Pulse Read online

  Pulse

  Danielle Koste

  Danielle Koste

  Copyright © 2017 by Danielle Koste

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN 978-91-984252-0-8

  Edited by Autumn Lala

  Cover design by Divine Michelle © YONDERWORLDLY DESIGN

  To Erik, for always believing in me

  Acknowledgements

  Huge thanks and love go out to the following people, who without, this book would not exist.

  * * *

  My wonderful parents, for always making sure I knew that absolutely no dream was off limits.

  * * *

  My amazing friends, for their unwavering kindness, compassion, and excitement that always kept me motivated.

  * * *

  My great big inkie family, for sticking together and lifting each other up, my guardian angels during times of need.

  * * *

  And Autumn, for always sharing a frequency with me.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  About the Author

  Prologue

  "His chart, Doctor."

  The attending nurse handed off a clipboard to a tall man in white, then circled to the other side of the patient’s bed to adjust an IV and check vitals. Nodding in thanks, the doctor’s gaze turned down to the paper in front of him, a furrow passing his brow as he read.

  “Looks like anemia,” he mused aloud, seeking the nurse’s input. He had only been out of medical school for a few years, obvious in his under-weathered skin and the way he still second-guessed himself.

  "All the symptoms point to it. He's developed severe koilonychias, and when the ambulance arrived, these cracks on the side of his mouth were bleeding. His body temperature is abnormally low. Don't think I've seen someone so pale outside a morgue." The nurse folded her arms across her chest, letting the straight line of her mouth twist upwards as the doctor smirked at her quip.

  The second of humor dissolved. It was always disheartening when someone younger than himself showed up in such a serious condition. He had yet to see a patient survive after arriving so lifeless.

  He ran a hand through his hair as he thought, then put the chart back in its holder at the end of the patient’s bed with a sigh. The eighteen-hour mark of his shift approached and it wore on him; he could feel the black circles under his eyes, pulling down his tired face and attempting to coerce his puffy eyelids shut. "Seems the most likely case. We should wait for the blood work, but get him ready for a transfusion. I'll give you the go ahead once I get the lab report back."

  The nurse confirmed with a curt nod, and he dismissed himself, heading to the waiting room at the end of the hall, craving a coffee.

  The night had other plans for him, though.

  "Dr. Andrews!"

  He glanced over his shoulder, another white-coated colleague jogging towards him from down the corridor. The technician already started speaking well before he reached the doctor’s side. "I got those tests for the kid in ICU finished up. I think you should take a look at them." Uncertainty in his voice and apprehension on his features, he handed over the papers.

  Frowning, the doctor took them and skimmed over the results. "This can't be right," he said, giving a firm shake of his head. "The patient is obviously iron deficient. With the high levels of iron you have recorded here he would be—"

  "In cardiac arrest," the technician finished. He took back the papers and ruffled through them to show his thorough investigation. "Believe me, I'm as baffled as you are. I checked five times. The numbers are correct."

  "But these are high enough to kill a person," the doctor protested, bewildered.

  "These are high enough that the person would already be dead," the other corrected gravely.

  They shared a brief look, one that all doctors knew: hesitancy. When someone had to make a decision even while having no confidence in the options.

  "Karmen!" The nurse stuck her head out of the patient's room, and while turning to head back towards her, the doctor commanded, "Start the blood transfusion!"

  Reading the urgency in his voice, the nurse ducked back into the room without question.

  "Wait, Andrews. Are you sure about this?" The lab technician offered a timid objection, hurrying to keep up. "If he's anemic with high levels of iron, it could be that he's used to much higher. Giving him regular blood… It would have a fraction of this. It could kill him."

  "Symptoms are not science, Kenneth. Just because it seems like he is anemic doesn't mean he is. The numbers suggest iron toxicity. Those numbers need to be brought down, or else he's going to die anyway." The doctor’s face went hard, insecure with the decision, but one had to be made. He would not have a death on his conscience simply because he was unable to get past his fear of making the wrong choice.

  A scream from the patient's room interrupted the men's' disagreement, and they sprinted the last few yards to the doorway. When they turned sharply into the room, the nurse stood cornered against the far wall, wide-eyed and paralyzed.

  "Karmen, what—"

  "He just— he just woke up,” her voice shook behind her palm. “I was preparing the blood for a transfusion, but the moment I punctured the packet he woke up and snatched the blood from me and started— and started..."

  Across from her, the patient sat upright in his bed, shoulders hunched, knees bent to his chest, his already thin frame bunched up even smaller, little more than a skeleton. Tight in his desperate grasp, the blood packet bulged out between his long fingers as he held it firmly against his mouth. It took them a moment to understand what was happening, but the two men realized in unison, covering their mouths in disgust along with the nurse.

