Chapter 8 - The Descent
The wind roared in my ears as we dropped rapidly down the side of the glass skyscraper.
I looked up and saw my mother leaning precariously over the shattered window ledge.
She aimed her pistol down at us, her face contorted with a desperate, greedy rage.
She fired three shots into the darkness, the bullets striking the glass panels just inches from my shoulder.
Hank violently jerked the rappelling line, causing us to swing hard to the left and out of her line of sight.
We descended at a terrifying speed, the friction burning through my thick tactical gloves.
We hit the roof of the adjacent parking garage with a heavy, bone-jarring impact.
I unclipped my harness immediately and rolled behind a concrete pillar for cover.
The sound of police sirens began wailing in the distance, growing louder by the second.
The explosion in the cartel's underground vault had finally triggered a massive city-wide emergency response.
Hank clutched his side, groaning softly as a dark stain began to spread across his tactical vest.
One of my mother's wild shots had grazed him during our chaotic escape from the penthouse.
I rushed over and applied pressure to his wound, tying a field dressing tightly around his waist.
Hank told me to leave him behind and get the geological surveys to the federal authorities immediately.
I refused, throwing his heavy arm over my shoulder and dragging him toward the stairwell.
We descended through the dark, echoing concrete structure, avoiding the main exits.
We reached the street level just as dozens of heavily armored SWAT vehicles swarmed the main entrance of Skylar's building.
I knew Marcus and his cartel thugs would use the ensuing chaos to slip away into the city.
I spotted a sleek black motorcycle parked near the alleyway, the keys still resting in the ignition.
I helped Hank onto the back of the bike and climbed onto the driver's seat.
I revved the engine loudly and shot out of the alley, blending seamlessly into the chaotic downtown traffic.
We needed a safe place to hide and regroup before the cartel utilized their corrupt police contacts to hunt us down.
I remembered an old, decommissioned military armory on the outskirts of the city that my commanding officer had mentioned.
I navigated the winding back roads, keeping the motorcycle's headlights off to avoid detection.
We finally reached the rusted gates of the abandoned armory just as the sun began to peak over the horizon.
I helped Hank inside and laid him down on an old wooden crate to check his bandages.
The bleeding had stopped, but he was incredibly pale and running a high fever.
I pulled out the black satellite phone to call General Thomas for emergency medical extraction.
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As the phone booted up, the screen lit up with a massive, terrifying alert message.
The message read that my military clearance had been completely revoked, and I was now officially listed as a highly wanted domestic terrorist.
