Chapter 6 - The Floorboards
The scratching grew more distinct, accompanied by the muffled creak of rusted iron hinges. Mara instantly pulled Lena behind a stack of weathered leather trunks, shielding her body while drawing a tactical combat knife from her waistband.
In the center of the open floor, where Lena’s chair had stood moments ago, a rectangular section of pine planks began to rise. A hidden trapdoor, flush with the grain of the wood and completely invisible beneath decades of grime, lifted upward by two inches.
A pale, bruised hand gripped the edge of the opening.
Julian crawled out, gasping for breath. His face was bloody where Mara’s team had struck him downstairs, his black crew-neck torn at the collar. He dragged himself onto the attic floor, clutching his side, coughing violently in the thinning air.
""Help... me..."" he choked out, staring wildly into the harsh overhead light. ""She... she locked me in the sub-chute... she's purging the fuel line.""
Mara stepped forward, the knife held low and ready. ""Where is the override, Julian?""
Julian rolled onto his back, his eyes rolling back in his head as he struggled against the encroaching oxygen deprivation. ""There is no override... not from inside. She started the diesel siphon. In ten minutes... the whole ground floor goes up.""
Lena crawled out from behind the trunk, her breathing ragged, one hand braced against her straining stomach. ""Why? Julian, you're her son! Why would she burn you too?""
A bloody, bitter laugh escaped Julian’s lips. ""Because I failed. I lost the network. Victoria doesn't keep liabilities... not me, not the girls before you, not that thing inside you.""
Mara grabbed Julian by his shirt collar, dragging him toward the open hatch. ""Is this chute clear to the second floor?""
""No,"" Julian wheezed, his fingers clawing at Mara’s forearm. ""It drops to the maintenance crawlspace... right behind the furnace. But the fire’s starting there. You go down... you burn.""
Lena gasped as a violent contraction doubled her over. She slumped against the trunk, her fingers digging into the ancient leather.
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Julian’s eyes locked onto Lena's exposed, swollen belly. His expression twisted into something between terror and morbid realization. ""It's too late anyway. Listen to the vents.""
From the ventilation shafts came the distinct, sickly-sweet stench of raw heating oil pouring into the furnace burners.
