Chapter 34 - A Mother's Fury
Ethan leaned close to Claire’s ear. His breath was hot and shallow against her neck.
"Take Lily," Ethan whispered, his voice trembling with an emotion so intense it threatened to tear him apart. "Behind this conveyor belt, there’s an old sawdust disposal chute that leads directly down to the river bank. It’s narrow, but you can slide through it."
Claire grabbed his face with her free hand, her nails digging into his cheeks. "No. I am not leaving you."
"Claire, listen to me!" Ethan choked back a sob, his eyes locking onto hers with ferocious intensity. "They have thermal scopes. If both of us run, they cut us down. I have to draw their fire. You take Lily and you get to the road. Do not look back. Do not stop for anything."
"Ethan—"
"I love you," Ethan whispered. He leaned forward and kissed Lily’s soft, warm forehead, then kissed Claire’s trembling lips. "Now go. On three."
Claire’s eyes flooded with tears, but the mother in her took over. She nodded, wrapping both arms securely around Lily.
"One... two... three!"
Ethan lunged out from behind the conveyor belt, firing two rapid shots from his .38 directly up at the descending guards on the catwalk.
The rounds sparked against the steel handrails, forcing both men to dive for cover.
"There he is!" one of the guards shouted.
Submachine gun fire erupted in a furious, synchronized chatter. A hail of 9mm rounds chewed through the concrete floor around Ethan’s boots, sending stone splinters flying. Ethan sprinted across the open floor toward the massive main power distribution panel on the far wall.
Behind him, Claire scrambled toward the chute, clutching Lily tightly to her chest.
Evelyn leaned over the catwalk railing, raising her hunting rifle, tracking Claire’s movement toward the sawdust chute.
"Stop the girl!" Evelyn commanded coldly. "Kill the mother!"
The guard on the right swung his weapon toward Claire.
Ethan reached the power panel. Above it hung the master emergency release valve for the mill's steam boilers—an ancient, pressurized system that hadn't been drained since the mill shut down, its iron pipes groaning under decades of trapped geothermal condensation.
Ethan fired his last two bullets directly into the rusted bronze pressure valve.
The valve fractured.
A catastrophic explosion of superheated steam and scalding water erupted from the pipes with the roar of an erupting volcano. A blinding white cloud engulfed the lower level of the mill, completely blinding the guards' thermal optics with a wall of blistering heat.
The guards cried out in confusion, spraying blind, erratic gunfire into the fog.
Claire reached the mouth of the chute. She didn't hesitate. She threw herself into the darkness, sliding down the slick metal tube into the night.
Ethan turned to run, but a figure stepped through the steam directly in front of him.
Not a guard.
Evelyn.
She held a nickel-plated snub-nosed revolver in her gloved hand. Her face, framed by the white swirling mist, looked like a demon emerging from hell.
"Did you really think a little steam would save you, Ethan?" she hissed, raising the weapon straight at his chest.
Ethan lunged forward to tackle her, but a heavy blow struck him from behind. One of the tactical guards slammed the butt of his submachine gun into the back of Ethan’s skull.
Ethan’s world exploded into stars. He crashed to his knees, his vision blurring, the taste of copper flooding his mouth.
He looked up through the red haze. Evelyn stood over him, looking down with utter disgust.
"You always were a disappointment, Ethan," she said softly, pulling back the hammer of the revolver. "Say hello to your father."
A deafening blast ripped through the steam.
Evelyn’s eyes widened in shock. The gun slipped from her fingers as she stumbled backward, clutching her throat.
Behind her, emerging from the swirling white fog like an avenging fury, was Claire.
She hadn't gone down the chute. She had hidden Lily inside the hollow of an industrial air duct three feet away, circled around through the maintenance tunnels, and returned with the Remington 12-gauge shotgun.
The barrel was smoking.
The heavy deer slug had struck Evelyn’s shoulder, tearing through the cashmere coat and spinning her against the iron railing.
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"Get away from my husband," Claire said, racking the shotgun slide with a vicious, metallic roar.
***
