Chapter 72 - Subterranean Rupture
Marcus fired two rounds into the overhead emergency release valve above the maintenance intake. The steel grating tore away with a groan, dropping into the icy mist.
"Up, now!" Marcus ordered, catching me by the waist and hoisting my body into the narrow, uninsulated aluminum air duct before I could protest.
I pulled myself inside, hauling the heavy stainless-steel cylinder behind me. The metal beneath my palms was freezing, threatening to tear away my skin, but adrenaline masked the agony. Marcus hauled himself up right behind me just as the main blast door collapsed inward under the force of Arthur’s security team’s thermal charges.
A burst of automatic gunfire tore through the lower chamber, chewing into the concrete below our duct.
"Crawl!" Marcus commanded, his hand firm on my boot heel. "The exhaust fan leads to the storm drainage system under the Limmat River. Keep moving, Sarah! Don't look back!"
I scrambled forward on hands and knees through the pitch-black metal tube. The cold air rushed against my face, smelling of rust, stagnant river water, and ozone. Behind us, the subterranean vault shuddered. A muffled, concussive boom vibrated through the metal casing—the cryogenic tank had ruptured, flash-freezing the entire lower level and sealing Arthur's enforcers in a tomb of ice and shattered steel.
We reached the heavy industrial exhaust vent after twenty harrowing yards. Marcus shoved past me, kicked the louvered slats with the heel of his combat boot until the rusted hinges gave way, and hauled us out into the frigid night air.
We tumbled into a narrow, snow-dusted stone culvert overlooking the dark, swirling waters of the Limmat. Above us, the historic spires of Zurich stood silently against a leaden winter sky, sirens already beginning to wail in the distance like mourning ghosts.
Marcus collapsed against the stone embankment, clutching his right side. Blood, dark and steaming against the pristine snow, was seeping through his tactical vest.
May you like
"Marcus!" I cried, dropping to my knees beside him, dropping the cylinder into the drift. "You're hit."
"Just... grazed by shrapnel," he gritted out, his teeth chattering from shock and the brutal cold. "We need to move. That explosion... will bring the Swiss federal police and Arthur’s local assets in three minutes."
