Chapter 6 - The Garage of Horrors
Twenty minutes later, the heavy hum of an industrial hydraulic lift vibrated through the floorboards of the bedroom.
Daniel returned wearing black tactical trousers and a dark windbreaker, carrying a specialized folding aluminum medical gurney.
He rolled me onto the stretcher with practiced, professional ease, strapping heavy nylon belts across my chest, hips, and knees.
I kept my eyes closed, breathing in slow, shallow rhythms, letting my jaw hang slack to mimic deep, comatose sedation.
He pushed the gurney into the service elevator at the end of the hall, descending directly into the subterranean four-car garage.
The air down here was cold, smelling of concrete dust, gasoline, and ozone from battery chargers.
Waiting in the center of the garage was an unmarked, high-roof Mercedes Sprinter van painted matte black.
The rear double doors were swung wide open, revealing a fully equipped mobile intensive care setup inside:
Oxygen tanks, digital cardiac monitors, intravenous infusion pumps, and an overhead surgical lighting boom.
Two men stepped out of the front cab, both dressed in sterile surgical scrubs and disposable caps, wearing latex gloves.
The taller man had a thick Eastern European accent, holding a pre-filled glass syringe with a long, gleaming needle.
"Is she completely paralyzed, Vance?" the doctor asked, shining a small penlight directly into my closed eyes.
"We cannot have involuntary diaphragmatic spasms during the intubation sequence."
"She drank four hundred milligrams of Dexmedetomidine twenty-five minutes ago, Dr. Markov," Daniel replied impatiently.
"She won't twitch if you cut her arm off. Get the peripheral line started so we can hook up the heparin drip."
The doctor lifted my left arm, wiping my forearm with a freezing alcohol pad that made every nerve in my skin scream with alarm.
He brought the heavy needle down, preparing to pierce my vein with a massive dose of blood thinners to prep my organs for excision.
I knew that if that chemical entered my bloodstream, my charade would end in actual death within minutes.
Where are you, Miller? I screamed silently in my mind, my fingernails digging into my palms beneath the blankets.
Move now, or I'm dead!
As the cold steel tip of the needle touched my skin, the concrete garage erupted in a storm of shattering glass and blinding white fire.
The heavy overhead garage doors were obliterated inward by hydraulic battering rams mounted on two armored SWAT vehicles.
Flashbang grenades detonated with deafening, ear-shattering concussions, turning the subterranean room into a nightmare of smoke and thunder.
"STATE POLICE! NOBODY MOVE! DROP THE WEAPON! GET ON THE GROUND!"
Dozens of high-intensity laser sights sliced through the billowing gray smoke, painting Daniel and the two surgeons in vibrant, deadly red dots.
May you like
Dr. Markov shrieked, dropping the glass syringe onto the concrete where it shattered into a hundred harmless pieces.
Daniel spun around, his hand instinctively diving toward his waistband for a concealed firearm.
