Chapter 11 - The Echo of Gunfire
The sound of splashing boots echoed wildly off the corrugated steel walls of the tunnel, bouncing back and forth like a barrage of physical blows.
"Move, move, move!" Arthur roared, pushing Marcus ahead of him through the waist-deep runoff while keeping his revolver aimed backward into the darkness.
A deafening crack pierced the confined space as a high-powered rifle round ricocheted off the steel ceiling just inches above their heads, sending a shower of burning sparks cascading down onto their shoulders.
"They're using suppressed carbines!" Thomas yelled over the din of the splashing water, ducking low as another round slammed into the pipe wall with a violent clang.
"Keep your heads down and head for the maintenance ladder up ahead!"
Marcus scrambled forward, his lungs burning from the damp, foul air and the sheer physical exhaustion of sprinting through knee-deep water.
His boots slipped on a patch of slick algae, sending him sprawling hard into the freezing runoff, but Thomas grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and hauled him upright in a single fluid motion.
"I can't... I can't breathe," Marcus gasped, clutching his chest as he coughed violently.
"You're going to make it, little brother!" Thomas shouted, shining the flashlight beam upward to reveal a rusted iron ladder bolted into the curved roof of the conduit, leading to a heavy steel hatch overhead.
"Arthur, cover the rear!" Thomas commanded.
Arthur planted his boots firmly in the center of the pipe, raising his Colt .45 with both hands, his weathered face set in an expression of absolute, immovable resolve.
"Go!" Arthur barked, squeezing the trigger twice into the darkness down the tunnel.
The heavy concussive blasts of the revolver filled the subterranean tube with flashing light and deafening noise, momentarily halting the pursuit behind them with a spray of answering curses and scrambling boots.
Thomas slammed his hands against the heavy steel maintenance hatch above the ladder, throwing his shoulder into the rusted latch until it gave way with a sharp, metallic screech of tearing metal.
Fresh, rain-scented air poured down into the dark tunnel like a blessing.
"Up the ladder, Marcus! Now!" Thomas ordered, boosting his younger brother toward the opening.
Marcus grabbed the rusted rungs with bleeding fingers, hauling himself upward just as another volley of rifle fire chipped the concrete base of the ladder away into dust.
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As Marcus poked his head out through the hatch into the dimly lit basement of the old VFW hall, he froze in utter disbelief at the sight waiting for them in the room above.
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