Chapter 9 - The Breaking Point
Before Harold could pull the trigger, a shrill, deafening blast of electromagnetic feedback ripped through the small concrete room.
Harold screamed, clutching his left ear in agony.
Mike had used his remaining strength to slam his hand against the emergency high-voltage release button on the medical console beside his bed, sending a massive power surge through the UHF transmitter looped around his neck. The feedback loop transmitted directly into the bone-conduction receiver welded to Harold’s ear canal, rupturing his eardrum with a high-decibel acoustic shockwave.
Harold dropped to one knee, disoriented, blood trickling from his ear, his gun wavering.
I didn't hesitate.
I charged forward with the crowbar and swung it with all the fury of a mother and a betrayed wife.
The steel bar connected with Harold’s right wrist with a sickening crunch. The gun flew across the floor, sliding under a row of medical cabinets.
Harold roared in pain, tackling me around the waist and driving me into the concrete floor. Even injured, he was heavier and stronger than me. His hands wrapped around my throat, squeezing with murderous force.
“You... stupid... bitch!” he snarled, his face twisted in a mask of rage and blood.
My vision began to darken around the edges. I clawed at his eyes, kicking violently, but his grip was iron.
Suddenly, a glass chemical bottle smashed against the side of Harold’s head, shattering into a spray of clear liquid and jagged shards.
Mike had dragged himself off the bed, pulling his IV pole down with him, and slammed a heavy bottle of sterile saline across Harold’s skull.
Harold staggered sideways, stunned.
Air rushed back into my burning lungs. I rolled over, grabbed the crowbar from the floor, and swung it with everything I had left, striking Harold across his collarbone.
Harold collapsed against the wall, groaning, his eyes rolling back as unconsciousness took him.
Gasped for breath, I crawled toward Mike, who had collapsed onto the floor, his breathing ragged but his eyes wide and conscious.
I scrambled to the wall console and saw the emergency panic switch that bypassed the building's jamming field to broadcast outward. I slammed the red lever down, grabbed the microphone from Mike’s neck, and shouted into the receiver:
“Mayday! Mayday! This is an emergency broadcast from the Harold Vance estate pump-house! Harold Vance has kidnapped Mike Sterling! Send the police! Send ambulances now!”
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In the distance, through the concrete vents, the distant wail of emergency sirens began to cut through the thunder. Dr. Ross had kept his promise; he had gone to the authorities.
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