Chapter 5 - The Hunt for Clean Blood
The night was screaming with wind and rain as the heavy, bulletproof Cadillac Escalade tore through the rain-slicked streets of Chicago.
Inside the rear cabin, Clara sat beside Marco Valente. Sofia was lay across the middle bench seat, wrapped in heated blankets, monitored by a portable pulse oximeter Clara had brought from the ICU. The small screen glowed blue in the dark cabin, showing Sofia's oxygen saturation flickering dangerously at 88 percent.
"Hold on, Sofia," Clara whispered, pressing a oxygen mask gently over the small girl's nose and mouth. "Stay with me, sweetie."
Up front, Marco’s driver, a stone-faced man named Lev, was weaving through city traffic at eighty miles per hour, running red lights with disciplined precision.
"We're three blocks from Cook County Memorial, Boss," Lev reported, his eyes constantly checking the side mirrors. "No tails so far."
"Don't relax," Marco warned, leaning back against the leather seat, his hand resting on a heavy black handgun resting on his knee. "They know we left St. Jude. They know we need blood."
Suddenly, a loud, violent CRUNCH echoed through the vehicle as a grey delivery van pulled out from a side alley, slamming directly into the passenger side of the Escalade.
The heavy SUV shuddered, tires screeching against the wet asphalt as Lev fought for control of the steering wheel. Sofia cried out in shock, but Clara threw her body over the child, shielding her small frame from the impact.
"Hold on!" Lev yelled.
Before the Escalade could recover its momentum, a second vehicle—a black pickup truck with blacked-out windows—swerved in front of them, blocking the narrow street entirely.
Four men in heavy raincoats stepped out of the truck, raising automatic rifles.
"Ambush!" Marco barked.
Without a moment's hesitation, Marco rolled down his window two inches, raised his weapon, and fired four rapid, thunderous shots through the rain. The custom heavy-caliber rounds shattered the pickup's windshield, sending the shooters scrambling for cover behind their engine block.
"Lev! Ram them!" Marco ordered.
"Hang on to your teeth!" Lev roared, slamming his foot down on the accelerator.
The six-ton armored Escalade surged forward like an enraged bull, its reinforced steel bull-bar smashing directly into the side of the pickup truck. Metal twisted, glass exploded, and the pickup was pushed six feet sideways, clearing a gap just wide enough for the SUV to squeeze through.
Tires spinning, smoking rubber filling the night air, the Escalade broke free, speeding into the rear driveway of Cook County Memorial Hospital.
"Clara! Go!" Marco yelled, leaning out the window to fire three more warning shots toward the street to keep any pursuers at bay. "Lev and I will hold the perimeter! You have three minutes!"
Clara didn't wait to be told twice. She grabbed her medical kit, unbuckled her belt, threw open the door, and sprinted through the blinding rain toward the pathology loading bay.
The steel door was slightly ajar. Clara slammed her shoulder against it, bursting into the warm, brightly lit corridor.
Sarah Lin was standing near the stainless-steel prep counter, holding a bright red insulated medical cooler. Her face turned pale when she saw Clara—soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her forehead, scrub top stained with water and faint traces of old blood.
"Clara! What was that gunfire?!" Sarah gasped, stepping back in terror.
"No time to explain!" Clara panted, snatching the cooler from Sarah's hands. "Is it verified? Did you run the cross-match yourself?"
"Yes!" Sarah answered, her professional instincts kicking in despite her fear. "Unit B-Positive-9921. Freshly donated, double-barcoded, zero atypical antibodies. It’s as clean as human blood can get."
"You saved a life tonight, Sarah," Clara said, tears mixing with the rainwater on her cheeks. "I owe you everything."
"Just get out of here!" Sarah yelled, pushing her toward the door. "The security alarms are about to trip!"
Clara turned and sprinted back out into the rain.
The scene in the driveway was terrifying.
The grey delivery van that had rammed them was now idling near the gate, its windshield riddled with bullet holes. Marco was standing near the rear bumper of the Escalade, his dark suit soaked through, his face calm and lethal as he dropped an empty ammunition magazine to the ground and slapped a fresh one into his gun with a loud CLICK.
"Got it!" Clara screamed over the roar of the storm, lifting the red cooler into the air.
Marco didn't waste breath. "Get in!"
Clara scrambled back into the rear cabin, pulling the door shut behind her. Marco slid in a second later, his gun still smoking.
"Go, Lev!" Marco commanded. "Back to the safehouse!"
Lev slammed the vehicle into reverse, backed out of the loading zone, and tore down the rear alleyway, leaving the shattered ambush behind in the dark.
Clara collapsed onto the seat, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. She immediately popped the latches on the red cooler, pulling out the sealed, thick plastic bag of blood inside.
The label was clean. White, crisp, verified by Sarah's personal blue signature stamp across the barcode.
TYPE: B POSITIVE. DONOR ID: CC-88192. PATIENT: UNASSIGNED (EMERGENCY CLEARANCE).
Clara held the bag against her chest, letting out a long, shuddering breath.
"It's clean," Clara wept softly, looking over at Sofia, who was lying still, her breathing shallow and raspy. "It's clean, Mr. Valente. She's going to make it."
May you like
Marco looked down at the blood bag, then up at Clara. The terrifying mafia don, the man whose name made hardened criminals tremble, reached out with a trembling hand and pressed his palm against Clara’s shoulder.
"Thank you, Clara," Marco whispered, his voice thick with an emotion he hadn't shown in twenty years. "Thank you."
