Page 103 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
“Contact point ahead. Fifty meters.” Ghost’s voice slithers through my earpiece.
The cliff face towers above us, darker than the night sky it scrapes against. Waves hammer stone walls, spray whipping in the wind. I time my strokes with the surging water, letting it carry me forward, then fight its greedy pull as it retreats.
There is a deeper wound in the rock face. The tunnel mouth.
Ghost and Brass vanish into that darkness first. Whisper treads water beside me, tablet held above the churning surface. I follow Hank toward the opening, fighting currents that want to pulverize us against stone.
“Entrance secure.” Ghost’s voice crackles through the comms.
The tunnel swallows me, its mouth barely wider than my shoulders. Cold stone scrapes against my wetsuit as I haul myself inside. The stench hits like a rogue wave—rot and waste and chemical death. My stomach coils into knots.
“Grate ahead.” Ghost’s warning echoes back through darkness.
Walt edges forward, tools appearing in his hands like extensions of his fingers. His waterproof flashlight catches metal teeth—a rusted barrier blocking our advance. The snip of his cutters through corroded bars sounds deafening in the confined space.
“Real tight.” Blake eyes the narrow opening as Walt pulls the grate free.
Rigel’s teeth flash white in the darkness. “Too tight for you?”
“Watch me.” Blake’s eyes narrow to slits.
He forces his massive frame through the gap, shoulders scraping both sides of the passage. His grunt rebounds through the tunnel, amplified by concrete and water.
“Single file.” Ghost’s finger jabs forward.
The passage narrows further, angles upward. No more swimming—just crawling on elbows and knees over slick concrete that reeks of decades of filth. Water trickles past, carrying unidentifiable things that brush against my hands in the darkness. The stench intensifies—chemical waste, decomposing matter, and something metallic that coats my tongue and burns my sinuses.
My injured leg drags behind me, each movement detonating fresh explosions up my spine. My teeth clench against the pain.
Just keep moving.
The walls press closer. The ceiling lowers. Thousands of tons of earth and concrete crushing down from above. My breath comes faster, shallower. The darkness thickens, becoming almost solid. We’re crawling straight into hell’s throat.
“Motion sensor.” Brass’s urgent hiss halts our advance.
Every muscle locks. Brass extracts a small penlight from his pocket.
“Infrared bypass loop.” His whisper barely carries back to us. “Oldest trick in the book.”
My lungs burn. Sweat trickles down my back despite the cold. If that sensor triggers…
“Clear. Move slowly past this junction.” Brass’s voice releases us from our paralysis.
We inch forward, bodies pressed against slime-slick walls. The tunnel splits—one path continuing upward, another branching left.
“Maintenance access fifty meters ahead.” Whisper consults his tablet. “Left.”
The passage widens slightly. Our spines straighten from crawl to crouch, weapons ready. Water still trickles beneath our boots, but it’s less now, barely covering the concrete.
“Hatch leads to a maintenance courtyard on the compound’s south edge.” Ghost pauses, voice dropping even lower. “Access point ahead.”
“Security?” Ethan’s question floats forward.
“Two cameras, wide-angle. Blind spot directly below the hatch.”
My watch reads thirty-seven minutes since we entered the tunnel. The luminescent dial glows faintly green against the darkness.
Ghost stops at a metal ladder bolted into concrete. Above us, a circular hatch catches what little light penetrates this deep.
