Chapter 6 - Subterranean Echoes
The metallic pounding against the iron service door faded into a dull, rhythmic thud, swallowed by the roar of the torrential rain cascading over the concrete earth above.
Norah knelt in the frigid, ankle-deep runoff water of the tunnel, pressing her hands against Declan’s side. Through the wet fabric of his ruined shirt, his skin felt burning hot, slick with a terrifying combination of cold sweat and fresh blood.
“Declan, stay with me,” she urged, her voice trembling in the pitch black. “How far does this tunnel go?”
“Carriage house…” Declan wheezed, his head lolling backward against the damp concrete wall. A jagged cough wracked his frame, leaving a fresh streak of crimson at the corner of his mouth. “Old bootlegger tunnel. Tommy… Tommy doesn't know about it. Only the old guard.”
“Well, your old guard picked a wonderful night to be dead or retired,” Norah snapped under her breath, though her heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in his voice. She slid her arm around his waist, taking as much of his dead weight as she could manage. “Can you stand? If we stay here, he’ll find the emergency hatch outside.”
Declan let out a harsh, rasping breath, his fingers digging hard into her forearm. “I can walk. Just… don't let me fall.”
With a grunt of shared agony, Norah hauled him to his feet. Every step through the narrow, winding concrete tube felt like a mile. The air tasted of rust, damp stone, and impending disaster. She could hear the wet squelch of their boots echoing off the low ceiling, a metronome of their desperation.
After what felt like an eternity, a faint gray sliver of light cut through the gloom ahead, illuminating a rusted iron ladder leading up to a heavy trapdoor.
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“We’re here,” Norah whispered, pushing Declan toward the rungs.
As Declan reached up with a shaking, blood-smeared hand to grip the lowest rung, a dull, metallic crash echoed from deep within the tunnel behind them—the sound of the iron service door finally giving way to Tommy’s sledgehammer.
