Chapter 11 - The Click in the Dark
""He’s stuck on a sheet-metal screw,"" Thomas muttered, his fingers clawing at the rim of the duct. ""The old vents were joined with three-inch sheet screws. The harness caught.""
Lucas closed his eyes, refusing to surrender to the panic clawing at his throat. The smell of propane was overwhelming now, stinging his eyes and burning his airway. ""Pip!"" Lucas called into the pipe, pitching his voice low and firm, the way he had talked to the frightened pup when they first met on the floor of the hall. ""Pull, Pip! Pull through!""
For three agonizing seconds, nothing happened. The building groaned as another rush of mud struck the outer wall.
Then, through the pipe, came a series of sharp, furious barks—not the whimpering of a trapped pet, but the fierce, defiant bark of a terrier-hearted fighter. The line jerked violently in Lucas’s hands. Once. Twice. Then, the paracord zipped forward through his fingers with astonishing speed.
""He's through!"" Clara gasped.
""Thomas, blow the whistle!"" Lucas shouted.
Thomas placed the silver cylinder to his lips and blew with everything left in his lungs. Outside, past the thick concrete blocks, the sharp, shrill command pierced the storm.
From the exterior of the loading dock, through the metal wall, they heard the distinct, metallic rattle of the safety lever. Then, a sharp, heavy mechanical CLACK.
The hissing stopped.
The absolute silence that followed was deafening. Inside the room, the terrifying build-up of gas halted immediately, leaving only the sound of rain drumming against the roof and the labored breathing of four terrified people.
""He did it,"" Clara breathed, tears spilling freely down her cheeks. ""The shut-off tripped. The gas is cut.""
Lucas didn't wait to celebrate. He grabbed the emergency crowbar from the utility rack. ""Now we get out of here before the hillside takes the rest of the roof.""
He slammed the pry bar into the edge of the secondary fire exit at the end of the hall, where the mud had blocked the bottom half. With Thomas and Deputy Miller adding their weight to the steel shaft, the warped metal frame screamed in protest, finally popping open a eighteen-inch gap into the wet night air.
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Lucas scrambled out first into the pouring rain, dropping onto the slick grass beside the loading dock.
Sitting atop the yellow emergency shut-off box, drenched to the bone, mud caked on his white paws, sat Pip. In his jaws, held triumphantly like a captured bone, was the yellow plastic safety pin.
