Chapter 35 - The Serpent Under the Ice
We tumbled headfirst into the freezing, filthy water of the stormwater culvert just as the oxygen in the vault detonated behind us, sending a fireball roaring through the narrow entry like the exhaust of a jet engine.
The icy water was blinding, smelling of mud and decaying vegetation, but it sucked us downward through the natural grade of the hill. Scrabbling through darkness, our skin torn by sharp stones and rusted rebar, we broke through a drainage culvert fifty yards downhill, spilling onto the muddy bank of the estate’s frozen decorative lake.
Gasping for air, coughing black soot from our lungs, we pulled ourselves onto the sleet-slicked grass. Behind us, the greenhouse was an inferno, a blinding cage of burning glass and iron lighting up the Berkshire hillside like a fallen star.
"Look," Marcus wheezed, pointing through the driving sleet toward the estate’s secondary service road.
A pair of taillights was speeding away toward the highway: an old pickup truck stolen from the estate’s maintenance shed.
"She’s heading for Boston," I said, wiping blood and freezing mud from my brow as I stumbled toward our SUV, which was still parked by the front gates, its engine running and hazard lights flashing. "She knows we found the truth about Evelyn. Arthur is the only surviving witness who can verify the fraud and murder to the state district attorney."
"Claire, your shoulder is bleeding, and you're hypothermic," Marcus warned, his hands trembling as he checked his weapon. "We need to call in the state troopers. Let the tactical units handle her."
"The troopers won't reach Arthur in time," I said, slamming into the driver's seat and dropping the armored SUV into gear. The tires screamed against the black ice as we surged onto the two-lane highway, chasing the faint red glow disappearing into the storm. "Eleanor has nothing left to lose. When a monster realizes her cage is being demolished, she doesn't run away. She kills the master who bought the chains."
As we tore through the mountain pass, my phone on the dashboard dashboard buzzed violently. The display showed an incoming video call from an unlisted number.
I tapped the screen.
The shaky camera feed showed a darkened room. Hospital monitors beeped in rhythmic, fragile patterns. In the background lay Arthur Vance, frail, skeletal, hooked to a mechanical ventilator, his sunken eyes wide with paralyzing terror.
Standing beside the bed, dressed in a stolen doctor's white coat, was Chloe.
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Her face was gaunt, her expensive makeup smeared, her once-immaculate designer clothes hanging off her emaciated frame. In her trembling hand, she held an open syringe filled with clear, lethal liquid.
"Hello, Claire," Chloe whispered through the phone, tears cutting tracks through the grime on her cheeks. "Mom told me if I do this... if I finish Daddy before you get here... she'll give me the offshore access codes. She said we can run away together to Zurich. Tell me she’s not lying, Claire. Tell me my family still loves me!"
