Drs. Forrest and Westley waited anxiously.
The three nurses, Steven King, Billy Grant, and the girl, Barbara, peered out the large front window of the motor home, up toward the hospital.
“We could all go to jail for this,” said Steven, no doubt having second thoughts about this whole operation.
“I’m not so sure,” said Barbara, smiling. “We’re here to prevent a murder, aren’t we?”
“That’s right,” said Billy with a wry grin, “that’s what we’re doing.”
In the delivery room, Dr. Fairchild was just about to begin the delivery procedure when the door burst open and Mallory was shoved in, followed by Frank Davis and Eugene Scott. Davis pointed his gun at whoever dared come close.
“Stay away from the patient, Doctor,” Frank warned, suddenly swinging the gun in his direction.
“You can’t do this,” Fairchild protested.
Eugene moved toward his wife. “Jody,” he called softly.
Jody looked up and tried to focus. She was too weak to talk.
“That’s okay, honey. Everything’s okay,” Eugene said.
“I want you to give her a shot,” Frank said to Fairchild.
“A shot!” said Fairchild. “What kind of shot?”
“A shot to retard labor,” said Davis.
“Oh, of course,” agreed Dr. Fairchild, looking at the gun, “of course. Nurse,” he said.
The nearest nurse approached. Dr. Fairchild whispered something in her ear. Immediately she proceeded to the counter at the side of the delivery room and began filling a hypodermic needle.
“Give it up, Davis,” Mallory said. “It’s too late.”
“Shut up,” said Davis.
“Isn’t it too late, Doctor?” insisted Mallory, addressing Fairchild.
The nurse returned with the filled hypodermic needle.
“Not necessarily,” said Dr. Fairchild, grabbing the needle from the nurse. Dr. Fairchild saw this whole intrusion as a godsend. Shrewdly, he knew that if he could delay the birth and let someone else take over, he could be safely out of it when the time came to kill this creature. He could save himself a lot of grief and an almost certain multimillion-dollar lawsuit.
“Fairchild, you son of a bitch, don’t give her that needle! You understand?”
“Don’t be silly, Mr. Mallory. The drug is perfectly safe and the man is holding a gun on me,” the suave doctor insisted. “Besides, I am obeying the instructions of my patients. Do you want me to give her this needle, Mr. Scott?” Dr. Fairchild asked, looking at Eugene.
Eugene looked at his wife. She looked up at him, her eyes, despite the pain, pleading to save her baby.
“Yes,” said Eugene emphatically.
Quickly Dr. Fairchild injected the drug into his patient. “There, it’s done,” he said, handing the empty needle to his nurse.
“You’ll be sorry for this, Dr. Fairchild,” said Mallory evenly.
“I don’t think so.” Fairchild smiled and walked away from the table. He sat down on a stool in the corner, relieved to be out of it. “I don’t think so,” he repeated.
Eugene unstrapped his wife, freeing her from her bondage, and Frank yelled instructions to policemen and medical people, moving them around with his gun. “Wheel that cart in here! Get her out of those stirrups! Tell them, Mallory!” he commanded.
Mallory, as if waiting his turn, now shrugged his shoulders as he instructed the policemen and the nurses to do exactly what Davis wanted. “It’s his ball game,” he said calmly. “Go ahead, do whatever he tells you.”
“Help him,” said Frank to the policemen, “help him with his wife,” he ordered. Eugene, with the policemen’s help, moved his wife from the maternity table onto the cart and stood ready to wheel her out of the delivery room. “All right, stand back! You ready, Eugene?”
“Ready,” answered Eugene.
“All right, let’s go,” said Frank.
“You’re committing suicide,” warned Mallory. “It’ll kill all of you.”
“Well, don’t worry about it, Mallory,” said Frank, “ ’cause we’re bringing you
The three nurses, Steven King, Billy Grant, and the girl, Barbara, peered out the large front window of the motor home, up toward the hospital.
“We could all go to jail for this,” said Steven, no doubt having second thoughts about this whole operation.
“I’m not so sure,” said Barbara, smiling. “We’re here to prevent a murder, aren’t we?”
“That’s right,” said Billy with a wry grin, “that’s what we’re doing.”
In the delivery room, Dr. Fairchild was just about to begin the delivery procedure when the door burst open and Mallory was shoved in, followed by Frank Davis and Eugene Scott. Davis pointed his gun at whoever dared come close.
“Stay away from the patient, Doctor,” Frank warned, suddenly swinging the gun in his direction.
“You can’t do this,” Fairchild protested.
Eugene moved toward his wife. “Jody,” he called softly.
Jody looked up and tried to focus. She was too weak to talk.
“That’s okay, honey. Everything’s okay,” Eugene said.
“I want you to give her a shot,” Frank said to Fairchild.
“A shot!” said Fairchild. “What kind of shot?”
“A shot to retard labor,” said Davis.
“Oh, of course,” agreed Dr. Fairchild, looking at the gun, “of course. Nurse,” he said.
The nearest nurse approached. Dr. Fairchild whispered something in her ear. Immediately she proceeded to the counter at the side of the delivery room and began filling a hypodermic needle.
“Give it up, Davis,” Mallory said. “It’s too late.”
“Shut up,” said Davis.
“Isn’t it too late, Doctor?” insisted Mallory, addressing Fairchild.
The nurse returned with the filled hypodermic needle.
“Not necessarily,” said Dr. Fairchild, grabbing the needle from the nurse. Dr. Fairchild saw this whole intrusion as a godsend. Shrewdly, he knew that if he could delay the birth and let someone else take over, he could be safely out of it when the time came to kill this creature. He could save himself a lot of grief and an almost certain multimillion-dollar lawsuit.
“Fairchild, you son of a bitch, don’t give her that needle! You understand?”
“Don’t be silly, Mr. Mallory. The drug is perfectly safe and the man is holding a gun on me,” the suave doctor insisted. “Besides, I am obeying the instructions of my patients. Do you want me to give her this needle, Mr. Scott?” Dr. Fairchild asked, looking at Eugene.
Eugene looked at his wife. She looked up at him, her eyes, despite the pain, pleading to save her baby.
“Yes,” said Eugene emphatically.
Quickly Dr. Fairchild injected the drug into his patient. “There, it’s done,” he said, handing the empty needle to his nurse.
“You’ll be sorry for this, Dr. Fairchild,” said Mallory evenly.
“I don’t think so.” Fairchild smiled and walked away from the table. He sat down on a stool in the corner, relieved to be out of it. “I don’t think so,” he repeated.
Eugene unstrapped his wife, freeing her from her bondage, and Frank yelled instructions to policemen and medical people, moving them around with his gun. “Wheel that cart in here! Get her out of those stirrups! Tell them, Mallory!” he commanded.
Mallory, as if waiting his turn, now shrugged his shoulders as he instructed the policemen and the nurses to do exactly what Davis wanted. “It’s his ball game,” he said calmly. “Go ahead, do whatever he tells you.”
“Help him,” said Frank to the policemen, “help him with his wife,” he ordered. Eugene, with the policemen’s help, moved his wife from the maternity table onto the cart and stood ready to wheel her out of the delivery room. “All right, stand back! You ready, Eugene?”
“Ready,” answered Eugene.
“All right, let’s go,” said Frank.
“You’re committing suicide,” warned Mallory. “It’ll kill all of you.”
“Well, don’t worry about it, Mallory,” said Frank, “ ’cause we’re bringing you
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