LXV
Mathew was running desperately looking for a way out. The corridor of the hospital was getting longer and longer, busier. The doors were swinging wide behind him, with nurses and patients alerted by rapid footsteps as they heard flying. Sighs served as a guide. The light at the end of the building was his last chance. A bullet grazed his ear, cutting a few inches of the frizzy and thinning hair that remained on his head. Patton ducked by instinct, by experience, and rolled in the direction of room 104. He slammed the door open on impact and took cover with the column that separated the rooms. "Come out with your hands up, Mr. Patton!" He listened from the voice amplifier. "Dad, this is it," Michael told him, who was kneeling to his left, staring into his face.
- Writer
