Chapter 7 - Into the DepthsThe steam tunnels beneath the rail yards were a nightmare of absolute darkness, dripping rust water, and the pungent odor of stagnant mold. The air was thick, hot, and difficult to breathe, but Elena moved through the concrete labyrinth with the speed and precision of someone possessed.
Behind her, Marco followed closely, his hand pressed firmly against his side, fighting a wave of nausea and dizziness as the blood loss from his recent surgery began to take its heavy toll.
"How are you holding up?" Elena whispered over her shoulder, pausing for a fraction of a second near a junction pipe.
"I've survived worse," Marco wheezed softly, leaning against the damp brick wall for support. His face was gray in the faint beam of his tactical flashlight, sweat plastering his dark hair to his forehead. "Keep moving. We're running out of time."
They reached the rusting iron ladder that led straight up into the sub-basement of Warehouse 14. Above them, muffled by concrete and thick oak flooring, came the distinct sound of shouting voices and the heavy thud of combat boots overhead. Victor had hit the front loading dock. The distraction had begun.
"When we pop this hatch, we'll be right beneath the office mezzanine," Elena whispered, clicking off the safety of her pistol. "Dante will likely be held in the foreman's room on the second tier. Gallo won't keep him in the open."
"Let me take the point," Marco said, stepping past her with a grimace of agony, gripping his Colt. "If there are guards at the top, I take the first line of fire."
"Marco, no—"
Before she could stop him, he grabbed the rungs of the ladder and hauled himself upward with a surge of adrenaline-fueled strength. He pushed against the heavy iron sub-floor hatch with his shoulder.
Clang.
The metal plate popped open, flooding the dark shaft with the harsh yellow glare of industrial overhead lights. Marco hoisted himself out of the hole, disappearing into the room above.
Elena followed a heartbeat later, scrambling out of the hatch and rolling onto the concrete floor of Warehouse 14's lower storage level.
The room smelled of stale tobacco, oil, and dust. Through the slatted iron stairs leading up to the second-tier office, Elena could hear a child's voice—small, terrified, but fiercely defiant.
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"My mom is a doctor!" a little boy's voice rang out clearly through the rafters. "She's going to come and arrest you all! You're bad guys!"
Elena’s heart slammed against her ribs. Dante.
