Smoke poured out of the gaping hole in the wall, setting the fire alarms screaming. Nurses and doctors raced out of the rooms, lost in the thick veil of plaster and smoke.

Room 121 was in absolute chaos. Smoke? In a hospital? No less, it was adjacent to one of the worst cases of asthma they’d seen in a long time.

So saying, the doctors whirled oxygen masks to Mrs. St. Paul’s face, checking her breathing and heart levels.

“Put her into sleep! It’s safer!” a nurse cried.

“No!” shouted Vicky through the frenzy. “She can’t!”

Her pleas went unheard as the doctors pumped anesthetic into the mother’s veins. The coughing died down, and her frail chest receded.

Vicky cried out and raced for the hallway. She wiped the smoke away from the front of her face as she stumbled along the corridor.

Doctors and nurses ran all around her, white coats barely visible through the stained air.

Suddenly, Vicky slammed into something. She looked up to see a tall, dark man turned around, staring at her.