PART 33
The air in the vault instantly felt heavier,
the realization of our confinement pressing down on us.
Sarah lunged up the stone steps,
slamming her body against the steel door,
but it didn't budge an inch.
"It’s an electronic deadbolt, Emma,"
she shouted down,
shining her light on the heavy metal locking bars.
"It’s wired into an external generator."
"We can't shoot our way out of this."
I stayed calm,
the old panic completely gone,
replaced by a cold,
calculating resolve.
My grandfather wouldn't build a vault without an escape route,
especially not one designed to open after a fire.
I turned back to the metal shelves,
shining my flashlight on the blueprints.
"Sarah, look at the ventilation layout,"
I called out,
tracing a finger along the printed lines.
"The air ducts don't go to the surface."
"They connect to the old town sewer line that runs beneath the creek."
"He built it as an intake,
but the grates are removable from the inside."
We moved to the back of the room,
where a large iron grate was bolted to the concrete wall.
Sarah pulled a multi-tool from her belt,
handing me the heavy pliers.
We worked in perfect,
frantic silence,
turning the rusted bolts one by one as the sound of a drill echoed from above.
They were drilling into the roof of the vault to drop explosives or gas,
trying to destroy the files and us with them.
The last bolt dropped to the floor with a loud clang.
I grabbed the iron grate and pulled it free,
revealing a dark,
brick-lined tunnel just wide enough for a person to crawl through.
"Go,"
I whispered to Sarah,
pushing her toward the opening.
"I’m right behind you."
But as she scrambled into the pipe,
the drilling above stopped.
A small canister dropped through the ceiling vent,
hissing loudly as a pale green gas began to fill the room.
May you like
The syndicate wasn't trying to starve us out.
They were killing us now.