  The boy sucked the blood from the plastic bag, his guttural growls overpowering the quickening beep of the heart monitor. He seemed oblivious to the other people in the room as he gorged; his eyes shut, his breathing slow and long through his nose as he swallowed thick, wet gulps, like he was starving for it. The doctor thought of his early days working nights at the rehabilitation center, the patient reminding him of a drug addict going through withdrawals. A tremor of anxiety shook his bones, recalling the violent and unpredictable behavior he experienced there.

  All three professionals found themselves too horrified to act, able only to watch as the boy sucked the blood pack dry. When he finished, his hands fell down to his sides, limp against the mattress, the empty packet slipping from his grip. He took a few deep breaths, keeping his eyes closed, as if still far too weak to completely awaken from his former coma. Lips stained red and glossy, a drip ran down his pale skin from the corner of his mouth to the sharp edge of his chin.

  A lull soaked the room in unease, forcing a small, almost inaudible noise of discomfort from the nurse’s throat, and in response, the
boy's eyes shot open. The professionals flinched, the nurse whimpering as she retreated further into the corner, away from his stare.

  The boy scanned each one of them with a piercing, unnaturally blue gaze, before his lips twitched upwards into the ghost of a smile.

  "Forgive me," he rasped, his voice barely there. They had to hold their breath just to hear him.

  "I'm still starving."

  He left only a brief pause after his words, perhaps to make sure they heard, or perhaps to enjoy the confusion on their faces. Then lunged from the bed.

  Chapter One

  Rowan woke to a loud slam, shooting her upright in her chair and jumpstarting her heart. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she searched for the source of the noise through the shadows of the empty research lab. When had it gotten so dark? She wasn’t sure what time she fell asleep, but by the look of her coffee mug, she was about halfway through her fifth cup. She hurriedly brushed through her flat hair with her fingers to erase the evidence of napping, but unfortunately, her interrupter already saw more than enough for an accusation.

  “I’m sorry, sleeping beauty, did I wake you?” Cameron teased from across the room, where he stood innocently next to the door he had just thrown closed. When he flipped on the lights, Rowan squinted.

  “I was just resting my eyes,” she insisted.

  “You were drooling,” he countered.

  Rowan scowled, her cheeks going red with guilt and embarrassment. “No, I wasn’t.” She wiped at her mouth.

  Cameron crossed the room as Rowan picked up where she left off, tapping the screen of her tablet to wake it up as well. “What are you even doing here this late, Row?”

  “Phelps needs these reports proof read for tomorrow,” she explained, scrolling up with her finger, pretending to read even though the words were nothing but a blur to her sleepy eyes. She only had a couple more to finish. A little while longer, that’s all she needed. She’d be ready for work the next day with a couple hours of sleep, even. It’s not like it was that late yet, anyway.

  Rowan checked the time on the tablet to confirm, cringing when she was proven wrong.

  “If Dr. Phelps knew you were working at two in the morning, he’d tell you to go home. So I’m going to do it on his behalf.”

  “I just need—”

  “Go home, Rowan.”

  She gave him a pointed glare for interrupting, starting again. “I just need to finish with this, and then, I’ll go home.”

  “Sure.” His skeptical tone and eye roll said how often he’d heard that excuse. “You know, I’m a security guard here. I can make you leave, if I have to.” With his casual threat, Cameron adjusted his utility belt around his hips and gave a smug grin.

  It was Rowan’s turn to roll her eyes at his faux professionalism. “And I’m a doctor here. I have the hierarchy over you.”

  That wasn’t entirely true. Rowan didn’t have her Ph.D. yet, making her little more than an intern. Her mentor, the renowned biologist Dr. Robert Phelps, who was an integral part in creating the first successful treatment for the common cold virus, was the only doctor at the Eureka Center for Biological Studies who actually had superiority over the security personnel. Rowan was sure nobody would argue against her right to be there after hours though, if only because she practically lived at the facility with the amount of overtime she put in.

  “But I have the gun,” Cameron said, his eyes laughing when Rowan offered nothing but an unimpressed expression in response. “Besides, what kind of friend would I be if I let you work yourself to death? How’re you going to finish your dissertation and become a real doctor if you’re six feet under the ground?”

  “I’m a body donor, so when I die, I’ll be used as a medical cadaver, not rotting away in a hole.” Rowan looked up from her tablet when she realized her tone had went pretentious, giving Cameron a guilty grin. She offered some self deprecation to bring herself back down off her high horse. “And you know I’d find a way to work even from the grave.”

