Chapter 8 - The Rising Tide
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the heavy red toggle switch and yanked it down with the full weight of my body.
CLANK!
Deep beneath the mountain bedrock, a massive hydraulic piston groaned into life. A low, thunderous vibration shook the steel floor beneath my feet, making the metal walls hum like a giant tuning fork.
From somewhere above us—far up in the structure of the house—a roaring sound echoed through the concrete shafts.
It sounded like a freight train tearing through a tunnel.
Fifty thousand gallons of icy mountain lake water burst through the upper basement sluice gates, roaring through the mechanical air ducts, drowning the chemical fire, and sweeping away everything in the upper corridors.
I held Lily tightly against my chest, crouching in the corner of the vault as the walls vibrated violently for three straight minutes.
Then, slowly, the roaring sound faded into a steady, rhythmic rush of draining water.
The air indicator light on the console flickered from red back to green as the backup emergency oxygen generators kicked in, flooding the small steel vault with crisp, cold, fresh air.
Lily took a long, deep breath, her little lungs expanding as she stopped coughing.
“Mama,” Lily whispered, looking at the ceiling. “It smells like cold river stones now.”
I closed my eyes, letting out a long, shuddering sob of pure relief, kissing her wet cheeks over and over again.
Ten minutes later, three heavy metallic thuds rattled the vault door.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
A familiar code.
I ran to the heavy handwheel, spinning it to the left, unlocking the massive steel bolts.
I pulled the three-inch door open.
Standing in the damp, flooded basement corridor was Mason Reed.
He was drenched from head to toe in freezing mountain water, his leather jacket torn at the shoulder, his face covered in soot and blood—but he was standing. Behind him, two of his tactical team members were securing three wet, cuffed men who were groaning on the floor.
“Mason!” I cried.
Mason wiped a mixture of blood and lake water from his eyes, giving us a tired, rugged grin.
“Nice work with the water switch, Maya,” Mason coughed, leaning against the doorframe to catch his breath. “Flushed four of Julian’s best hitmen straight into the lower septic catch basin. We picked up the survivors like wet rats.”
He looked down at Lily, reaching out his large, wet hand and gently tapping her nose.
“You okay, little bird?”
“You smell like wet dog, Uncle Mason,” Lily said solemnly.
Mason laughed—a loud, booming sound that cleared the lingering terror from the damp air.
“Yeah, kiddo,” Mason smiled. “I suppose I do.”
He turned back to look at me, his smile fading into a serious, intense focus.
“I just talked to the hospital, Maya,” Mason said. “Julian Cross made his move. He just entered the St. Jude’s private wing with four armed men, claiming he has legal power of attorney to clear Adrian’s room.”
My heart stopped. “Is Adrian alone?”
May you like
Mason’s eyes glittered with a dangerous, predatory light under the dim basement bulbs.
“Adrian isn't alone,” Mason whispered. “He’s been waiting for him. And the helicopter is refueled on the roof. It’s time we went back to Boston to watch the end of the show.”
