Chapter 11 - The Current’s Grasp
The metallic click of the pistol hammer echoed like a gunshot in the confined concrete chamber. Sam didn't flinch, standing his ground with a fierce, defiant glare, while Leo threw himself forward, shoving the sheriff’s arm upward just as the gun discharged.
The bullet ricocheted off the concrete ceiling with a deafening screech of sparks and dust, shattering the overhead bulb and plunging the tunnel into near-total darkness save for the frantic, sweeping beams of their flashlights.
"Run!" Leo screamed, grabbing Sam’s jacket and hauling him toward the rushing drainage current where the ammunition box had vanished.
"Are you insane? We'll drown!" Sam yelled over the roar of the water.
"It’s the only way out!" Leo replied, diving headfirst into the freezing, fast-moving water just as a second shot slammed into the concrete wall inches from his foot.
The icy water hit Leo like a physical blow, stealing the breath from his lungs and dragging him downstream with terrifying velocity. He kicked wildly, his hands scraping against the rough concrete sides of the tunnel as the current propelled him forward into the pitch-black abyss. Beside him, Sam surfaced briefly, gasping for air before being sucked under a low-hanging concrete partition.
Leo tumbled through the churning water, disoriented and freezing, unable to tell which way was up. The roar of the underground river filled his ears, drowning out his own frantic thoughts. Just as his lungs felt ready to burst, the tunnel opened up into a massive underground reservoir, and the current abruptly slowed, spitting him out onto a muddy concrete ledge.
Coughing violently and gasping for air, Leo hauled himself onto the ledge, spitting out foul-tasting water.
"Sam!" Leo yelled into the cavernous darkness, his voice echoing weakly. "Sam, answer me!"
Silence answered him, save for the steady dripping of water from the ceiling high above. Leo clicked on his flashlight, the weak beam cutting through the dense mist rising off the dark, stagnant water of the reservoir. A few yards away, floating face down near a rusted drainage grate, was a bright blue jacket.
"No, no, no," Leo whimpered, scrambling across the slippery mud and diving back into the shallow water to reach the jacket.
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He rolled the body over, his heart in his throat. It wasn't Sam. It was an old man's coat—and protruding from the breast pocket was the missing ammunition box, wedged tightly against the grate.
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