Page 91 of Embrace Me Forever

“What do you want to do, Blake?”

“She must be inside a building,” I mutter.

“But look around, there’s no building with its four walls intact.”

I rub my chin, scanning the horizon of broken facades. “It’s an old port. Maybe there are parts that weren’t completely demolished. Like a basement or something hidden under all this.”

“Quite possibly,” Clayton shares my theory. “A basement could easily go unnoticed.”

We resolve to extend our search, shifting our focus from the initial areas of our split. “Stay alert and check in every five minutes,” I instruct, adjusting my headset.

My boots glide silently over gravel and shattered glass as I navigate the warehouses. Clay’s intermittent radio updates break the silence, each only confirming that he’s still empty-handed. I scour the area for any hint of access—a vent, a doorway, perhaps a seam in the earth hinting at hidden passages.

I move toward another section of the port, entering the largest structure I’ve encountered so far, likely an old cargo warehouse. As I sweep the flashlight across the space, something catches my eye. A slight depression in the ground. It appears intentional, an outline almost obscured by years of dirt and debris.

The ground under my boots feels unsteady, but I’ve got to check out the spot. I clear the area with my foot, revealing what looks like a rusted metal ring embedded in the ground. It’s a handle. I tug at it, and a heavy grate creaks open, exposing a void below.

Excitement gives way to caution as I peer into the blackness. The air is musty, thick with the smell of damp earth. I find a somewhat stable-looking ladder and start my descent. But as I shift my weight onto a lower rung, the ground at the edge of the hole gives way. I’m falling before I can act, crashing down into the darkness.

Pain lances up my leg as I slam onto the uneven ground. A rumble above warns of an imminent collapse. I dive into a small alcove in the earth just as dirt and stones rain down, cutting off the light from above. As the downpour settles, I reach for my radio but find nothing—lost, likely buried beneath the scattered debris.

As my hands frantically sweep away the rubble, faint noises break the silence. Clearly human, punctuated by the sporadic crash of objects being shattered. It appears I’m in a chamber, with these sounds filtering through from a neighboring one.

Shit!My tumble must have alerted whoever is lurking on the other side.

With no time to hunt for my radio, I must press on without Clay’s backup. Fortunately, my torch remains lit, providing a slender beam against the unforgiving darkness.

I move toward the opposite wall with cautious steps, anticipating what—or who—waits around the corner. I hope one of them is Georgia-May. If she’s kept in another building, her captors would surely have raised an alarm by now, possibly planning their escape. But there are limited options for hiding in this forsaken port. Instinct tells me this is Bertram’s only lair.

My search leads to a narrow passage, a sliver of hope that propels me forward. The passage opens into another chamber, lit by a single bulb that dies the moment my silhouette crosses the threshold.

Shots ring out. I’m in the right place.

I duck reflexively, the sound of bullets echoing off concrete walls. I fire back blindly toward the flashes of their gunfire, the staccato sounds of our exchange piercing the silence. Taking shelter, I roll behind a stack of crates, shards of concrete raining down as their shots find the wall behind me.

I count the seconds between their fire to gauge their positions. Two of them, likely. Trained, but not expecting me to fight back this hard. I squeeze the trigger again, my aim guided by the fleeting memory of where the flashes had been. A groan tells me one shot found its mark. I pivot, targeting where I estimate the second assailant hides.

The air is thick with the smell of gunpowder. Everything is still.

I press on, crouched low, not trusting the silence to start exploring.

Moments pass, and confident that I’m alone, I sweep my torchlight across the chamber. The beam reveals a chaotic scene of equipment hastily, perhaps desperately, smashed to pieces.

I approach the biggest computer terminal, noticing specks of blood on the desk’s edge. Despite the fear tightening in my chest, I search for more signs of a struggle but find nothing. Until a familiar glint under the desk catches my eye.

“Georgia-May,” I murmur, stooping to pick up her infinity pendant. I scan the floor. No more blood. Though I’m certain Bertram wouldn’t kill her, the threat of harm is undeniable.

I press the pendant to my chest for a fleeting moment, then tuck it safely into my shirt pocket as a makeshift talisman. Rising, I ready my Glock. “Georgia-May!” I shout.

But the chamber only throws back my own call.

Further search brings me to another section of the chamber, where I discover a different passageway hidden behind a wall, thicker than the others. It reveals a series of stone steps, worn and moss-covered, undoubtedly leading up to ground level toward that dilapidated warehouse above. It dawns on me that I had initially entered through another, unfortunately unstable, part of this sprawling complex.

Above me, the sound of hurried footsteps. Someone is either fleeing or hunting me down. As I ascend, the air shifts. A light breeze, carrying the salty tang of the sea, reminds me of my initial entry into this hidden place.

I propel myself upward, the stone steps blurring beneath me. Finally, I burst onto the ground level.

No one.

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