Chapter 17 - The Underground War
The phone rang twice before Thomas answered, his voice breathless over the sound of a wailing police siren.
"The local police are completely overwhelmed, Sarah, she has a small army assaulting your property!" Thomas yelled over the radio chatter.
"My father is trapped upstairs holding the basement stairs, you have to get to him," I pleaded, holding Emma tight against my chest.
"Marcus and I are hitting the rear perimeter now, stay in that bunker and do not open the door for anyone but me," Thomas ordered before the line cut out.
Inside the dark, silent panic room, the terrifying wait began, testing every ounce of my psychological endurance.
Through the high-definition security monitors mounted on the wall, I watched the brutal destruction of my father's empire.
Victoria's mercenaries were systematically executing the remaining security guards, clearing room by room with terrifying efficiency.
My breath caught in my throat as the camera feed switched to the main living room, revealing Victoria herself stepping through the debris.
She looked hauntingly elegant, wearing a pristine white trench coat that starkly contrasted with the blood and ruin around her.
She walked directly toward the camera, her cold, dead eyes staring straight into the lens as if she could see my soul.
She held up a remote detonator, pressing a single button with a twisted, triumphant smile.
The camera feed suddenly cut to static, followed by a massive, structural tremor that violently shook the concrete bunker.
They were blowing the structural supports of the beach house, intentionally collapsing the massive mansion directly on top of the panic room.
Dust fell from the ceiling as the terrifying sound of thousands of pounds of steel and concrete crashed down above us.
Emma screamed, burying her face into my shoulder as the emergency lights flickered dangerously.
Victoria didn't want to dig us out; she wanted to bury us alive in the dark.
The structural integrity of the bunker held, but the main ventilation shaft was severely crushed in the collapse.
The digital oxygen monitor on the wall began to rapidly tick down, glowing a sinister, warning red in the dim light.
We didn't have twenty-four hours anymore; we had less than two hours before the air became completely toxic.
I kissed Emma's forehead, wiping away her tears while forcing myself to remain absolutely calm.
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I opened the bunker's weapons locker, pulling out a heavy tactical pistol and checking the magazine with trembling hands.
I was not going to let my daughter suffocate in the dark while a monster danced on our grave.
