Chapter 8 - The Underbelly of the City
The heat of the oxy-acetylene torch illuminated the edges of the vault door in a blinding, incandescent glow as Julian swung himself down the rusted ladder. He pulled the maintenance panel shut behind him, jamming an iron pry bar through the latching mechanism to buy them precious seconds.
The shaft plunged forty feet into the damp darkness of an abandoned 19th-century subway tunnel. Water dripped rhythmically from crumbling brick arches, pooling around rotting wooden ties and rusted, forgotten rails. The air smelled of sulfur, damp soil, and ancient soot.
"Julian, where are we?" Lyra asked, her voice hushed as she landed beside him, her black dress shoes sinking into muddy gravel.
"Underneath the old commercial canal," Julian replied, pulling his flashlight from his coat. "These tunnels haven't been in service for fifty years. They run straight east toward the industrial harbor."
Suddenly, a loud blast echoed down the shaft from above. The pry bar gave way, and the heavy metal plate was kicked open. Beams of high-powered tactical flashlights cut through the gloom of the vertical shaft.
"They're down in the transit lines!" a voice shouted from above. "Suppressors on! No survivors!"
"Run!" Julian grabbed Lyra’s hand, pulling her into the deep darkness of the curving tunnel.
Behind them, the muffled thwip-thwip of suppressed automatic fire chipped chunks of brick from the tunnel walls, sending sharp fragments whistling past their heads. Julian pulled Lyra around an iron support pillar just as a spray of bullets tore through the darkness where they had been standing seconds before.
"I can't keep up in these shoes!" Lyra gasped, stumbling over a concrete slab.
Without hesitating, Julian knelt down, ripped off the slick leather soles of her serving shoes, and tore the hem of her long uniform trousers so they wouldn't tangle her feet. "Keep moving. We have half a mile to the canal outlet."
As they sprinted through the labyrinth of decaying brickwork, Julian's phone buzzed violently in his inner pocket. He pulled it out to see an incoming call from an unregistered satellite link. He swiped the screen.
"Marcus?" Julian breathed.
"Julian! I managed to shake their tail at the bank," Marcus's voice crackled over heavy static. "Victoria has activated state emergency protocols. She's telling the media that you suffered a psychotic break at the wedding, murdered a waitress, and fled into the tunnels. The entire city is locking down!"
May you like
Julian skidded to a halt at a tunnel junction. Through the iron grating ahead, the flashing red and blue lights of dozens of police cruisers reflected across the harbor waters.
Victoria hadn't just sent mercenaries. She had weaponized the law.
