Chapter 3 - The Viral Threshold
The sudden pool of blood beneath Clara’s chair shattered the cold, calculated detachment of the driver. He scrambled inside his cab, slamming his door shut as if the harsh reality of a dying pregnant girl could be locked out with a pull of a handle. Arthur hammered his fists against the driver’s side window, his voice turning into a feral, guttural roar of pure terror and wrath.
"Open this door right now or I swear I will break every bone in your face!" Arthur screamed, his knuckles bloody and bruised against the tempered glass.
Inside the truck, the driver’s phone began vibrating violently, the notification sounds melding into a continuous digital drone. The live-stream counter had broken past the arbitrary one-million-share milestone in less than three minutes, catapulting the broadcast onto the trending page of every major social media platform in the country. Millions of viewers were now locked onto the feed, watching the horrific scene play out in real-time. Public outrage was instantaneous and overwhelming; local law enforcement dispatch centers were already being flooded with thousands of emergency calls reporting the extortion and medical crisis on Route 9.
Realizing he had crossed a dangerous legal line from cruel influencer stunt into federal felony territory, the driver unlocked the door and shoved it open, nearly knocking Arthur backward into the dust.
"Get her in the truck bed, move, move!" the driver barked, his voice losing its arrogant edge and turning shrill with panic. "If she dies in my cab, I’m ruined!"
Arthur didn’t waste a single breath arguing. He rushed to Clara, gently scooping her light, trembling body into his arms. Her head lolled back against his shoulder, her breathing dangerously shallow and erratic. With a final burst of adrenaline, Arthur lifted her into the metal bed of the red pickup truck, climbing in right behind her to cradle her head in his lap. The driver slammed his foot on the accelerator, the rear tires spinning furiously against the dirt before gripping the road and launching the vehicle forward at a reckless, stomach-churning speed.
The wind whipped fiercely around them as the truck raced down the winding rural highway, bouncing violently over potholes and loose gravel. Clara gripped Arthur’s shirt with terrifyingly weak fingers, her lips brushing against his ear to whisper something faint and devastating.
"Dad... tell the baby... I love them..." Clara’s eyes fluttered shut, her grip going completely limp in Arthur’s hands.
Arthur screamed her name over the roar of the engine, but she didn’t respond. Up front, the driver glanced frantically in his rearview mirror, his face draining of all color.
"We’re still twenty minutes away from the county hospital!" the driver yelled over the wind. "She’s not going to make it!"
May you like
Arthur looked down at his unconscious daughter, horrified to see that she had stopped breathing entirely.
---
