Chapter 8 - The Abandoned Clinic
Sarah carried Lily through the shattered rear window of the abandoned St. Jude clinic. Dust motes danced in the moonlight that spilled through boarded windows, illuminating overturned gurneys, abandoned IV poles, and peeling paint.
Lily was barely conscious. Her skin felt like burning parchment, and her breathing had deteriorated into shallow, rattling gasps. "Mommy?" she murmured deliriously. "Mommy, the boots are too tight... make it stop..."
"Hang on, baby girl. Please hang on," Sarah begged, laying Lily onto a dusty counter in the former urgent care supply room.
Using an iron crowbar she found near the entrance, Sarah pried open a padlocked metal cabinet marked Hazardous / Emergency Biological Storage. Inside sat three dusty orange plastic cases. Her hands shook violently as she tore open the seals, searching through expired vials of epinephrine, lidocaine, and saline.
"Come on... come on..." she chanted under her breath.
At the bottom of the third crate, nestled in molded foam, was a single intact auto-injector of pralidoxime and atropine.
Sarah uncapped the safety needle. She pinched Lily's thigh muscle and drove the injector home until it clicked. Lily arched her back with a silent scream, her tiny fingers digging into the counter before slumping completely limp.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Sarah placed her ear to Lily's chest. For three agonizing seconds, there was nothing. Then, a ragged, deep gasp dragged air back into the child's lungs.
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Sarah let out a sob of relief, collapsing against the wall. That was when she heard the faint click of a revolver cocking behind her ear.
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