Chapter 5 - The Underground Escape
The agonizing hiss of the blowtorch echoed through the dark safehouse, sending a wave of pure terror down my spine.
"They cut the power grid," Damien whispered, swiftly closing the laptop and shoving it into his leather messenger bag.
He grabbed a heavy tactical flashlight from the desk and rushed over to where I was holding the boys in the dark.
"I need you to be very quiet, my brave guys," Damien told Ethan and Noah, his voice perfectly calm despite the impending doom.
Noah buried his face in my neck, whimpering softly as the glowing orange line on the steel door grew longer.
"There is an old smuggling tunnel beneath the floorboards of the wine cellar," Damien instructed me, grabbing my hand and leading us through the dark.
We practically flew down the basement stairs, the heavy footsteps of Evelyn's mercenaries now echoing above us as the steel door finally gave way.
Damien kicked away a dusty rug and yanked open a heavy wooden trapdoor, revealing a damp, pitch-black tunnel.
"Go, Mara, I will hold them off," he ordered, physically pushing me toward the dark abyss.
"I am not leaving you behind to be killed by your own mother's goons!" I hissed back, refusing to climb down.
"She will not kill me, but she will absolutely kill you," he pleaded, his gray eyes shining frantically in the flashlight beam.
Before we could argue further, the cellar door at the top of the stairs burst open, and three men armed with tactical rifles flooded into the room.
Damien shoved me and the boys into the tunnel and slammed the trapdoor shut right over our heads.
I heard the sickening sound of a heavy struggle above me, followed by a loud, echoing gunshot.
My heart shattered into a million pieces as Damien's painful groan seeped through the floorboards.
"Run, Mommy!" Ethan cried out, pulling on my sleeve to snap me out of my paralyzing grief.
Knowing that Damien had just sacrificed himself to buy us time, I turned on my phone's flashlight and ran blindly down the damp, rat-infested tunnel.
We ran until my lungs felt like they were bleeding, eventually reaching a rusted iron grate that opened into a dirty alleyway in the city's industrial district.
I pushed the heavy grate open, lifting my exhausted children out into the freezing night air.
We were completely alone, covered in dirt, and hiding in the shadows of an unfamiliar neighborhood.
I reached into my pocket to call the one person I thought I could still trust, my former nursing supervisor.
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Instead of my phone screen lighting up, a bright spotlight suddenly blinded me from the end of the alley.
A massive, armored police riot vehicle blocked our only exit, and a voice over a megaphone commanded me to drop to the ground.
