Chapter 164 - Blood in the Flooding Basin
The cold was paralyzing. Lake Michigan’s winter depths poured into the cavern at tens of thousands of gallons per second, lifting the massive hull of the *Tartarus* from its iron cradles with a terrible shriek of grinding steel.
Vincent hauled himself onto the curved metal deck beside Emma. The water was already lapping at their boots, rising like an elevator shaft filling with liquid ice.
"The main hatch is dogging down!" Emma warned, pointing toward the conning tower where the heavy pneumatic wheel was beginning to rotate clockwise.
Helena was sealing the vessel from within, intending to submerge and let the incoming deluge crush them against the silo ceiling.
Vincent sprang across the narrow, ribbed superstructure. His boots slipped on the wet metal, but he caught an anchor cleat, lunging toward the upper airlock hatch. A guard emerged from the secondary deck access, raising a shotgun. Vincent closed the distance before the man could shoulder the stock, slamming his forearm into the man's throat and driving him over the edge into the dark, churning whirlpool below.
Emma climbed up behind him, her hands numb from the freezing spray. "We have less than two minutes before this entire chamber hits the ceiling!"
Vincent grabbed the external emergency override lever—a relic of Cold War naval engineering designed to prevent accidental lockouts. He threw his entire weight onto the iron bar. The mechanism had been frozen for decades, rusted shut by moisture.
"Emma, together!"
Emma grabbed the lever beside him, planting her feet against the non-slip ribbing of the tower. They pulled simultaneously, their combined strength straining against forty years of rust. Below them, the waters rose to the deck line; the giant submarine began to sway, buoyant and deadly, floating freely in the flooded vault.
*CRACK.*
The mechanical dogs snapped open with a sharp metallic clatter. The upper hatch popped open an inch, hissing as equalizing air escaped.
From inside the dark access tube, a hand reached up, gripping the edge of the rim. A black-gloved fist held a service pistol pointed directly at Emma’s face.
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Vincent didn't hesitate. He thrust his own combat knife straight down through the glove, pinning the shooter's hand to the hatch frame. A scream echoed from the shaft, the gun clattering into the darkness below. Vincent wrenched the hatch wide, grabbed Emma by the harness, and dropped her down into the illuminated interior of the submarine just as the surging lake crested over the conning tower, swallowing the outside world in absolute blackness.
***
