be Broken
A smell of acrid, thick black smoke began to seep down the ventilation shafts of St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital, curling around the edges of the heavy wooden door of the isolation room like ghostly fingers.
Clara smelled it first.
She snapped her head up from Toby’s bedside, her nostrils flaring as the unmistakable scent of burning rubber and scorched drywall hit the back of her throat.
“They’re setting fires in the lobby,” she whispered, her eyes widening with sudden, visceral horror.
Dr. Althaus let out a low, whimpering moan, sliding down the wall until he was sitting on the floor in a fetal position.
“We’re trapped! We’re going to burn alive! There’s no way out through the west wing!”
Clara ignored him.
She walked swiftly to the small, high-set window that looked out onto the alleyway behind the hospital.
She grabbed a heavy metal IV pole from beside the bed, hooked the curved end through the latch of the window, and threw her entire weight against it.
With a sharp crack of splintering old wood and rusted iron hinges, the window gave way, swinging outward into the damp night air and letting in a rush of cold winter wind that temporarily beat back the creeping smoke.
“Hayes!”
The voice came from the hallway, muffled through the heavy oak door.
Clara froze.
She listened intently as three heavy knocks rapped against the wood—tap, tap-tap, tap.
Then the voice spoke again, low and steady.
“Baltimore,” Dominic said through the door.
“Fourth and Mercer. The basement with no windows.”
Without a second thought, Clara threw the deadbolt, flipped the safety latch, and yanked the heavy door open.
Dominic stood in the hallway, his face smeared with soot and a thin streak of blood across his cheekbone, his Beretta still smoking in his right hand.
Behind him, the corridor was filling with a thick, gray haze of smoke, the distant roar of flames crackling from the direction of the main lobby.
“The lobby is fully engulfed,” Dominic said quickly, his dark eyes locking onto hers with absolute, unyielding intensity.
“We have five minutes before the smoke vents down this hallway. We have to move Toby now.”
“We can’t move him without the ventilator!” Clara protested, pointing to the buzzing machine hooked up to the boy’s bed.
“He’s stable enough for manual bagging for ten minutes,” Dominic said, stepping past her into the room and immediately grabbing the rubber ambu-bag from the side table, squeezing it rhythmically to force air into Toby’s lungs.
“Vance has a van waiting at the bottom of the fire escape in the alley. I’ll carry Toby. You lead the way.”
Clara looked at Dr. Althaus, who was still huddled on the floor in a state of catatonic terror.
“Are you coming, Doctor?” she demanded.
Althaus shook his head frantically, burying his face in his hands.
“I’m staying! I’m staying right here! The firemen will find me! They’ll rescue me!”
“If you stay here, you’ll be charcoal in twenty minutes,” Clara said coldly.
She didn’t wait for his answer.
She grabbed a heavy wool blanket from the chair, wrapped it securely around Toby’s body to protect him from the cold night air, and motioned for Dominic to lift the boy off the mattress.
Dominic scooped Toby into his arms with surprising, practiced gentleness—the same man who had killed two men in the hallway ten minutes prior now carrying his wounded brother like a fragile piece of glass.
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“Lead on, Hayes,” Dominic said, his asphalt-colored eyes shining with a fierce, burning light in the dim, smoke-filled room.
Clara turned toward the shattered window, climbed up onto the metal stool, and pushed herself out into the cold night air, stepping onto the rusted metal grating of the fire escape that led down into the dark, rain-slicked alleyway below—ready to face whatever waited for them in the shadows of the city.
