Chapter 44 - The Ghost in the Flesh
Julian left the cell, sealing the heavy blast doors behind him, leaving only a single guard posted inside near the exit.
The rhythmic thrum of the rig’s main turbines vibrated through the floorboards. On the wall above the door, a digital countdown was displayed in glowing amber: **05:14:22 TO ARCHIVE ACTIVATION.**
"Evelyn," Andrew whispered urgently, his eyes locked onto mine. "Look at my right boot."
I blinked through the sweat and tears stinging my eyes. Andrew was shifting his weight, dragging his right heel against the steel grate of the floor. Underneath the synthetic leather seam of his combat boot, a thin, needle-like sliver of ceramic gleamed faintly.
"The secondary holdout blade," Andrew breathed, keeping his voice beneath the rumble of the turbines. "Ceramic composite. It didn't trigger their metal wand."
"How do you reach it?" I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"I can't. My shoulders are dislocated from hanging here. You have to."
I looked at the guard. He stood near the door, his assault rifle resting on his chest, helmet visor dark and opaque. But every forty seconds, his head tilted slightly to the left—checking an auxiliary diagnostic screen mounted on the wall.
"When he looks at the screen," Andrew whispered, "make a noise. Make him come close."
I took a deep breath, swallowing the copper taste of blood in my mouth.
I waited. The guard’s visor shifted to the left, tracking a status bar on the monitor.
I instantly threw my head back and let out a strangled, agonizing gasp, intentionally biting down hard on my inner lip until fresh blood poured from the corner of my mouth. I began convulsing in the steel chair, my body shaking violently, mimicking a fatal seizure.
"Target is seizing," the guard barked into his comms. He stepped away from the door, his boots ringing on the metal deck as he hurried toward me. He reached for a medical scanner on his utility belt. "Restraint subject experiencing acute cardiac distress—"
The moment he stepped within reach, I snapped my right leg upward, hooking my boot behind his knee with every ounce of momentum my strapped torso could muster.
The guard lost his footing, his heavy armor crashing down directly between my chair and Andrew’s hanging form.
"Now!" Andrew roared, kicking both legs forward, wrapping his heavy combat boots around the guard’s neck like a vice.
The guard choked, reaching frantically for his rifle, but Andrew twisted his body mid-air, utilizing the leverage of his hanging chains to snap his legs sideways. A sickening *CRACK* echoed through the chamber as the guard’s cervical vertebrae gave way.
The guard went instantly limp, dropping onto the floor.
"Evelyn, the keycard on his vest!" Andrew gasped, his face purple from the exertion.
Working furiously, I stretched my toes, dragging the guard’s tactical vest closer until my boot heel caught the edge of his release lanyard. With a sharp tug, I dragged his body within reach of my bound hands. Using my fingernails, I pried a magnetic override key from his chest pouch.
Thirty seconds later, the restraints clicked open.
I fell to my hands and knees, my muscles screaming in protest, but there was no time to feel pain. I grabbed the ceramic blade from Andrew’s boot and sliced through the synthetic cuffs securing his overhead chains.
Andrew collapsed onto the deck, groaning as his dislocated shoulders slammed into the steel.
"Pop them back in," he gritted through clenched teeth, his forehead pressing against the cold metal. "Do it now, Evelyn. Use the chair."
My hands shook, but my resolve was forged in iron. I positioned his right shoulder against the steel frame of the interrogation chair, gripped his arm, and wrenched it upward with a brutal, unforgiving thrust.
A muffled scream tore from Andrew’s throat as the joint popped back into its socket. We repeated the procedure on the left. Tears of sheer agony streamed down his face, but within ten seconds, he picked up the dead guard’s rifle and racked the charging handle.
"Where is she?" Andrew breathed, his eyes ablaze with a father's lethal desperation.
I pointed to the wall monitor. The schematic showed a flashing violet core three levels below the rig’s main deck, deep in the submerged ballast sector.
May you like
"She’s in the flooded belly of this place," I said, picking up the guard's sidearm and spare magazines. "And we have less than five hours before our daughter dies."
***
