Chapter 57 - Blood on the Salt Flats
The corridor leading to the fuel cisterns was a narrow, claustrophobic tunnel of damp concrete and dripping rusted pipes. The only illumination came from the tactical lights mounted under our rifles, cutting sharp beams through the heavy haze of dust and explosive residue.
Behind us, the heavy blast door groaned, followed by the blinding magnesium flare of a thermite charge burning through the four-inch steel plate. The Syndicate operatives were through.
"Contact rear!" Marcus shouted, dropping into a low crouch as automatic rifle fire tore down the hallway, ricocheting wildly off the stone walls.
I leaned out from behind a concrete pillar, acquiring my targets through the red-dot optic. Two operatives in high-cut ballistic helmets were advancing in a tight stack, their suppressed weapons spitting controlled bursts.
I took a breath, letting the chaotic world slow to a crawl, feeling Noah's tiny, rapid heartbeat against my ribs. *For Noah.*
I squeezed the trigger three times. Two rounds struck the lead operative in the high-chest plates, staggering him backward, while the third found the unarmored notch above his collar. He collapsed into the filthy standing water on the floor. The second operator ducked behind a ventilation casing, returning fire that chewed chunks of concrete inches from my face.
"Move! Clara, advance!" Marcus roared, tossing a fragmentation grenade back down the hallway.
"Fire in the hole!"
We sprinted through the reinforced hatch into the vast cavern of the empty cistern just as the grenade detonated with an ear-splitting roar. The shockwave blew out the remaining lights, sending a cloud of pulverized rock down the tunnel and sealing the narrow passage behind a wall of fallen debris.
"That bought us sixty seconds," Marcus breathed heavily, his tactical vest dusted in gray powder.
We reached the western cliff exit—a narrow iron platform hanging sixty feet above the roaring Atlantic surf. Rain was lashing down now, stinging my face as the wind howled across the rocks. Below, hidden under the overhang of the sea cliff, the secondary zodiac bobbed in the rough black water.
"There's no ladder!" Arthur shrieked, looking down at the churning waves in utter panic. "We’ll drown!"
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"We fast-rope," Marcus said, clipping a high-tensile carabiner to an anchor bolt drilled into the granite cliff. He threw a coiled nylon line over the edge. "Clara, you and Noah first. Lock your harness into the descender."
I strapped Noah tightly into the waterproof, ballistic-rated chest carrier, double-checking his oxygen seal. "Hold on tight, baby," I whispered. I clipped my harness into the friction ring, gripped the rope with gloved hands, and stepped backward off the iron ledge into the howling void.
