Jagger glances at me, staring hard. “You sure you want point?”
“I’m not asking.”
He nods once, accepting the inevitable. We reach the main door, a thick slab of reinforced steel with a keypad glowing faint green. Gunnar has already got the breaching charges ready, fingers flying through the wires with practiced precision.
“Three-second charge,” he warns.
I nod, rifle raised as I press my back to the wall a few feet left of the door. The others take their positions—crouched low, ready to move—as Gunnar affixes the charge to the lock. The seconds stretch endlessly.
BOOM.
The door explodes inward, the shockwave slamming into my chest. I’m through the smoke before it clears, weapon ready, eyes burning from the dust and heat. Shadows move in the haze. Armed men, shouting and scrambling for cover. My rifle kicks against my shoulder, muzzle flashes lighting the dark as I take a shot without hesitation. One target drops, then another. I sweep left, ducking behind a crate as rounds tear through the air above me. My ribs and shoulder scream, but I keep firing, digging deeper into the building.
Jagger’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Left flank clear!”
“Right clear!” Gunnar shouts.
Someone charges from the hallway in front of us. He doesn’t even make it two steps before I fire at him. In the narrow hallway, the metallic scent of blood mixing with the acrid burn of gunpowder is heavy and nauseating.
We advance deeper, room by room. Every door. Every corner. Finding them all to be a dead end. The uncertainty gnaws at me worse than the pain.
“Clear,” Jagger calls from another corridor.
“Keep moving,” I bark, my voice hoarse.
We sweep through what looks like an old logistics bay, empty crates stacked in rows and rusted equipmentscattered everywhere. A flickering light hums above, casting long, twitching shadows across the floor.
“Mattis, talk to me,” I demand, pressing a hand to my earpiece.
“Signal is sketchy,” he replies. “Still showing one heat source, but it’s weak. Might be shielded by concrete or below ground.”
“Below ground,” I echo.
“There.” Damon gestures toward the far end of the room. “There’s a stairwell at the back.”
Rifles drawn, we take turns providing cover as we cross the vast space. By the time we reach the stairs, adrenaline is the only thing keeping me upright. Gunnar tosses a glow stick down the steps, and green light spills through the darkness, catching on old pipes and a corridor that appears to extend the length of the building.
“Mattis, anything?”
“Still there,” he says, voice tight. “But I’m losing clarity. Could be interference, could be shielding. Be on your guard down there.”
“Noted.”
On my six, Jagger touches my shoulder lightly, signaling for me to move. We descend in silence. The deeper we go, the darker it gets. I flip on the light attached to my scope, illuminating the hallway immediately before me. The walls are damp, streaked with mildew, and from the smell, what I can only assume is blood.
The narrow passageway is lined with pipes and conduit. Halfway down, we pass a door hanging off its hinges. I glance inside—nothing but broken crates and a dead generator. “Clear,” I shout.
“Clear,” Jagger echoes, giving a second sweep behind me.
“Keep your eyes up,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
We move another ten meters, and a cold chill crawls up my spine. I move more slowly, my light trained dead ahead. The corridor narrows even more, walls closing in until they become claustrophobic.
I pause, motioning for Jagger to cover me as we edge closer to the end of the hall. A heavy door waits there, reinforced, sealed tight with a locking bar. There’s a keypad beside it, old and corroded but still faintly lit. The light blinks—slow, steady.
“Mattis,” I whisper. “We’ve got a sealed door, lower level, central corridor. Any chance this lines up with your signal?”
Static crackles in response. His voice comes through broken, almost lost. “—ing… heat source…inside.Weak?—”
