Page 110 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
Nothing but dead air.
“Comms are down,” Carter confirms, checking his equipment.
“Keep moving,” I say. “We stick to the plan.”
“The plan was shit before we lost comms,” Blake points out.
“The plan is all we’ve got,” Gabe counters, voice tight with pain.
We continue forward, more cautious now. Blind. Cut off. The holding cells can’t be far.
A voice suddenly booms through hidden speakers, echoing down sterile corridors. Smooth. Cultured. Amused.
“Gentlemen of Charlie team. How disappointing. I arranged such an elaborate funeral for you. And yet here you are, rudely refusing to stay dead.”
Malfor.
“I must congratulate you on your resilience. Three miles is quite the swim, especially with injuries. And infiltrating my facility? Impressive. Truly.”
I scan the ceiling, looking for cameras, speakers, any sign of surveillance.
“Your women have been quite resilient. Remarkable specimens. Though I’m afraid Ms. Collins has been particularly—difficult. Such spirit.”
Gabe’s eyes flash with rage. I place a hand on his arm.
“Steady.”
“I’m afraid your little electronic infection is quite ingenious. It’s causing all sorts of fascinating chaos in my systems. Unfortunately for you, I maintain analog backups.”
Metal doors slam shut ahead and behind us. The sound of mechanical locks engaging echoes through the corridor.
“You have exactly two minutes before this section floods with a particularly unpleasant neurotoxin. I suggest you use that time to reflect on your life choices.”
Ethan signals immediately. “Alternate route. Air ducts.”
Walt rips a ventilation cover from the wall, metal shrieking as it gives way.
“Jeb, take point. Gabe, you’re next,” I order. No time for his pride. The injured go first.
“Fan access ahead,” Jeb reports from inside the duct. “I can override it.”
“Move,” Ethan urges.
One by one, we pull ourselves into the narrow passage. I go last, scanning the corridor one final time before hauling myself up.
The duct is tight, barely wide enough for shoulders. We crawl in a single file, following Jeb’s directions through the metal maze.
“Junction ahead,” he calls back. “Sublevel B markings. East quadrant.”
We’re on track. Somehow.
Jeb pauses at a grate, peering through. “Clear below.”
He works the cover loose, dropping silently into the room below. We follow one after another, each man knowing his role without being told.
A laboratory. Empty. Workstations are still active, screens glowing with data. On one monitor, cellular structures writhe and reform.
“Find the holding cell,” Ethan orders. “Now.”
