Chapter 4 - The Shadow in the Fog
The pump of the shotgun rattled with a sharp, lethal metallic click. Through the distorted glass of the respirator, Miller recognized the cold, dead eyes of Sergeant Graves—Deputy Chief Vance’s personal enforcer.
""Step away from the inmate, Miller,"" Graves’s voice was muffled, flattened by the rubber diaphragm of the mask. ""Prisoner attempted an escape during an emergency alarm. Deadly force is authorized.""
""He didn't trip this alarm, Graves!"" Miller shouted, positioning himself between the barrel and the downed father. ""Look at the air! Someone vented the halon manually from the master terminal in the warden's office!""
""Doesn't matter who opened the valve,"" Graves replied, his finger tightening visibly on the curved trigger. ""What matters is who ends up on the floor when the report gets written. Stand aside. Don't throw your pension away for an arsonist.""
Underneath Miller's uniform jacket, Liam squirmed. The four-year-old peeked out from the dark wool, his gaze locking onto the weapon leveled at his father. To Liam, the uniform had always meant safety, pride, and honor. His father had worn it; he was wearing a miniature version of it right now. But the man pointing the gun wore the exact same brass star.
""Stop!"" Liam’s voice cracked through the corridor, small but piercingly clear.
The child pulled himself out of Miller’s grip and stepped onto the damp concrete. He held up his small hands, the wrinkled polaroid still clenched tightly between his fingers.
Graves hesitated for a microsecond, his aim wavering down toward the child in camouflage. That split second was all Marcus Vance needed.
With an animalistic roar, Marcus drove his legs forward from the floor, launching his entire body into Graves’s midsection. The shotgun discharged with a deafening blast, buckshot tearing into the cinderblock ceiling and showering the hallway in hot concrete shards and pulverized drywall.
The two grown men slammed hard against the wall, grappling for control of the barrel. Graves swung a heavy elbow into Marcus’s ribs, producing a sickening crunch. Marcus gasped, his vision blurring, but refused to let go of the weapon's forend.
""Miller! The boy!"" Marcus screamed, blood speckling his lips. ""Run!""
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Miller didn't hesitate. He scooped Liam back into his arms and slammed his boot against the manual release pedal of the southern delivery exit. The metal door flew outward into the rainy night.
Behind them, a second gunshot echoed through the concrete tomb.
