Chapter 11 - The Running Gunfire
The street was no longer empty. Two armored patrol vehicles belonging to the Vance Corporation had blocked off both ends of the commercial strip. Their roof-mounted searchlights crisscrossed through the rising dust, illuminating the storefront in blinding white glare.
""Exit through the dry-cleaner next door!"" Jonas shouted, grabbing Maya by the scruff of her neck and dragging her through an adjoining interior fire door into the abandoned retail space beside the mini-mart.
The air inside the dry-cleaner was stale, thick with the chemical residue of perchloroethylene and moldering fabric. Jonas kicked open the rear emergency exit with a single brutal thrust of his boot. They tumbled into the alleyway just as an incendiary round ripped through the roof of the convenience store behind them, igniting the stock of cooking oil in a sudden, catastrophic fireball that turned the night sky into midday.
""Move! To the drainage canal!"" Jonas urged, firing three suppressive shots back into the alley to keep the pursuing guards from rounding the corner.
Maya ran as she had never run before. Her lungs burned like they were lined with hot embers, her legs numb with exhaustion, but the image of her grandfather’s frail face kept her moving. She leaped over discarded tires, vaulted across broken concrete curbs, and scrambled down the steep embankment into the concrete ditch.
Behind them, the sound of motorcycle engines tore through the night—light reconnaissance bikes designed to navigate the narrow canals.
""They're deploying hunters,"" Jonas panted, jumping down beside her and sliding down the forty-five-degree concrete slope. ""They know what’s on this drive. If Vance’s private army catches us, they won't bother with an arrest. They'll bury us in the dry beds.""
""My grandpa is alone!"" Maya cried, slipping on the slick moss that coated the bottom of the storm drain. ""What if they found the warehouse?""
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""They haven't found it yet,"" Jonas said, pulling her to her feet and hauling her into a massive storm outflow pipe large enough for a person to stand upright. ""The satellite sweeps take thirty minutes to refresh the thermal signatures. But we have to make the exchange now. Sector 4 is on the other side of this drain.""
As they stepped deeper into the pitch-black culvert, the sound of roaring motorcycle engines echoed down the concrete throat behind them, their twin headlights slicing through the darkness, illuminating the running figures like deer trapped in a hunter's crosshairs.
