Deadlock

69

The hospital was chaotic. Cops, doctors, nurses and the walking wounded from the blast filled the waiting area. Chance had been handed a stack of forms then left to her own devices. No one gave her a second look.

She flagged down a passing nurse. ‘Is there a ladies’ room?’

‘Down there, honey,’ the nurse said, gesturing further down a corridor that led towards the treatment rooms.

Chance had dumped her backpack back at the scene. All she had now were the clothes she was standing in, and her knife. But that was hidden. Which was why she’d freaked out when the paramedic had tried to examine her.

She slipped into the relative cool of the ladies’ room and locked herself in one of the stalls. With the knife retrieved, she walked back out, using the pretext of getting cleaned up to wait at the sinks without arousing suspicion.

She didn’t have long to wait for what she needed. A harassed-looking resident ran towards a stall, firing a ‘Can’t even get the time to have a pee in this place’ before stepping inside.

With three quick steps, Chance was at the stall door before the woman could lock it.

‘What the-’

Chance pushed her back and held the knife to her throat. ‘One more word and you die. Nod if you understand me. Now, get undressed.’

The resident stripped out of her scrubs. Chance took off her own jeans and T-shirt and donned the scrubs. Then she slashed a strip from the jeans, and did the same with the T-shirt. She jammed a piece of T-shirt into the resident’s mouth and tied the young woman’s hands behind her back with the denim strip.

‘OK, turn round.’

The resident banged her shins against the toilet bowl as she did so, her cry of pain and then her screams muffled as Chance reached round and slashed her throat, making sure to slice the carotid artery.

One good thing about what she was wearing, Chance thought as she left the ladies’ room: no one was going to notice a little blood.