Chapter 14 - The Oily Tide
The icy Atlantic water surged across the holding bay floor with terrifying speed, foaming around Julian’s shins and churning the debris into a chaotic vortex. The twin strollers had already been swept away, vanishing into the dark, churning current that poured relentlessly through the ruptured bulkhead.
"We're losing the floor!" Miller yelled over the deafening roar of the incoming water, grabbing Julian by the tactical vest and hauling him backward onto the elevated steel threshold of the doorway. "If that bulkhead gives way completely, this entire compartment becomes a tomb!"
Julian’s chest heaved, his eyes scanning the flooded room in wild desperation. "Elena! The boys!" he screamed, his voice cracking with raw, unmitigated terror.
Suddenly, a sharp rapping sound echoed from beneath the metal grating near the back corner of the room. Tap, tap, tap.
Julian didn't hesitate. He lunged off the dry threshold, wading waist-deep into the freezing, oil-slicked water, fighting against the powerful undertow pulling toward the breach. He splashed his way to the corner where a heavy steel floor hatch led down to the sub-level ballast tanks.
He grabbed the iron wheel valve, turning it with all his remaining strength. The rusted mechanism shrieked in protest before breaking free with a sharp pop, allowing Julian to heave the heavy hatch upward.
Elena’s face appeared in the opening, pale and dripping with water, holding both twin babies securely against her chest inside a waterproof canvas flotation pack. Clara was right behind her, coughing violently as she climbed up out of the sub-level access well.
"Julian!" Elena cried out, throwing her arms around his neck the second he pulled her onto the elevated platform. "The lower tanks—they're flooding too! The escape sub is our only way out!"
"Miller found the sub bay!" Julian shouted, shielding the twins with his own body as another tremor shook the rig's foundation, sending a shower of sparks raining down from the overhead electrical conduits. "Follow me! Stay close to the wall!"
They scrambled through the labyrinth of twisting industrial pipes, the water level rising inches with every passing second. The klaxons had shifted from a rhythmic pulse to a continuous, high-pitched wail indicating total structural failure across all bulkheads.
As they burst through the heavy airlock door leading into Dock C, the sleek, black hull of a private corporate escape submarine came into view, its running lights blinking green against the dark water of the subterranean drydock.
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Standing on the boarding gantry beside the submarine's open hatch, leaning heavily on his golden-headed cane despite the chaos around him, was Arthur Vance.
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