Chapter 7 - The Flashlight Beam
The harsh white beam of a tactical flashlight sliced through the splintered gap in the cellar door, sweeping across the concrete floor, missing Clara by mere inches as she pressed herself flat against the damp wall.
"Clear the southern quadrant!" a gruff voice commanded from the top of the stairs. "The noise was a distraction. They’re using the runoff network!"
The heavy pressure on the cellar door suddenly vanished. The boots retreated upstairs, fading toward the shattered front window. Clara let out a shuddering breath, her entire body trembling with adrenaline. She waited a full minute in absolute silence before crawling on her hands and knees toward the dark opening of the stormwater pipe.
"Leo?" she whispered into the claustrophobic metal tube. "Toby?"
"We're here," Leo's voice echoed back, strained and breathless from crawling. "Toby got stuck on a rusted bracket, but I pulled him through. We're at the junction box under Elm Street."
"Are you hurt?" Clara asked, peering into the pitch-black pipe.
"Just scrapes," Leo replied. "Clara, you have to get out of the house. They're going to realize the tunnel leads here and circle back with tracking gear."
"I'm not abandoning you," Clara insisted, trying to squeeze her shoulders into the mouth of the pipe, only to realize with sinking despair that the opening was far too narrow for an adult. "Listen to me, Leo. I'm going to take my car, drive around to the park entrance, and meet you at the exit grate. Do not leave that junction box until you see my headlights."
"No, Clara, wait—" Leo started, but Clara was already pulling herself backward out of the crawlspace.
May you like
She scrambled up the cellar steps, burst through the ruined door into the ransacked living room, and froze. The front window was completely shattered, and standing in the center of her ruined room was a tall man in a dark tactical suit, holding her dead cell phone in his gloved hand.
---
