Chapter 10 - Blood on the Terminal
The gunshot echoed down through the vertical access shaft like thunder.
"Elena!" Mark screamed into the radio.
Static was his only reply.
With a surge of pure, primal adrenaline, Mark grabbed the yellow valve wheel. It resisted for a split second, rusted threads grinding against the housing, before yielding with a sharp, metallic screech. He cranked it with both hands, throwing his entire torso into the rotation. Once. Twice. Four full rotations.
A deafening roar erupted beneath his feet as the drainage valve snapped wide open. The foul, stagnant water began swirling violently, forming a massive whirlpool in the center of the chamber as thousands of gallons of cooling runoff were sucked into the municipal overflow deep underground. The water level plunged rapidly—from his chest, to his waist, down to his knees.
Mark didn't wait for it to fully drain. He tore the heavy secondary isotope cell from his harness, sloshed through the remaining muck toward the reactor housing, and slammed the cell into the open receiving port.
CLACK-WHIRRRRR.
The mechanical locking dogs engaged with a heavy pneumatic hiss. Across the subterranean complex, the dim emergency lights flickered, died for a terrifying three seconds, and then roared back to life with blinding white brilliance. The deep, rumbling hum of the high-voltage transformers leveled out into a smooth, healthy vibration.
The primary grid was restored.
Mark scrambled for the steel ladder, his heavy boots slipping on the wet rungs as he hauled himself upward toward Level Three. He burst through the floor hatch, ripping the heavy helmet from his head and dropping it clattering to the floor.
The observation room was slick with fresh blood.
Dr. Sterling lay slumped sideways in his wheelchair, the nasal prongs torn from his face. A single, ragged bullet hole pierced the center of his chest, dark blood soaking through his oversized gray suit.
Standing over him, holding a blued steel revolver with smoke still curling lazily from the barrel, was Elena.
Her face was smeared with dust and dried tears, her burgundy blouse torn at the shoulder. Her eyes were wide, hollow, and utterly devoid of the warmth Mark had known for eight years.
Behind her, standing in the doorway of the spiral staircase, was Lily. Her nose was no longer bleeding. Her color had returned. She stood calmly, watching her mother hold the smoking gun, her hazel eyes completely unblinking.
"Elena..." Mark raised his hands slowly, stepping out of the hatch. "Elena, what did you do?"
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Elena turned the gun toward Mark. Her hand did not shake.
"He was going to lock the doors, Mark," she said, her voice flat, chillingly dead. "He was going to seal us all down here to complete Phase Two. I couldn't let him do that."
