Chapter 1: The start of the whole thing
There are times when you wish you were in a random cheese-induced nightmare, Dr Timothy Reynolds was inside a deadbolted supplies closet.
The metallic smell of blood—his own, he realized, from a graze on his forearm—mixed with the sharp citrus of hospital-grade cleaner. A fumbling scrape at the door handle, then a muffled curse from the other side of the thin metal door. Tim held his breath, his back pressed against cold shelves of sterile gauze and saline bags. The silence that followed was worse than the noise. Then, with a soft, sinister whisper, the tip of a blood-smeared hunting knife slid through the narrow gap between the door and the floor, probing for the bolt.
The blade scraped against the metal, a sound that went straight into Tim’s teeth. He flinched, biting back a cry as the knife tip found the bolt and tapped it, once, twice, testing. With a brutal twist, the blade jerked upwards. The deadbolt shrieked as it was forced back. The door swung inward, flooding the closet with the hallway's fluorescent light and the coppery stench of the massacre.
The figure filled the doorway, backlit by the emergency lights, a smudged silhouette in blood-soaked scrubs. He stepped in, the knife held low and loose in his grip, his breathing a wet, rhythmic rasp. "Found you," he whispered, the words bubbling slightly as he grinned, showing teeth stained pink. With terrifying speed, he dropped the knife and his hands, thick and strong, closed around Tim’s throat, slamming his head back against the metal shelves with a crack that echoed in the small space. Tim’s vision starred, his own hands clawing uselessly at the iron grip cutting off his air, as the man leaned in, his breath hot and sour against Tim’s ear.
The pressure vanished as a deafening crack split the air, and the attacker’s head snapped sideways, a fine mist of blood and other matter spraying across Tim’s face. The man crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut, revealing Addie standing in the doorway, her service weapon held in a steady, two-handed grip, her intense green eyes wide and fixed on Tim. “Tim?” she breathed, the word barely audible over the ringing in his ears, her professional composure cracking for a single, raw second. He slid down the shelves, gasping, the taste of copper and gunpowder thick on his tongue, as she quickly stepped over the body, her focus already shifting to the hallway behind her. “We have to move now,” she said, her voice low and urgent, grabbing his arm to haul him up, her touch the only solid, sane thing in the world.
Her fingers dug into his bicep, her grip fierce as she pulled him into the chaos of the hallway, a landscape of overturned crash carts and dark, spreading stains. "Stay with me, Tim, just move your feet," she commanded, her voice slicing through the muffled ringing in his ears. He stumbled after her, his legs like water, the image of the knife-tip probing the bolt replaying behind his eyes. A wave of nausea, hot and sour, rose from his gut as the adrenaline began to recede, leaving a cold, hollow tremor in its place. The last thing he registered was the pressure of her hand and the fractured strobe of emergency lights before the world folded in on itself, and he blacked out.
The dead weight of him was immediate and absolute, a sudden, shocking anchor that almost wrenched her shoulder from its socket. “Christ, Tim,” she grunted, her boots scrambling for purchase on the slick linoleum as his limp arm slid from her grasp. She hooked her hands under his armpits, her muscles screaming in protest as she dragged him backward into an empty triage bay, his heels leaving twin trails through something she refused to identify. “You are a solid bastard, you know that?” she hissed, the words a strained puff of air between clenched teeth as she finally collapsed with him behind a curtained cot, her heart hammering against her ribs. The sound of running footsteps, too heavy and frantic to be friendly, echoed past their hiding spot.
The footsteps slowed—then stopped. Addie froze, her breath shallow, one hand pressed over Tim’s mouth to stifle any sound. A shadow stretched across the curtain, distorted by the flimsy fabric, before a gloved hand yanked it aside.
The second attacker lunged before Addie could raise her gun, the blade slashing toward her throat. She twisted, but not fast enough—steel bit deep into her shoulder, blood blooming hot and slick down her sleeve as she crashed backward into a tray of instruments.
Tim’s vision swam into focus just as the man pinned Addie, his knife flashing toward her ribs—but his body wouldn’t fucking move, limbs numb and useless as a scream tore ragged from his throat. Addie kicked up, her heel connecting with the man’s jaw, sending him reeling long enough for her to grab the overturned triage bed and slam it down onto him, the metal frame cracking against his skull with a wet, final thud.
She collapsed beside Tim, her face gray with pain, blood soaking through her shirt as she fumbled for her radio.
"Officer down—" she rasped, before her eyes rolled back and she slumped against him, her breath shallow and too fast.
Tim regained consciousness to the wet, copper smell of Addie’s blood soaking into his scrubs and the alarming lightness of her body slumped against his chest. “Addie?” he croaked, his throat raw, his hands moving on instinct to the hot, pulsing wound at her shoulder, applying pressure as his medical brain kicked in through the fog of panic. “Hey, stay with me, stay with me,” he muttered, his fingers slipping in the blood as he tore a strip from his own scrub top with his teeth, his movements frantic and precise. He could hear shouting and distant sirens, but in the curtained-off bay, there was only her shallow, hitched breathing and the slick sound of his own hands trying to stem the red tide leaking from her. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his face close to hers, the words a vow and a prayer, just as her eyes fluttered open, glazed with pain but fiercely alert, and her bloody hand came up to clutch the front of his shirt.
The makeshift bandage was already saturated, her pulse thready under his fingertips. “Fuck this,” he snarled, tearing open a sealed suture kit from a fallen tray with his teeth. His hands, slick with her blood, worked with a brutal, focused grace, clamping the deepest bleeders before stitching the torn flesh shut in ragged, efficient pulls. A ragged gasp escaped her lips, her eyes locking on his with a shock of pure, unguarded dependency as the flow finally slowed. He saved her, his forehead dropping against hers, their shared breath a desperate, living thing in the sudden silence.
