Chapter 8 - The Basement Labyrinth
The descent down the stainless-steel chute was a blur of dizzying speed and friction.
Before I could fully process the drop, I burst out the bottom of the metal cylinder, landing in a massive, springy mound of industrial white sheets inside the hospital’s basement sorting room.
The impact knocked the remaining wind out of my lungs, but my arms never loosened their death grip around my baby. He let out a brief, startled squawk before settling back into a quiet, warm slumber against my chest.
I scrambled out of the laundry mound, panting heavily as I took in my surroundings.
Rows of humming washing machines, endless stacks of detergent drums, and a maze of concrete maintenance tunnels stretched out in every direction. Somewhere above us, heavy boots were clattering across the metal grating of the service stairs.
"Clear the lower level!" a voice barked over a distant radio frequency. "Lock down the utility exits. Nobody leaves the basement perimeter."
I had mere minutes before they realized I had dropped through the laundry network.
I darted down the nearest maintenance tunnel, my bare feet slapping against the damp concrete floor. The air smelled of bleach, rust, and damp earth. I passed a series of heavy iron junction doors until I spotted a rusted red sign blinking in the shadows: EMERGENCY EXIT – ALARM WILL SOUND.
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I pushed against the heavy metal push-bar with my shoulder.
The door unlatched with a loud, protesting screech, spilling a rush of cold, wet night air and the steady patter of falling rain into the dark tunnel.
