Chapter 443 Temporarily Set Aside Hostility
The police captain slammed the ambulance door shut with a forceful thud, the heavy metal clanging in sync with the sudden blare of sirens, shattering the surrounding silence. At that critical moment, the deep roar of rotor blades slicing through the air came from above. A silver-gray helicopter hovered over the intersection, its side door wide open.
Jeffrey's maniacal laughter echoed from inside the helicopter. "Good luck, suckers!"
His voice, distorted by an electronic voice changer, buzzed through the loudspeaker, making the glass windows along the street vibrate.
A pale face suddenly appeared at the cabin door—it was Jeffrey! The hem of his black trench coat flapped wildly in the strong air currents. He deliberately waved the binoculars in his hand, the reflected light glaringly bright.
I glared at the helicopter, my hands clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. Yet, faced with this ruthless criminal, I felt utterly powerless.
The police also saw the helicopter. The captain's eyes sharpened instantly, reflexively raising his gun towards the sky. However, the helicopter abruptly ascended, the gust of wind disrupting his aim. The shell casing hit the ground with a crisp sound, mingling with the fading engine noise, echoing through the empty street.
The captain quickly grabbed his radio, shouting orders, "Attention all units, a helicopter has appeared over the abandoned warehouse. Confirmed, Jeffrey is on board. Track its movements at all costs, don't let him slip away!"
The other officers responded promptly and sprang into action. Some rushed to their patrol cars, flinging open the doors and starting the engines, ready to pursue from the ground. Others grabbed binoculars, straining to see inside the helicopter through the swirling air.
One by one, the patrol cars roared out, their lights flashing, weaving through the city's streets and alleys. I knew the police had launched a full-scale operation to capture Jeffrey. A tense and thrilling showdown was about to unfold, and I fervently hoped the police would soon bring Jeffrey to justice, restoring peace to our lives.
The ambulance driver honked the horn furiously, the tires screeching on the asphalt as the vehicle sped towards the hospital like an arrow.
Inside the ambulance, the smell of disinfectant was overwhelming. I held Edward's hand tightly; his face was as pale as a sheet, his eyes closed, sweat beads rolling down his forehead. His leg wound, though hastily bandaged, caused him to tremble and groan in pain with every jolt of the ambulance.
I turned to look at Fiona sitting beside me. In that moment, our past conflicts seemed forgotten.
The ambulance came to a sudden stop, and Edward's eyes flew open in pain, letting out a cry.
"Edward, hang in there, we're almost at the hospital!"
I leaned close to him, whispering words of comfort.
Fiona also grabbed Edward's other hand,
"Edward, don't worry, the doctors will take care of you."
In the cramped ambulance, Edward's painful moans filled the air. Fiona and I temporarily set aside our animosity, united in our concern for Edward.
Meanwhile, thirty miles away at the city command center, red dots on the electronic map spread rapidly. Thirty patrol cars' GPS signals formed a moving net, their rooftop lights creating a flowing ribbon on the monitor. The captain spat out his half-hour-old gum into the trash and growled into the radio. "Focus on the bridge, don't let him cross to the other side!"
We had just arrived at the hospital when the prepared doctors swiftly moved into action, pushing Edward and Anne on stretchers into the emergency room.
Fiona and I were stopped outside the emergency room, left to wait in the hallway. My eyes never left the tightly closed door, my hands clenched, palms sweaty, silently praying for Edward and Anne's safety. The officers assigned to protect us remained vigilant, scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble.
Time passed agonizingly slowly, each second feeling like an eternity.
When the automatic doors of the emergency room opened and closed for the third time, the smell of disinfectant became almost suffocating. I idly counted the ceiling lights in the hallway, while Fiona repeatedly folded and unfolded the registration slip, its edges frayed. The surgery lights cast blurry shadows through the frosted glass. Suddenly, the sharp alarm of the heart monitor broke the silence.
Chaos erupted inside the emergency room, with hurried footsteps and urgent voices, but the sounds were indistinct. My feet felt glued to the floor, wanting to move closer to hear clearly, yet fearing the news I might hear.
The hallway air seemed thick, making it hard to breathe. Each passing second felt like a century, as fear and anxiety grew. After what felt like an eternity, the emergency room door moved slightly. Fiona and I stood up simultaneously, eyes fixed on the door, hearts pounding.
"Family of Anne York? We need a pre-surgery signature."
A nurse approached us with the consent form.
I reached for the pen, my hand shaking so much it almost slipped. I looked at the form, filled with risk clauses, the word "death" glaringly prominent. My vision blurred with anxiety, the word seeming to smudge.
Fiona suddenly pressed her hand on mine, leaving crescent-shaped marks on my skin. "We're not her family."
The nurse hesitated, her urgent expression softening with understanding. She stepped back and said gently, "Please contact Anne's family immediately. Her condition is critical, and the operating room is ready. Every second counts."
She instinctively took back the consent form.
The smell of disinfectant mixed with a faint hint of blood filled my nose. The emergency room occasionally echoed with the clinking of metal instruments. I stared at the red "In Surgery" LED sign, my throat tight, unable to speak. But Anne had no family left.
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