Chapter 26 - The Edge of the Chute
The heat was instantaneous and suffocating. Thick black smoke rolled along the ceiling, choking the air from my lungs in seconds.
Deputy Miller tackled Marcus to the floor beneath the roaring sheet of flame. The two men rolled violently against the concrete, the deputy using every ounce of his remaining strength to pin the mercenary’s arms while the flames licked at their clothing.
"Rebecca, jump!" Miller roared, coughing violently as the toxic black smoke enveloped him. "Take Victoria and jump! I've got him!"
"Deputy, you can't stay—!"
"Jump, damn it! That oil tank is going to blow in thirty seconds!"
I grabbed the chain linking Victoria’s handcuffs. The older woman was paralyzed with terror, staring at the wall of fire with wide, unseeing eyes. I didn't ask for her permission. I yanked her toward the chute and shoved her down into the concrete slide, diving in immediately behind her as the first heavy explosion ripped through the mudroom behind us.
The concussion wave of burning air slammed into my boots just as I fell.
We shot down the forty-foot angled concrete tunnel, tumbling through the darkness before crashing onto a mountain of cedar wood chips on the floor of the detached carriage house.
I scrambled up, coughing violently, my lungs burning with smoke.
Around us, the carriage house was cold, dark, and structurally sound, built on independent bedrock sixty yards away from the main lodge. Evelyn and Olivia were huddled in the corner by an old snowmobile, weeping uncontrollably. Cole was already on his feet, holding a heavy timber crowbar, rushing toward the chute exit to pull me clear.
"Becca!" Cole caught me as I stumbled, pulling me tightly against his chest despite the agony in his broken ribs. "You're okay. You're okay."
"Deputy Miller..." I choked out, pointing back up the smoke-filled chute. "He was right behind us... Marcus had a flare..."
Before Cole could answer, a dull, subterranean thump shook the concrete floor beneath our feet.
A moment later, a coughing, blackened figure rolled out of the chute, tumbling onto the wood chips.
It was Deputy Miller.
His uniform jacket was half-burned away, his arms covered in second-degree blisters, but he was breathing. In his hand, he held his service weapon's empty magazine.
"The tank blew," Miller wheezed, rolling onto his back, staring up at the carriage house rafters with a grim, blood-flecked smile. "Marcus... Marcus didn't make the slide."
Through the frosted windows of the carriage house, we watched as the great central roof of the mountain lodge—the house I had spent years earning, the house my father had built on secrets and blood—collapsed inward with a catastrophic shower of sparks and flame. The fire lit up the entire snowy ridge, casting a brilliant orange glow against the swirling fury of the blizzard.
May you like
Victoria sat on the concrete floor, her head bowed against her knees, silent tears cutting clean lines through the soot on her cheeks as she watched her eighty-million-euro obsession burn into ash.
***
