‘Sam, Mac was a great soldier. But we all know the price we pay for this job. He died in the fight against oppression. The war on terror has a number of casualties, believe me, I’ve tried my best to lower that number.’ Theo shook his head solemnly. ‘But Mac died in the heat of battle. Don’t take that away from him. And for the love of God, Sam, don’t carry this burden with you. You did everything you could.’
Sam sighed.
Theo was right. It annoyed him how often he had to admit that. With one final look towards the wasteland before them, Sam offered a silent apology to Mac, promising himself that he would do everything to honour the man’s memory. Later that afternoon, he once again relayed the story to Wallace, who begrudgingly submitted Mac’s death record into the system, declaring the young soldier KIA.
Sam had done everything he could.
But the guilt of the young man’s death was something he knew he would never be able to wash away.
* * *
With each step of his boot echoing through the empty reception, Sam felt the unnerving emptiness of the building. Usually, the hospital would have been a hive of activity, but under the severe threat of an explosion, it presented Sam with a dark and ghostly atmosphere.
Like the world had ended and he was walking through its remains.
Rows upon rows of plastic seats sat empty, the coffee shop abandoned. There was nobody stationed behind the reception desk and Sam approached it, knowing his every move was being monitored from the outside. Sam climbed over the desk, dropping behind to the staff only area. His right hand was throbbing, and he checked the bandage which has stained red with blood.
Etheridge’s handiwork wasn’t holding.
Sam searched the drawers and found another roll of bandages and wrapped another layer around his wounded hand. It would do for now.
Taped to the desk was an itinerary of the numerous departments and wards which were dotted throughout the incredible medical facility and Sam ran through them. Handily, they were listed by floor and then in alphabetical order and it didn’t take long for Sam to find the extension number. With over twenty patients on the ward under siege, the police had not disengaged the power to the building and Sam lifted the phone and welcomed the dial tone.
He tapped in the four digits and the phone began to ring.
* * *
The longer the wait, the harder it was for Mac to keep his mind straight. For a decade, he’d dreamt of this moment.
There was never a plan in place on how he would get to this point, but the thought of killing Sam, of putting him through his own hell, was what had fuelled his survival.
Waiting for them to present Sam to him was intolerable, and Mac felt like a petulant kid who couldn’t wait for Christmas Eve to be over.
With his thumb pressed firmly on the trigger, he paced the foyer of the Teenage and Young Adult ward, fighting to keep control. Lucy still sat on the first chair of a row of five, and beyond her, nurses pottered between rooms, doing their best to keep the terrified patients calm.
The shrill ring of the phone cut through the silent tension like a knife and Mac raised his only eyebrow. Holding up the trigger as a warning for no one to do anything stupid, he rounded the desk and lifted the receiver.
‘Hello.’
Mac froze.
Sam’s voice drilled into his ear and an avalanche of memories flooded back. Their time together in the army camps, the lukewarm beer while hiking through rough terrain.
A genuine friendship.
But Mac gritted his teeth, refusing to offer the man a greeting. Beyond the desk, Mac noticed Lucy’s eyes light up in a misguided sense of hope. With no response forthcoming, Sam continued.
‘Mac? Is it really you?’
Again, nothing. Mac held his jaw tight, pulling his charred lips into a thin line.
‘Jesus, I thought you were dead. They told me you were dead. I’m downstairs in the reception, but if you want me to come up and we do this face to face, then you need to let everyone else go. Okay?’
Mac shuffled uncomfortably, his breathing loud enough to inform Sam he was listening.
‘Those kids are sick, Mac. They need to be treated somewhere safe. If you let everyone go, I promise you, I will come upstairs.’
Mac scoffed.
Sam had made promises before and Mac valued them as much as he valued the lives of all the captives under his instruction. But Mac knew that Sam had a sense of purpose, one that he’d once admired.
One that he’d desired himself.
When Wallace told Mac that he needed him to track Sam down six months ago, he’d warned Mac of Sam’s hero complex. That he would tear apart anything that stood in his way if it meant saving an innocent life.
This wasn’t a negotiation.
It was a necessary move to get what he wanted. With his grip tightening around the phone, Mac finally spoke.
‘Fine. But she stays. Then you have thirty seconds, or I will kill her.’
Mac slammed the phone down with a force that shattered its plastic coating. Lucy, having heard the ominous threat, looked hopefully towards the nurses, encouraging them to follow Mac’s instructions. He strode into the centre of the corridor, with the trigger and his pistol held out for all to see.
A visual warning that he wasn’t playing a game.
‘You are all free to leave. Get out now.’
Confusion spread around the ward and Mac sighed, then blasted another bullet into the ceiling, ripping through the cheap panels and causing a light fixture to drop, entangled in wires. A scream of terror accompanied it and Mac’s voice rose with his rage.
‘Everyone out. Now!’
With the reality of the situation hitting home, the nurses and doctors leapt into action, helping