  Cameron opened his mouth to keep up their banter, but through the early morning silence of the facility, the two of them were both distracted by an approaching commotion outside: The rumbling engine of a large vehicle. Odd, because besides Cameron, who was supposed to work nights, and Rowan, who wasn’t but did anyway, the building and surrounding area was generally deserted after hours.

  They exchanged a curious glance, then Rowan rose from her chair to follow Cameron as he rushed over to the window. The research lab she had been hiding out in was on the second floor, which looked out over the parking lot, giving them a clear view of the interruption.

  An armored truck approached the front entrance, followed closely by a jet-black SUV with tinted windows. Both had their headlights off despite it being nearly pitch black this far out from the city, and both parked near the doors rather than any of the numerous, designated parking spots. The engines were left running as several, armed men in SWAT gear emerged from the vehicles, assault rifles hugged in their arms.

  Upon seeing the weapons, Rowan and Cameron immediately ducked down under the window, getting out of the line of sight.

  “What the—”

  Cameron could only gasp, frozen in shock next to Rowan, a dreadful uncertainty filling the air between them as they continued to survey from over the window sill. Out of the SUV came four more men, resembling secret service agents in their matching black suits. As the armed men moved for the doors of the facility, the suited ones approached the back of the armored car, opening the vehicle's rear doors.

  “Aren’t you going to do something?” Rowan asked in an urgent whisper.

  Cameron gave her a defensive glare. “What do you want me to do?”

  She hesitated. “I don't know. You're security. You said you have a gun!”

  “Yeah, and they have six!” Cameron said, struggling not to raise his voice in his growing hysterics. “Do you think they’re here to steal some equipment or something?”

  Rowan tried to remain calm despite her racing heart. It wouldn’t help them to panic, that was certain. She peeked over the window sill again, shaking her head. “No, they don't seem like criminals...”

  As she continued to watch, they wheeled something out from the back of the vehicle. Cameron gathered enough courage to look out the window again, just in time to see what arrived in the car.

  “Holy shit. Row. Is that— is that a body?”

  It was a medical gurney. The SWAT team surrounded it as the suited men pushed the cart inside. Even covered with a sheet, it was hard to mistake the shape.

  “What’s going on?” Cameron swore under his breath a few more times.

  Rowan didn't have an explanation, so she didn't answer. Her head swam with questions as she tried to decipher her way through the anxiety sitting in her throat. If it was indeed a body, was it alive or dead? And what was it doing there? Someone important maybe, a celebrity or politician? It would explain the suited men but didn't solve the question of why they were at a research facility and not a hospital.

  A cadaver was a more reasonable explanation, since they often studied dead bodies in the facility, but not many deceased were transported by a posse of armed guards. That fact alone made Rowan’s stomach twist with an ill dread. She tried to remind herself it was not like a scientist to fear what she could not explain, but it was unnerving nonetheless when her logic failed her. After all, it didn’t happen often.

  As Rowan fought to piece together an answer, a third vehicle approached. Cameron swore again when he heard it, but once it came in from the distance, Rowan sighed in relief.

  “It’s Phelps car,” she explained, standing and hurrying for the exit.

  Cameron stumbled to his feet and raced after her, his hand on the gun at his hip. “Are you sure?”

  “I would recognize that dirty old lemon anywhere,” she affirmed, jogging out into the hall to the stairs.

  Rowan was reassured with Phelps arrival, positive she simply missed the meaning of everything
happening. Phelps would be able to fill them in once she spoke to him, and all this commotion would be resolved.

  Speaking to him would be the problem though, with guns aimed at them the moment they left the stairwell and arrived at the main entrance.

  “Stop there! Who are you?” One of the armed men demanded, the others halting to aim their guns also, stopping Rowan and Cameron in their tracks.

  The fear Rowan managed to shake off at the appearance of Phelps’ car came roaring back as the small army of assault rifles pointed at them. Somewhere within her reasoning she’d forgotten for a moment that while Phelps knew them, these men didn’t, and whatever they were doing, it was clear they wanted no one else involved.

  Rowan never expected to be at the barrel-end of a gun, and it was more immobilizing than she could have imagined. She wanted to explain, to de-escalate, but her words caught in her throat as she tried to speak, stumbling on the panic knotted in her throat. All she could do was raise her hands along with Cameron, hoping the gunmen weren’t trigger happy.

  Cameron took a step forward to answer in her place. “We work here. I’m security, and she’s a doctor. Who the hell are you?” He held a strong stance but his voice was still unsteady.

  The man that addressed them previously lowered his gun, but the others kept their aim. “Civilians,” he announced. “Leave the premises immediately or I’ll be forced to remove you.”