"Decoy." He gave the bundle a hard shove down the main culvert, where the slight grade would carry it along with the water flow.
The maintenance tunnel was tighter—they had to crawl on hands and knees through six inches of freezing water. Sarah's breathing came in short gasps behind him, but she kept moving. The darkness was absolute, so thick it felt solid.
"I’ve got a body. Maybe two" A muffled voice from above. "Moving through the main drain. Head west. Cut them off."
Griff allowed himself a grim smile. The jacket was buying them time.
The maintenance tunnel opened into something larger—he could feel the space expand around them, echo differently. His hands found a rusted ladder bolted to the wall.
"Up," he whispered.
They climbed blind, Griff testing each rung before trusting his weight to it. His shoulder screamed with every pull. Above them, a metal cover—locked, but the lock wasold, corroded. He braced himself and struck it with his palm. Once. Twice. The lock shattered.
They emerged into a utility room—electrical panels, water meters, the hum of infrastructure. A small window showed the highway outside, and beyond it...
The DOT depot. Salt trucks lined up like sleeping giants. Mountains of road salt waiting for winter. Automated systems he could trigger, vehicles he could start, chemicals that would react with water to create heat blooms that would confuse thermal imaging.
Salvation. He'd make sure of it—a playground he could use for the next 8 minutes or so.
"Wait, they're not moving," someone's voice carried from outside. “That's not... those aren't people. It's debris. Check all connecting tunnels."
Griff eased open the utility room door. They were in a highway rest area's maintenance building, closed for the season. The DOT depot sat across the service road, maybe 200 yards through sparse trees.
"Can you run?" he asked Sarah.
She nodded, though he could see her ankle was swollen even through her boot.
"On three. Straight for the depot. Don't stop, no matter what."
Through the window, he saw flashlights converging on the culvert area. The contractors were regrouping, but they were focused on the wrong location.
"One... two... three."
They burst from the building, sprinting across the dark ground. Behind them, someone shouted. A flashlight beam swept past them, then snapped back.
"Contact. Northeast, heading for the depot."
The chain-link fence loomed ahead. Griff found the gap where drainage had eroded beneath it, shoved Sarah through,then followed. His shoulder caught on the metal, sending fresh fire through the wound.
The depot spread before them—six bay garage, salt storage domes, dozens of vehicles. Everything he needed to create chaos.
"Seven minutes," he said, checking his watch.
"What do we do until then?"
Griff looked at the depot—all those beautiful, exploitable systems.
"We throw a party," he said, already moving toward the electrical box. "Stay close. This is about to get interesting."
Behind them, the fence rattled as the contractors reached it. But Griff was already inside the electrical box, flipping switches. The depot erupted into light and noise—a mechanical symphony of distraction.
Seven minutes to evade professional killers with thermal imaging.
He could work with that.
17
The V-DOT maintenancedepot looked better and better, the closer they got. A gift from the tactical gods—chain link fence, old security cameras that probably hadn't worked since Griff got his first driver’s license, and most importantly, rows of salt trucks and plows lined up for the next winter storm that wouldn't come for eight months.