He saved her, his forehead dropping against hers, their shared breath a desperate, living thing in the sudden silence.
It shattered a second later.
GUNSHOTS ECHO CLOSER—two sharp, flat cracks that popped the air right outside the curtain, followed by the sound of shattering glass and a scream that was abruptly cut short. “They’re clearing rooms,” Addie gasped, her voice thick with pain, her blood-slick hand fumbling for her fallen weapon. “We can’t stay here.” Tim hauled her up, ignoring the white-hot protest from his own body, and they stumbled toward the rear service exit, a new wave of pure, animal fear drowning out everything else.
He shouldered through the exit door into the choking darkness of a loading bay, his arms locked around Addie’s waist as her legs buckled. A third figure, silhouetted against the emergency glow of an EXIT sign, lunged from behind a pallet of supplies, a length of pipe whipping toward Tim’s head. Tim didn’t think, he reacted, dropping low and driving his shoulder into the man’s gut, hearing the whoosh of stolen breath as they crashed onto the concrete. His fingers found the man’s wrist, slamming it down again and again until the pipe clattered away, then he landed a final, brutal punch that went soft and wet. Cradling Addie’s limp form against the stained wall, he ripped open a fresh trauma dressing from a wall-mounted kit and staunched her wound, his own hands trembling not from fear, but from the furious, primal certainty that he would not let her die.
The only refuge was a janitor’s closet, its door slightly ajar, and Tim half-carried, half-dragged Addie inside, the dark swallowing them whole amidst the stench of bleach and mildew. He barricaded the door with a mop bucket, the plastic screeching against the tile, before they slid down the wall onto the cold, dirty floor, their bodies pressed together from shoulder to thigh, breathing in ragged, synchronized gasps. In the absolute blackness, the terror began to mutate, the heat of their survival instinct curling into something else entirely, a raw, needing electricity that arced between their heaving chests. Her hand found his face in the dark, a clumsy, searching touch, and then her mouth was on his, not soft or questioning but a hard, desperate claim, tasting of blood and salt and shared fury. He kissed her back with a guttural sound, his hands already tearing at the ruined fabric of her clothes, her teeth sinking into his lower lip as she fumbled with his belt, every frantic movement screaming I am here, you are alive, we are not dead yet.
He kissed her back with a guttural sound, his hands already tearing at the ruined fabric of her clothes, her teeth sinking into his lower lip as she fumbled with his belt, every frantic movement screaming I am here, you are alive, we are not dead yet. The door shook on its hinges as a heavy body slammed against it, the mop bucket skidding sideways with a shriek of plastic on tile. Addie broke the kiss, a savage curse tearing from her throat, and launched herself upward on pure, furious instinct, driving her boot heel into the center of the door just as it burst inward. The solid impact of her kick met the attacker’s face with a wet crack of cartilage, and he stumbled back into the hallway, howling. “Now, Tim, go!” she yelled, blood dripping from her clenched fist as she grabbed his arm and shoved him into the corridor’s chaotic light.
They ran together, a four-limbed creature of shared panic, Tim’s arm a vice around her waist as her boots slapped the bloody linoleum. He could feel the wet heat of her reopened wound seeping through his shirt, a grim clock ticking against his skin. “Stairwell—left!” she choked out, her breath coming in ragged gasps that matched his own, and they swung around the corner, crashing through the fire door into the echoing concrete hollow. The door slammed shut behind them, muffling the chaos, leaving only the sound of their desperate panting and the distant, fading scream of sirens from the world outside. He pressed her against the cold wall, his forehead resting on hers, and for a single, suspended second they just existed in the shock of still being alive.
“We have to keep moving,” she breathed against his mouth, the words barely audible, and then they were running again, her hand clenched in his, their footsteps echoing too loud in the concrete stairwell. The door to the parking level burst open under her shoulder and cold night air hit them like a slap, the flashing red and blue lights of the cordon a surreal, beautiful beacon fifty yards away. “Almost there,” she panted, her voice tight with pain, shoving him forward with a last burst of desperate strength. He stumbled ahead, the shouts of officers reaching his ears, but when he turned to grab her, to pull her the final steps, his hand closed on empty air. Addie was on her knees ten feet back, one hand pressed to her stomach where a dark stain was rapidly spreading, her face pale as bone in the strobing lights.
The dark stain on her stomach wasn’t just spreading; it was blooming, a vicious rose soaking through the grey fabric of her shirt. “Addie!” Tim screamed, his voice raw, but the word was swallowed by the sudden thunder of boots and the deafening, mechanical roar of a breaching charge from the hospital’s main entrance. He lunged for her just as a flood of black-clad figures poured into the parking lot, rifles raised, laser sights painting red dots that swam across the concrete and over Addie’s crumpled form. “HOLD YOUR FIRE! CIVILIANS!” Tim bellowed, throwing his body over hers, his own hands already ripping at her shirt to find the wound as a SWAT officer slammed a knee into the asphalt beside them, his shouted commands to his team a meaningless buzz in Tim’s ears. All he could see was the slick, dark well of blood under his palms, and all he could hear was Addie’s shallow, sucking breath.
All he could see was the slick, dark well of blood under his palms, and all he could hear was Addie’s shallow, sucking breath. The SWAT officer holstered his rifle, his eyes sharp behind his visor. “You carry her legs,” he barked at Tim, sliding his own hands under Addie’s shoulders. His partner pivoted, rifle stock pressed to his shoulder, scanning the smoky darkness behind them as they lifted. The officer didn’t wait, already moving toward the distant flashing lights with Addie’s dead weight between them, Tim’s world narrowing to the jarring rhythm of their sprint and the terrifying chill of her skin against his wrists.