Chapter 3 - The Ghost on the Seventh Floor
There was no way down. The only direction left was up, toward the roof, where extraction might be possible if the aerial ladders or a chopper could brave the wind shear.
Mark turned back into the corridor, clutching Clara tightly against his chest. Her hand hung limp, the ring he had slipped into his inner pocket burning like an ember against his ribs. "Stay with me, Clara," he muttered, his voice cracking. "You don't get to quit. We don't quit."
MP4
Through the dense veil of smoke, an emergency flashlight beam flickered from the adjacent doorway. It wasn't one of his crew. A shadow emerged, coughing violently—a man dressed in an expensive, soot-ruined suit.
"Help me!" the man croaked, grasping at Mark’s coat. "The executive suites... there’s an emergency access ladder to the mechanical shaft! But the security doors are locked from the inside!"
Mark recognized him immediately: David Sterling, the building developer whose cost-cutting had delayed the installation of the very sprinkler systems currently failing to activate. Anger flared hot in Mark’s throat, but duty overrode vengeance.
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"Lead the way," Mark barked. "If you try to bolt, I leave you behind."
Sterling stumbled toward the mechanical room, punching his bloody knuckles against the keypad. The electronic lock beeped green and released. But as the door swung inward, a horrific realization dawned on Mark: the room wasn't an escape route. Inside sat row upon row of industrial backup diesel generators, and the fuel tank right beside the ladder was hissing, venting raw pressure directly toward an exposed electrical arc.
