Chapter 8 - The Rising Tide
The icy water rose with terrifying, unnatural speed, aggressively swirling around their bruised and muddy ankles.
"They are actively trying to drown us out like trapped rats," Enzo shouted over the deafening roar of the rushing water.
They pushed forward blindly, stumbling through the pitch-black, rapidly flooding corridor as fast as their severe injuries allowed.
The freezing water quickly reached their trembling knees, making every single step feel like dragging heavy lead weights.
Adeline kept her stolen pistol raised safely above the waterline, desperately scanning the terrifying darkness ahead for any looming threats.
"There is an old, forgotten emergency exit hatch about fifty yards down this path," Enzo grunted, clutching his bleeding shoulder tightly.
They trudged miserably through the freezing water as it aggressively climbed all the way up to their waists.
When they finally reached the heavy iron grate, Enzo pushed against it with absolutely all of his remaining physical strength.
It wouldn't budge even a fraction of an inch despite his desperate efforts.
"The ancient hinges are completely rusted shut from the permanent dampness," Enzo yelled in absolute, crushing frustration.
Adeline immediately holstered her weapon and wedged her bare, bleeding hands deeply into the rusty metallic gaps.
"Stop complaining and help me pull it open right now," she commanded, planting her heavy boots firmly against the slippery stone wall.
Together, they strained relentlessly against the heavy metal barrier as the freezing water dangerously reached their chests.
With an agonizing, ear-piercing screech, the ancient iron grate finally gave way and entirely collapsed inward.
They spilled out into the freezing night air, violently gasping for oxygen on the muddy, hidden banks of the Chicago River.
They had miraculously survived the flooded, suffocating death trap.
However, their brief moment of joyful relief was instantly shattered by the ominous click of heavy military weaponry.
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Blinding tactical spotlights violently snapped on, perfectly illuminating the entire muddy riverbank in harsh white light.
Dozens of heavily armed men completely surrounded them, proudly and arrogantly led by Camilla’s father, Thomas Ashford.
