Page 108 of Left Behind

“How many shooters?” Wiley shouted.

“One man. Big, heavyset. Long gray hair in a ponytail. Black T-shirt and jeans. Black and white baseball cap,” the man said, then kept going.

Wiley gave the description over a handheld radio. “People running out of the hospital. None appear to have been wounded. We’re entering the front lobby now.”

Aaron and Bob Yancy came in right behind them, as did a half-dozen other officers, while more were still en route, including Chief Warren and his driver.

Inside the lobby, a security guard was sitting against a wall, bleeding from a bullet wound in his arm. Aaron stopped to apply a tourniquet. Calling for help was futile. Everyone on-site had taken cover.

“I’m going to move you behind the front desk,” Aaron said, and helped the guard into a hiding spot. “Stay down. I’ll radio your location to the EMTs.”

“No! Don’t!” the guard said. “He has a two-way. He can hear all of your traffic.”

“Shit,” Aaron muttered. “Do you know him?”

“Gene Terry, ex-EMT. Got fired and went to prison for stealing and selling drugs. I didn’t know he was out,” the guard said.

“Do you see where he went?” Yancy asked.

“Into the stairwell.”

“How many security guards on duty?” Aaron asked.

“Three, so there’s two more besides me. One might be in the ambulance area and one patrols the perimeter.”

Wiley overheard the conversation and took off running while Aaron sent a cryptic message over their handhelds.

Go to emergency channel.

Then he issued a second warning there.

Shooter has ears. Took the stairwell. Maintain radio silence or use emergency channel.

Wiley paused in the stairwell to listen, trying to see if he could hear footsteps, and heard nothing. He sent Linette a brief text, knowing she’d pass the info along to the nurses.

One shooter in the building. Took the stairwell. We’re searching floors. He has a two-way. We’re maintaining radio silence to keep him from knowing what we’re doing. We’ll find him. Stay safe.

***

Linette read the text, then forwarded it to the hospital link that would automatically send an alert to every employee’s phone. It put all of them on the same page with what was happening. But it didn’t make her job easier.

She was holed up in a room with a ten-year-old patient named Crystal, who was recovering from a car wreck. She and her family had come to Jubilee on vacation, then had a wreck outside of town before they arrived. Her mother was in a room on a different floor, recovering from hip surgery. Her dad had been flown to Bowling Green for burn treatments.

Linette had been particularly empathetic toward the little girl for having to be alone throughout her ordeal and had headed straight for Crystal’s room for lockdown.

Crystal had heard the alarms, and people running and shouting, and was already terrified and sobbing when Linette came running into her room.

“What’s happening?” she cried.

“We’re going to hide from a bad man,” Linette said. “But don’t worry. I’m going to be right here with you the whole time. Okay?”

Crystal froze. “Is this like school lockdown? Does the man have a gun?”

Linette nodded. “Exactly like that. So, we know what to do, right?”

“I want Mama,” Crystal sobbed.

“I know, but your mama is on a different floor, and she’s in bed, too. Someone is taking care of her, just like I’m taking care of you, okay? Now you can watch me while I push this empty bed across our door.”

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