“Service panel. Level 9. It connects to the ventilation exchange.”
“How do you know this?”
“Don’t ask.”
We climbed.
Hand over hand. My limbs burned. The tremor in my left hand was violent now, a constant shuddering that made every grip a gamble. I wrapped my arm through the rungs when I could, leveraging bone instead of muscle.
I reached the panel. It was secured with bolts.
“Havoc. Tool.”
Havoc scrambled up beside me, clinging to the ladder with one arm. He produced a multi-tool.
“This is insane. I want it noted on my tombstone.”
The panel popped free. It clang-clang-clanged down the shaft, a echoing announcement of our location.
“Quiet.”
“Sorry.”
A dark, rectangular hole opened in the concrete. Cool air rushed out.
I squeezed through first. It was tight, a crawlspace meant for cables and rats, not men in tactical gear. I dragged myself forward on my elbows, the concrete scraping my chest.
“Clear.”
Havoc followed, then Hellhound. We lay in the cramped dark, the only light coming from the service LEDs on our vests.
Below us, far down in the shaft, we heard the elevator reach the bottom.
Ding.
Then, the roar of gunfire. Hundreds of rounds pouring into the empty metal box.
I closed my eyes, resting my forehead against the cold concrete floor. If we had stayed in that car, we would be hamburger meat right now.
“Good call. Okay. Good call.”
“We need to keep moving. The vents connect to the north stairwell. Twenty yards.”
The metal of the ventilation shaft was freezing against my stomach, sucking the heat from my core as I dragged myself forward. The space was tight, a claustrophobic square of galvanized steel that forced us to crawl single-file. Dust and grit coated my tongue with every breath.
Ahead, the darkness was broken by a filtering of gray light. A grate.
“Exit.”
I reached the opening. Through the slats, I saw the industrial railing and concrete steps of the north stairwell. I braced my boot against the metal mesh.
I kicked it out. The metal clanged onto the concrete landing, the noise dangerously loud.
I dropped down first, my boots hitting the floor with a wet smack. My left hand was shaking the barrel of my weapon, but my right hand, my trigger hand, remained steady. Priorities. You can fall apart later. Right now, kill or be killed.
“Move.”
Hellhound dropped beside me, breathless but controlled. Havoc followed, landing with a graceless thud and a curse that echoed too loudly.
