Chapter 13 - The Surface Beckons
Mr. Henderson stepped closer, the muzzle of the revolver steady and unwavering in the dim light of the underground reservoir. Leo’s mind raced, searching for an escape route, but the sheer concrete walls rose up into total darkness on all sides, and the water behind him was too deep and treacherous to cross again.
"Put the box down, Leo," Mr. Henderson commanded, his voice dropping into a harsh, commanding tone. "This ends right here."
Leo slowly lowered the metal ammunition box toward the concrete ledge, keeping his fingers tightly wrapped around the leather-bound journal he had slipped into his waistband. As the heavy box hit the ground with a dull thud, Mr. Henderson’s eyes flicked downward for a fraction of a second, distracted by the contents.
That split second was all Leo needed. He grabbed his heavy-duty flashlight and hurled it with all his might straight into the old man's face.
The flashlight caught Mr. Henderson squarely on the cheekbone with a sickening crack. The old man stumbled backward, swearing fiercely as his gun discharged harmlessly into the vaulted concrete ceiling, sending a shower of sparks raining down into the water.
Leo didn't wait to see if he fell. He turned and bolted into the dark labyrinth of drainage pipes, running blindly through the freezing water as shouts echoed behind him.
"Get back here, you little rat!" Mr. Henderson roared, his footsteps splashing furiously in pursuit.
Leo’s lungs burned, his legs felt like lead, but pure adrenaline kept him moving. He took a sharp left turn up a steep concrete incline that he remembered from earlier—the service ladder leading directly beneath the green park pavilion.
He scrambled up the rusted rungs of the ladder, his hands slipping on the damp iron until he reached the heavy iron grate at the top. Pushing upward with his shoulders, the rusted hinges groaned and gave way, spilling bright afternoon sunlight directly into his eyes.
He hauled himself out of the grate, tumbling onto the green grass of the park grounds. The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long, golden shadows across the wooden structure and the pavilion in the background. A small crowd of relaxed park-goers sat nearby, completely oblivious to the nightmare unfolding beneath their feet.
Before Leo could catch his breath, a heavy pair of arms grabbed him from behind, hauling him hard against a chest and pinning his arms to his sides.
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"Got him," Sheriff Miller’s voice growled in his ear, pressing a cold steel handcuff onto his right wrist.
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