Tabula Rasa Kristen Lippert Martin Read Online Free PDF Page A

 whatever that stands for.
Suddenly, a series of sharp pops makes the floor quiver.
I don’t know what could have caused that sound, but my
 instincts shout at me, Get out of here now!
My instincts don’t seem to understand that I’m in a
 locked hospital ward and getting out is impossible. But I go
 to the door and pull it anyway.
It opens.
I can’t believe it. I stick my head out into the hallway
 and look back and forth. I see no one and hear nothing, so
I walk out of my room, and after a moment, I realize there’s
 no reason to hide. It’s not just the hallway that’s empty; it’s
 the whole ward. How is this possible? Where are the nurses?
They haven’t abandoned us all and gone home because of this
 storm, have they?
That’s when I hear the pulsing beat of a helicopter. The
 windows rattle as it gets closer. It hovers right above the
 building for a solid minute before moving away.
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    I walk up to the nurses’ station and look around.
Mounted on the wall above the desk are a dozen video
 monitors, but only three are turned on. One of them shows
 the coma kid in the room diagonally across the hall from
 mine. I knew about him because I once heard Nurse Jenner
 make a joke about how he was her favorite patient. Never
 gave her a bit of trouble.
Another monitor shows a guy in bed with an IV. I’ve
 never seen him before.
The last monitor is focused on an empty bed. Mine.
Are there really only three of us here?
I pick up a remote control for the video monitors and
 start pressing buttons. Somehow I make the pictures on
 one of the monitors shift like a slide show. The screen dis-
 plays various sights around the compound. I see the outer
 exercise yard. Snow is starting to accumulate along the
 benches and paths.
Next, there’s a panoramic shot, blurred by the storm,
 and I can just make out the main hospital building from a
 distance. There are a few other places I don’t recognize. It’s
 like watching the universe expand.
And look at that! A sleek black helicopter is landing
 outside. The rotors come to a quick stop and fold up like
 some kind of  mechanical insect.
The windows shake once again as the helicopter that
 was hovering over the roof descends. It moves slowly, fol-
 lowing the contour of the building like it’s prowling for
 something, looking into all the windows.
32
    The next image that comes up on the monitor is star-
 tling and eerie: a small group of people rushing somewhere,
 frantically falling over each other as they run. That’s when
I notice the familiar pattern of marble tiles on the floor: It’s
 a mosaic of the rising sun.
That’s the main lobby.  
I go to the window and look through the blinds. The
 helicopter is now twenty yards away, a couple floors up. It
 begins to move off, and I think it’s leaving, but then the
 nose turns toward the building. Seconds later, there are
 three quick blasts of fire, followed by a whistling sound.
I’m able to think the word rockets just as they hit. BOOM.
BOOM. BOOM.
Ceiling tiles and light fixtures rain down on me. Clouds
 of dust explode from every direction. The cracking and
 breaking seems to go on endlessly. I hear another series of
 three explosions—three more rockets—this time on the
 wing opposite mine. That’s Jori’s side of the fourth floor.
I scramble  under the desk. The windows have popped
 and sprayed glass pellets everywhere. The ward doors
 swing open slowly like the building’s been turned side-
 ways. I stand and then walk slowly to the stairwell, but
 seconds later, I’m on my hands and knees again as another
 explosion buckles the floor. The watercooler tank tips over,
 and I hear it glugging as it rolls away.
What was once my hospital room is now a ragged hole,
 and through this opening I watch the helicopter as it turns
 and rises. Once it moves away from the building, I rush
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    toward the coma kid’s