Chapter 6 - Shards of Glass and the Anatomy of Violence
The explosion of frosted glass sent a glittering shower of jagged fragments across the sterile linoleum floor of Trauma Bay 2.
Dr. Althaus shrieked, dropping his needle holder with a sharp metallic clatter that echoed like a pistol shot in the enclosed space.
“Get down!” Clara yelled, lunging forward to shove the terrified surgeon’s head beneath the stainless-steel rim of the surgical table before a stray round could find its mark.
Dominic did not duck.
He moved with the cold, frictionless efficiency of a predator striking in the dark.
The black barrel of a suppressed rifle was still poking through the shattered hole in the door, sweeping blindly toward the operating table where Toby lay gasping for breath.
Dominic raised his Beretta with both hands, his arms locked straight, and fired twice through the remaining wood of the door panel.
The muffled thud-thud of the silenced rounds was instantly followed by a muffled gasp from the hallway, a heavy thud of tactical gear hitting the floor, and the clatter of a sliding weapon.
“Vance!” Dominic shouted, his voice dropping into an authoritative baritone that commanded absolute obedience.
“Clear the threshold!”
“Clear!” Vance’s voice barked back from the hallway, accompanied by the wet sound of someone being dragged across the floor.
“One Rinaldi scout down, boss. The other two are running back toward the east stairwell like whipped dogs.”
Dominic lowered his weapon just an inch, his eyes still fixed on the jagged hole in the door.
“Don’t chase them. Secure the perimeter. If a stray dog tries to piss on the door handle, put a hole in it.”
“Copy that.”
Silence descended upon the trauma bay once more, save for the frantic, electronic chirping of the heart monitor and Toby’s wet, rattling breaths.
Clara climbed back to her feet, wiping a smear of blood from her cheek with the back of her gloved hand.
Her breathing was elevated, but her eyes were entirely clear—focused, cold, and utterly lacking the panic that had paralyzed Dr. Althaus.
Althaus was still cowering beneath the table, his silver hair covered in tiny glass shards, his whole body trembling like a wet cat in a thunderstorm.
“Get up, Doctor,” Clara said, her voice dropping into a tone of pure, unadulterated contempt.
“The hole in the door isn’t going to stitch the boy’s bowel back together. If you don’t get your hands back inside this cavity in the next ten seconds, he’s going into septic shock right here on the floor.”
Althaus scrambled out from beneath the table, his face pale, his eyes wide with a mixture of professional shame and mortal terror.
He grabbed a fresh pair of sterile gloves from the wall dispenser, ripped them onto his trembling hands, and practically threw himself back over the table.
“Suction,” Althaus stammered, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose directly onto the sterile drape.
Clara grabbed the suction tubing and guided it expertly into the lower abdomen, clearing the dark pools of blood that threatened to obscure the surgical field.
Dominic stepped closer, his heavy wool coat stained with gore, his hands still bearing the faint red tint of the blood he had helped pump through the IV lines.
He looked down at his brother.
Toby’s face was still the color of wet cement, but the frantic spike in his heart rate was beginning to level out into a steadier, albeit dangerously slow, rhythm.
“Is he going to make it?” Dominic asked, his voice losing its iron edge, replaced by something hollow and fragile.
“The repair is holding,” Althaus muttered, his fingers moving with frantic speed as he knotted the final sutures along the intestinal wall.
“If the infection doesn’t spread to his bloodstream over the next twelve hours, he might live. But he needs a proper intensive care unit. He needs ventilators, specialized dialysis, and a sterile room. Not a charity ward with broken windows.”
“There are no other hospitals available tonight,” Clara said, her voice flat.
“Every major trauma center in the downtown district is locked down because of the gang war on the docks. If we move him now, the shock will finish him before the ambulance hits the corner.”
Dominic looked at Clara, his dark eyes searching her face for any sign of doubt, any flicker of weakness.
He found none.
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She stood before him like an unyielding pillar of salt and iron, a woman who had seen the worst the world had to offer and had simply decided to outlast it.
“Then he stays here,” Dominic said, his voice final.
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