Chapter 8 - The Descent into the Dark
The elevator plunged downward with a stomach-churning lurch, dropping past the fifty luxury residential floors of the skyscraper toward the sub-basement loading docks.
I leaned against the cool metal wall, sucking in air to steady my spinning head, while Lincoln pressed his back against the opposite corner, clutching his bleeding arm. The makeshift bandage I had applied earlier was completely soaked through, dark crimson staining his black shirt.
“You’re bleeding out,” I whispered, staring at his pale, sweat-slicked face.
“I’ll live,” Lincoln grunted through clenched teeth, his gray eyes locked on the digital floor numbers ticking down: 12… 8… 4… 2… “Garrett had an extraction team on the south side. If the loading bay is compromised, we only have one way out through the storm drainage system.”
“The drainage system?” I repeated, my voice rising in disbelief. “Lincoln, the city is flooding. The streets are rivers right now.”
“It’s either drown in the drainage or take a bullet from Chicago’s cleaning crew,” Lincoln said flatly, pulling a spare magazine from his tactical belt and reloading his automatic with one fluid, practiced motion. “Your choice, Delia.”
The elevator bell pinged, signaling our arrival at the lowest level.
The heavy steel doors began to part with a low, mechanical whir.
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Before they were even fully open, the harsh glare of emergency floodlights sliced into the car, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of pump-action shotguns being racked.
“Drop the weapon! Hands where we can see them!” a gruff, unfamiliar voice bellowed from the loading dock.
