Chapter 5 - Shadows in the Hallway
Clara grabbed the edge of a stainless-steel examination table, her knuckles whitening as the crash echoed again through the hollow corridors of the abandoned clinic. Dr. Aris Thorne spun around, drawing a heavy iron fireplace poker from a rusted stand near the reception desk. His face had gone completely rigid, all trace of academic detachment replaced by a primal, defensive survival instinct.
"Stay behind me," Thorne hissed, keeping his voice to a low, ragged whisper. "They tracked us faster than I calculated."
"Who? Who is tracking us?" Clara asked, her breath catching in her throat as a wave of burning pain radiated outward from her abdomen. The purple veins on her arm were now visible through the thin fabric of her maroon t-shirt sleeve, writhing beneath her skin like trapped insects.
"The corporation that funded the water trial," Thorne replied without looking back, his eyes fixed on the dark, narrow hallway leading to the back rooms. "Bio-Genics Corporation. To them, you aren't a patient, Clara. You’re a defective prototype that needs to be permanently recalled before the public finds out what their synthetic microbes actually do to human DNA."
A heavy boot heel crunched on broken glass somewhere down the dark corridor. Then came the unmistakable sound of a suppressed firearm being cocked—a sharp, mechanical click that chilled Clara to the bone. She wanted to run, to scream, to wake up from this waking nightmare, but her legs felt anchored to the linoleum floor by sheer terror and advancing physical decay.
"We need to get out the back," Clara whispered, tears finally spilling over her lashes and cutting tracks through the dust on her cheeks.
"The back exit was welded shut from the outside years ago," Thorne muttered, taking a slow, calculated step toward the hallway entrance. "Our only chance is the basement storm cellar. Move."
As they crept toward the back corner of the room, a flashlight beam suddenly sliced through the darkness of the hallway, painting the sterile walls in a blinding white glare. A muffled voice echoed from the shadows, demanding an immediate halt.
"Drop the weapon and step into the light! Federal quarantine protocol!" the voice barked.
May you like
Thorne cursed under his breath, raising the iron poker as heavy footsteps began charging directly toward them down the hall.
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