Chapter 4 - The Safe Behind the Drywall
“They tracked our vehicle’s transponder,” Roman growled, slamming the main bunker door shut and throwing the heavy industrial deadbolts into place. “Move, Madison! Behind the steel counter, now!”
The muffled sound of automatic gunfire erupted from the floor above, chewing through the wooden floorboards of the abandoned dry cleaner. Chunks of plaster and ceiling tiles rained down into the basement as bullets ricocheted off the reinforced steel door.
“I thought you said this place was completely off the grid!” Madison shouted, crouching behind a heavy metal workbench, her hands covering her ears as her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
“Vance has deep pockets! He probably bought the satellite telemetry from a private contractor!” Roman pulled a sleek black assault rifle from a rack on the wall, chambered a round with a violent metallic click, and tossed a lightweight Kevlar vest directly into her lap. “Put this on. Buckle it tight. If anyone comes through that doorway who isn't me, you pull this pin and run through that ventilation hatch behind you.”
He handed her an olive-drab fragmentation grenade.
Madison held the heavy piece of military hardware, her fingers shaking so hard she nearly dropped it. “Are you crazy? I’m an event coordinator! I pick flower arrangements for corporate fundraisers, Roman! I don’t blow people up!”
Roman grabbed her shoulders, his intense gray eyes piercing through the panic clouding her mind. “Today, you survive, Madison. That’s your only job. Survive.”
A massive explosion blew the reinforced steel bunker door inward off its heavy hinges with a deafening boom. Thick gray smoke and toxic chemical residue flooded the room.
Through the haze, three tactical operatives dressed in black body armor and night-vision goggles surged forward, their weapons raised.
Roman didn’t hesitate. He dropped to one knee, firing three controlled, lethal bursts from his rifle. The front two attackers collapsed instantly onto the shattered concrete, their armor compromised at point-blank range. The third operative dove behind an industrial washing machine housing, returning fire that sparked furiously off the metal workbenches mere inches above Madison’s head.
Madison screamed, pressing her back against the wall, clutching the grenade to her chest.
Roman moved like a lethal shadow. He rolled across the concrete floor, ignoring the flying shrapnel, flanking the remaining shooter from the blind spot behind the ventilation duct. A sharp, muffled double-tap echoed through the bunker, followed by the dull, heavy thud of a body hitting the floor.
Silence returned, thick and suffocating, punctuated only by Roman’s ragged breathing and the dripping of water from a punctured pipe.
Roman turned back toward her, his rifle lowered. His left sleeve was shredded, blood soaking through the dark fabric of his tailored dress shirt.
“You’re hit!” Madison cried out, scrambling to her feet, dropping the grenade onto the table, and rushing to his side.
“Grazed,” Roman grunted, clenching his teeth as he pressed a hand against his bicep. “Bullet took a bite of flesh. Nothing vital. But we have less than three minutes before Vance’s backup arrives. Grab the bug-out duffel by the computer. We’re taking the old utility tunnels under the street.”
Madison slung the heavy canvas bag over her shoulder and grabbed Roman’s uninjured arm, supporting his weight as he led her toward a narrow iron hatch recessed into the back wall.
She turned back for one fraction of a second, looking at the charred remains of her father’s monitors and the bullet-riddled corkboard where her smiling graduation picture hung torn in half.
May you like
The innocent girl in that photograph was dead. The girl who worried about quarterly budgets and student loans had died the moment the door blew open.
“Let’s go, Roman,” Madison said, her voice dropping into a steely register she didn’t even recognize. “We have a greenhouse in Wisconsin to dig up.”
