Chapter 41 - The Subterranean Tremor
The world vanished into a void of pitch black and roaring iron.
When the amber lights died, the scream of the alpine blizzard outside rushed in through the fractured catwalk window, sharp enough to strip the breath from my lungs. But beneath that howl came something far more terrible: a deep, visceral vibration that resonated in my sternum before my ears could even register the sound. It was the tectonic shudder of millions of tons of steel and pressurized gas grinding against automated tracks beneath the bedrock.
"Thomas!" Montgomery’s voice lashed through the gloom, broken by a jagged, euphoric laugh. "Feel that? That’s gravity and momentum! You can't outrun kinetic energy with a carbon frame!"
I didn't think. Instinct, forged through years of sleepless nights in grease-stained garages and the cold terror of hospital corridors, seized control of my limbs. I lunged forward into the dark.
My shoulder slammed into Montgomery’s chest just as the red reticle of a sniper’s laser swept across the catwalk floor. Montgomery grunted, swinging the heavy satellite terminal like a club. The hard plastic corner caught me across the cheekbone, splitting the skin and filling my mouth with the copper taste of warm blood. But I didn't yield. I drove my weight forward, pinning him against the shuddering metal railing.
"The shutoff!" I roared, my hand clamping down on his throat, feeling the desperate flutter of his carotid pulse. "Where is the master kill-switch for the shunt?"
"There is no kill-switch!" he spat, spraying flecks of red against my face as the steel beneath our boots twisted with a sickening squeal. "The system is autonomous! Once the handshake cleared the broadcast packet, the safety bypasses locked! In four minutes, the pressure bulkhead at Kilometre Fourteen vents into the south shaft! The explosion will drop this entire stadium into the hollow core!"
A sharp crack echoed through the high rafters—a SWAT flash-flare detonated twenty yards down the gantry, washing the catwalk in an eerie, chemical magnesium glare. Montgomery’s eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated in pure, suicidal mania. He reached toward the waistband of his coat, his hand clawing for a concealed weapon.
"Step away from him! Drop!" a voice barked through a megaphone from the access ladder.
Montgomery didn't drop. He shoved me backward with a desperate, frantic surge of strength and lunged toward the open maintenance hatch that led to the emergency service chutes.
*Crack-crack!*
Two suppressed rounds punched through the corrugated wall inches from Montgomery's head. He lost his footing on the ice-slicked steel grating, his legs sliding out from under him. With a hollow thump, his body struck the outer rail, tipped sickeningly outward over the four-hundred-foot drop into the darkened arena infield, and his fingers scrabbled wildly against the frost.
I lunged, my hand catching the sleeve of his tailored overcoat. The fabric tore with a violent rip.
"Help me!" Montgomery gasped, the manic arrogance vanishing instantly, replaced by the naked, pathetic terror of a man who realized the void did not care about his name. "Thomas—please!"
"Where is the manual release for the tunnel gates?" I yelled, my grip tightening on his wrist even as my boots skidded on the frozen metal.
"Sub-level three... the red manual lever... behind the generator bay!" he screamed, his eyes rolling toward the black abyss beneath his dangling feet. "Pull it! You have to pull the mechanical brake!"
The seam of his expensive wool sleeve parted completely.
The fabric gave way with a sharp hiss. Montgomery dropped into the dark. There was no theatrical scream, only the whistling rush of air, followed seconds later by a distant, muted impact on the tarpaulins covering the lower equipment risers.
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I didn't look down. I turned, my boots hammering against the vibrating metal stairs, throwing myself down the emergency access stairwell toward the infield. Toward Mia.
***
