Chapter 7 - The Breach
Chapter 7 - The Breach
The steel doors of the Cicero safe house groaned under the impact of a thermal explosive. Marcus stood in the center of the room, firing his rifle through the smoke as Vance’s mercenaries attempted to flood the entryway.
“Go! Clara, go now!” Marcus yelled over the deafening roar of gunfire. He took a hit to his shoulder, stumbling back, but braced himself against a concrete pillar and kept firing.
Clara didn't look back. She grabbed Wren by the hand and sprinted toward the back of the bunker, where a heavy iron grate led to the old storm drainage system. She threw her weight against the lever, her cracked hands bleeding from the effort, but the rusted iron wouldn't budge.
“It’s stuck!” Clara cried out, panic threatening to paralyze her.
“Let me help,” Wren said. The little girl reached up, her small fingers finding a hidden release pin that Marcus had mentioned earlier but Clara had missed in her terror. With a sharp click, the grate swung open.
They dropped into the dark, damp tunnel just as a heavy explosion rocked the main room. The lights in the safe house went completely dark. Clara could hear the heavy boots of mercenaries entering the bunker above them.
They splashed through the shallow water of the drainage tunnel, the air smelling of rust and old rain. Clara’s heart hammered against her ribs. She was just a girl from a shelter, a nobody who had wanted nothing more than a warm bed and a steady meal. Now, she was navigating the criminal underworld with the most valuable child in Chicago.
“Clara,” Wren whispered as they ran. “Are you scared?”
“Terrified, sweetie,” Clara admitted, her voice trembling.
“Don't be,” Wren said, holding Clara’s hand tightly. “My mommy said that when the night gets cold, the brave ones cry. But they don't stop walking.”
Clara looked down at the resilient little girl and felt a sudden, profound wave of strength. She stopped running like a victim. She gripped Wren’s hand firmer, accelerating through the darkness until they saw the faint glimmer of streetlights ahead.
They emerged into a narrow alleyway behind an industrial canal. But as Clara pulled Wren out of the grate, the blinding headlights of a black SUV illuminated the alley, trapping them against the brick wall.
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The door opened, and Arthur Vance stepped out, his silver-topped cane clicking against the wet pavement.
“Well, well,” Vance purred, a wicked smile stretching across his old face. “The brave little maid and the silent bird. You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble tonight.”
