Upstairs, the lights died. What now? Victor screamed. Dominic, check the generator. Heavy footsteps came thundering down the stairs. Dominic, I hid behind a stack of oxygen tanks. Dominic burst into the room, his flashlight sweeping the space. It’s fine down here, he yelled up. The medical circuit is separate. It must be the main grid.
He walked over to the incubator. He looked at my son. Little bastard. Dominic sneered. He tapped on the glass hard. The baby flinched. “That was it.” I stepped out from behind the tanks. “Don’t touch him,” I said. Dominic spun around, dropping his flashlight. He reached for his gun, but he was too slow. “I didn’t use a weapon. I grabbed him by the throat with one hand and slammed him against the wall.
The impact shook the room.” “You,” Dominic choked, his eyes bulging. “How? Shoo!” I whispered, pressing my finger to my lips. You’ll wake the baby. I squeezed. Dominic clawed at my arm, his legs kicking. But he was fighting a man who had trained to kill with his bare hands since he was 18. I crushed his windpipe.
