PART 6: Descent into the Cellar
PART 6: Descent into the Cellar
Basement concrete reveals brutal corporate crimes.
The heavy steel door of the basement didn't need a crowbar in the end.
One of the tactical engineers simply attached a shaped thermal charge to the digital keypad, blowing the electronic locks with a silent, controlled flash of blue plasma that vaporized the steel bolts in milliseconds.
The door drifted open, spilling bright tactical flashlight beams into the damp, freezing darkness below.
Arthur Sterling led the way down the concrete steps, his boots echoing sharply against the floor.
I was lying unconscious near the back corner, curled into a tight ball against the frost-covered foundation wall, my breathing shallow and ragged, my lips pale and cracked.
"Valerie," Arthur whispered, his voice cracking with sudden, profound anguish as he dropped to his knees beside me.
He didn't hesitate.
He shrugged off his heavy military overcoat, wrapped it gently around my freezing shoulders, and lifted me into his arms as if I weighed nothing at all.
"Medic! Get down here now!" Arthur bellowed up the stairwell.
Two combat medics rushed down the steps with a portable trauma kit, immediately slipping an oxygen mask over my face, starting an IV line, and administering emergency stabilizing agents.
"She's going into hypovolemic shock, Commander," one medic reported urgently. "Internal bleeding is severe. We need immediate evacuation to the military trauma center in San Antonio."
"Move," Arthur ordered fiercely.
As they carried me out of the basement toward the waiting medical helicopter stationed on the front lawn, the cool night air brushed against my face.
For the first time in three years, the crushing weight in my chest lifted.
May you like
I opened my eyes just a fraction, looking up past the rotor blades into the starlit sky, knowing that the nightmare was finally over.
And Edward Vance was about to learn what happens when you awaken a sleeping dragon.
