Page 54 of Hollow Trace

Her voice faded into a gasp as a massive chunk of concrete and rebar surged out of the gray depths rising several feet above the water, those long, twisted rods pointing toward the ceiling. Water poured off the ends, sluicing over the bits of glass and steel embedded in the surface as it rotated, striking Pryce in the chest.

The impact ripped her hand from Scout’s, the resulting spin, dragging her under, the roaring water silencing her frantic scream. The case bobbed to the surface, floating along the gray wave before it vanished into the dark, churning depths.

Shivers racked Scout’s body as she stared at the spot Pryce had disappeared. Fighting the growing current, she grasped the ladder with her other hand. The torrent tugged at her legs, constantly trying to drag her down as she grabbed the next rung, pulling herself up.

Brea inched down, using the handle on the back of Scout’s vest to give her a boost, allowing her to pass on the right as she balanced on the outside. Scout continued to the top, wrapped her leg around the ladder, then gripped the wheel hanging beneath the hatch. Using her legs to give her more leverage, she tried to turn the hand wheel, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge. Too many years of rust and corrosion had virtually welded it shut.

Brea moved beside her, motioning to the hatch. “Can I try?”

Scout scooted down, water already swirling around her thighs, as Brea shifted, placing her hands on the handle. The metal groaned, rust and dirt flaking off, floating down to the water as a loud screech rose above the thundering flood. The wheel gave, turning an inch, then sticking until Brea twisted again, using her feet like Scout had.

The mechanism released, the force of it nearly toppling Brea from the ladder with only Scout’s laser-sharp reflexes keeping the other woman from tumbling into the water. Brea steadied herself, then twisted until the hatch hinged open, revealing another dark tunnel and what looked like those old yellow string lights hanging overhead.

Scout shoved at Brea from beneath as Brea palmed the upper level, those stupid ballet flats kicking at air until she managed to push herself up and climb through. Scout followed, that gunshot wound burning, her strength nearing its limit as she collapsed beside the hatch, the flood still raging below.

Brea reached through the opening, lifting and closing the hatch, shutting out the roar beneath them. She dropped down beside Scout, chest heaving, water dripping off her thin cotton pants and tee.

Scout glanced over at her. “Someone’s been working out.”

Brea laughed, probably more out of fatigue than anything. “I’ve gotten remarkably stronger over the past month. Giving that up isn’t going to be fun.”

“Beats dying. Speaking of which, we still need to find Quinn. Get the hell out of here before protocol zero kicks in.”

Brea’s lower lip quivered. “That bitch said she sent that creep Hackett after him. What if⁠—”

“He’ll be okay. No way he’s letting an asshole like that best him.”

“Scout…”

“He promised me he’d live. I’m holding him to that because he’s never broken a promise in his life. Not when we were sixteen and sure as hell not now. So, get up. We’re on the clock.”

“How do you even know where we are?”

“I don’t but…” She studied the tunnel, pointing off to their right. “Assuming that observation box was part of the complex, we should run into it if we go that way.”

“Quinn always said you were better than a carrier pigeon, forever finding your way home.”

“Thinking he could have thought up a cuter analogy, but let’s hope he wasn’t wrong.”

It took a couple tries to stand and get her balance. A familiar hum vibrated through the floor, the strong stench of diesel burning the back of her throat. She headed toward the sound, following the lights, praying they were the same ones they’d seen before they’d gotten separated. That Quinn was just ahead.

Fear seethed in her gut, all the unknown possibilities gnawing at her resolve as they hurried down the tunnel, weapons raised, senses on high alert. Smoke choked the air as they neared another junction, more strobing lights flashing in the darkness.

She slowed, hairs prickling, her inner voice calling out a warning as a figure appeared in the tunnel, ghosting in and out of view, gun sweeping the passageway. She tucked Brea behind her, put the guy’s head in the crosshairs and waited — breath held, muscles primed.

Another few feet, and he emerged from the gray. Bloody. Battle worn. Alive. His gaze locked on hers, and he released a harsh breath, a smile lifting his mouth.

It only took a dozen steps to reach him, falling into his arms. She kept the contact light, unsure what injuries hid beneath his tactical shirt and vest. Though, based on the way he grunted and favored his right side, he had more than one.

She squeezed his hand, stepping aside so he could embrace his sister, assure himself she hadn’t gotten hurt, as static crackled in the dark. That mechanical-sounding voice echoing over the speakers.

Protocol Zero activated. Thermal purge initiated in T minus twelve minutes.

Scout froze, looking up at Quinn as a massive boom sounded from deep inside the mountain, the explosion shaking the ground, knocking rocks off the wall. “We need to go.”

Quinn waved her ahead. “Lead the way.”

“About that.” She turned, stared down each end of the tunnel. “There might not be a way out.”