Inside Coach #404, the medical telemetry monitor went from a steady pulse to an ear-splitting alarm.
Weee-ooo-weee-ooo!
The green tracing on Clara’s cardiac monitor went wild, spiking in jagged, irregular fibrillations. The digital readout flashed bright amber, then red:
[HEART RATE: 118 BPM — SINUS TACHYCARDIA.] [AUTONOMIC CONVERGENCE: CRITICAL.]
Shift 08, 03:42:20 AM (Real-World Standard Time: 10:57:20 PM).
Through the front windshield, Julian Vance saw why.
On the damp concrete apron outside, the rubber caster-wheels of the seven impound carts were no longer creeping. The electromagnetic induction field had locked onto their steel frames, dragging them forward at a brisk walking pace.
Cart #01 was four feet from the yellow Hoist Quarantine Line.
