Chapter 15 - The River Gate
Mark didn't spend ten minutes waiting to suffocate.
He remembered John's note: Go to the river.
At the far end of the vault basement sat an old maintenance hatch used in the 1970s for drainage before the town updated its sewer grid. It was secured by a rusted iron wheel and three heavy padlocks.
Mark pulled his gun, aimed straight at the top lock, and fired two rounds point-blank.
The iron shattered.
Sam joined him, using an old iron crowbar from the utility rack to lever the remaining latch up while Mark kicked the wheel with his heavy boots.
With a deafening groan of rusted metal, the hatch yielded.
A blast of freezing, damp air swept into the smoky vault, smelling of mud, rotten leaves, and cold river water.
" crawl," Mark ordered.
Sam hesitated at the dark, narrow pipe. "Mark... back at the car... I really didn't know about Tommy. I swore to God I thought they were keeping him alive."
Mark stared at her. Rain-soaked, bruised, her uniform torn at the shoulder. He didn't offer a dramatic forgiveness. He didn't tell her it was okay.
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"Get in the pipe, Sam," he said, pushing her forward. "We talk when we're alive."
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