She slowly got to her feet and made herself take a series of small breaths. Her legs were shaky, and the stairs seemed to move and shift all around her. She wanted to shout out, not for help but to tell someone to keep an eye on Dillingers room, for someone to lock the building down in the event the killer tried to escape. But she couldnt draw in enough breath. It was hard enough to simply breathe, the pain in her head seeming to rob her of every single ounce of breath and energy inside of her.

Slowly, she made her way back up the stairs. One by one, she forced her feet to remember what they were designed to do. The stairs still seemed like living, breathing creatures, but she managed to make it up them.

Someone, she said, trying to yell. But even the act of speaking seemed to make the pain worse. Someone…please…

She gripped the railing tightly as she tried to take a breath while lifting a foot and then releasing it when she set the foot down on the next step. Realizing that she may be in a very bad spot here, Rachel dug her phone out of her pocket with the intentions of texting Jack. If nothing else, he could call and have the place put on lockdown. But right now, the idea of hurrying up the stairs and doing it herself felt far too hard.

With her phone in her hand as she took another stair upwards, she saw that shed missed two texts from Jack. The first one read: Madeline Holcombs son might be a fit. Brandon Holcomb. Call when you can. The words were surprisingly crisp in her vision, and she found that by concentrating on them, the black streaks and pulsing edges around her vision seemed to fade.

The second read: Answer your phone! B. Holcomb was a former volunteer at Roanoke General and his mother is on the list. Could be at the hospital right now!

And Rachel would bet anything that he was currently wearing a pair of new-looking scrubs, dirty shoes, and carrying a scalpel in his pocket.

She closed her eyes and took a very deep breath. She texted back after opening her eyes, relieved that she could move her fingers without much of a problem. But the letters swam in front of her, some of them highlighted by the thin, blazing strips that darted across her eyes. And as she focused on the message she was composing, she found that the pain in her head was starting to fade. It went from a massive explosion of anguish to a very bad migraine swarming her head like a nest of bees. And by the time shed typed out: Im there now and unable to do much. Have them go to lock-down, it had downgraded to an irritating ache right behind her eyes.