The iron echo of the 02:14:00 AM chime rolled down Corridor 4B as the red sweep hand began its lap around the Telechron dial.
Overhead, the fluorescent tubes along the ward dimmed at once to a dull copper glare.
Every light fixture began to buzz at a high, painful pitch.
The concrete floor shivered under Julian’s boots.
“Mac, report!” Julian shouted into the radio on his collar.
Mac’s voice blasted through the speaker over a thunderous diesel roar.
“Generator’s holding at 240 volts, kid!” Mac yelled from Ambulance Bay #02.
“Are the fuel lines clear?” Julian asked.
