Chapter 8 - The Freight Elevator
The abandoned dry dock smelled of rusted iron, brine, and old engine oil.
Alara cut the sedan's headlights a hundred yards back, coasting the vehicle into the cavernous shadow of a corrugated steel loading shed. The rain drummed a heavy tattoo against the metal roof above.
Jack killed the engine and pushed his door open with a muffled grunt of pain. He pulled his tactical vest back over his shoulders, adjusting the straps with grim efficiency before reaching into the back seat to secure the baby carrier against his chest.
"Stay close behind me," Jack warned, checking the magazine of his sidearm. "If things go sideways, you take the service ladder on the left wall straight up to the street grid. Don't look back."
"I'm not leaving you, Jack," Alara said firmly, stepping out of the car and pulling her jacket tight against the chill. "We established this back at the diner."
A faint, bitter smile touched the corner of Jack's mouth, though his eyes remained dead serious. "You're a stubborn woman, Alara Harper."
"You haven't seen anything yet."
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They moved toward the rear of the loading shed, where a rusted freight elevator door was set deep into the concrete foundation. Jack pulled a small, multi-tool blade from his pocket, manipulated a series of hidden pins in the manual lock, and with a heavy metallic clank, the iron gate slid inward, revealing a pitch-black shaft descending into the bowels of the waterfront.
They stepped onto the grated platform. Jack pulled a heavy brass lever, and with a protesting screech of old cables, the elevator began its slow, grinding descent into the dark.
