Chapter 3 - The Monster in the Cellar
"Get medics here now!" Hayes shouted into his radio. "We have an unresponsive female, barely a pulse. And send backup. We have a barricaded suspect."
The banging from the cellar grew louder, more frantic. The wood splintered slightly under the force of a heavy boot. Miller positioned himself by the door, weapon drawn, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Back at the hospital, Lily was refusing to sit in the pediatric ward's comfortable chairs. She stood rigidly next to the empty wheelbarrow in the hallway, her small, bandaged hands gripping the wooden handles.
"Honey, you can let go," Nurse Sarah coaxed, holding out a juice box. "The babies are safe. They're warming up. They are going to be okay."
"I have to take it back," Lily whispered, her eyes dark and hollow. "Mommy needs it to come home."
In the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU), the twins, now named Leo and Mia on their temporary wristbands, were hooked up to an array of monitors. Their temperatures were slowly rising. The doctors called it a miracle; newborns surviving days without proper food and then a miles-long journey in the freezing mud was scientifically improbable. It was sheer, stubborn will—a sister's will—that had kept them breathing.
Suddenly, Dr. Evans’s pager went off. The mother was incoming. Medevac was three minutes out.
At the farmhouse, the cellar door finally gave way with a deafening crack. A massive man, covered in dust, a deep, crusted gash across his forehead, stumbled out into the kitchen. His eyes were wild, furious.
"Where are they?" he growled, ignoring the two police officers aiming their guns at his chest. "Where are my kids?"
May you like
"On the ground! Now!" Hayes roared.
The man—Marcus, Lily's estranged and deeply abusive father—lunged.
