“From the shining halls of medicine to the dangerous alleys of illegal drugs and murder, Resistance by Daniel Kalla will take you on a rollercoaster ride you’ll never forget. The science is fascinating, and the suspense nail-biting. Watch out, Robin Cook. A new master of the medical thriller has arrived.”

—Gayle Lynds, New York Times bestselling author of The Last Spymaster and The Coil

“Kalla is a rocket ship of a writer. He moves to the front of the pack with a thriller that will grab you from page one and never let you go.”

—Keith Ablow, author of Psychopath

THE SIREN CHOKED off in midwail. Within seconds, the flashing red light swept through the frosted glass of the ER’s sliding door like a disco ball on overdrive.

I heaved a self-pitying sigh. Ten minutes before the end of a long night shift, I’d counted on an uneventful and punctual exit. Any chance for either vanished when the ambulance stretcher and two paramedics burst through the main Emergency Room doors.

“Which room?” the tall scraggy paramedic yelled as they careened past the triage desk.

“Trauma Two,” the triage nurse called back.

I ran alongside the paramedics, but our pace wasn’t fast enough to outrun the acrid smells of urine and vomit wafting up from the stretcher. A woman of indeterminate age lay on her side, twitching and thrashing. Without the restraining hand of the female paramedic she might have bucked off the stretcher. Legs and arms jerked in violent rhythm. Her chin slammed into her chest. A mess of long brown hair covered her face. Her T-shirt was spattered with vomit. A chain of drool connected the corner of her mouth to the sheets. An image of Linda Blair from The Exorcist flashed to mind.

Copyright © 2007 by Daniel Kalla

“What’s the story?” I asked the baby-faced female paramedic running beside me.

“Seizing when we got to her. Found down at Cloud Nine.” She glanced at me, deciding I was old enough to require clarification. “It’s an after-hours club.”

“Thanks,” I grunted. “What’s she got on board?”

“Her sister says she dropped two tabs of Ecstasy about an hour before we got to her. First-time user. Otherwise the kid is healthy.”

“Kid?”

“Fourteen years.” She wiped her flushed brow with a palm. “Name’s Lara Maxwell.”

“How long has she been seizing?”

“Twenty minutes, give or take.”

Way too long. Within half an hour of a continuous seizure, or status epilepticus, irreversible brain damage can occur. “What have you given her?” I asked.

“Nothing. We scooped and ran. Impossible to get an IV in her in the back of our rig.” She flailed her own arms, as if the wildly twitching patient wasn’t explanation enough.