Chapter 36 - The Sister's Redemption
The rain was falling in blinding sheets as I reached the base of the gorge.
The pump house was an ancient relic of the 1920s, constructed from massive blocks of dark river granite, its heavy oak door banded with black iron straps. Above the lintel, carved deeply into the stone, was the Sterling family crest: an oak tree entwined with an iron chain.
The padlock on the door had been recently broken. Fresh bootprints in the red mud showed that at least one of Arthur’s mercenaries had already been here to secure the primary valve against emergency state intervention.
I approached the open door silently, pressing my back against the wet granite, the heavy steel pry-bar held tight against my forearm.
Inside, by the yellow glow of a tactical lantern, a man in black combat gear was kneeling over a massive brass valve manifold, his radio hissing with static.
"...affirmative, Team Leader," the man was saying into his tactical throat-mic. "The primary bypass is mechanically locked open. Even if the state reaches the dam, they can't relieve the hydrostatic pressure on the lower valley. The water will take out the causeway within twelve minutes."
"Understood," the radio crackled back. "The boss’s convoy is moving toward the secondary bridge. Finish the sabotage and pull back to Rendezvous Point Bravo."
"Copy that. Arming the thermite charge now."
I didn't give him the chance.
I surged through the doorway, driving the blunt end of the steel pry-bar straight into his exposed ribs with the full momentum of my body.
The mercenary gasped, collapsing sideways against the iron railing of the sluice pit. His tactical rifle clattered onto the stone floor, skittering toward the edge of the churning, black drainage canal that roared through the center of the pump house floor.
He recovered with terrifying speed. Before I could strike again, he swept his leg, catching my boots and sending me hard onto the concrete. The breath exploded from my lungs as he mounted me, his gloved fingers clamping around my throat with crushing, mechanical force.
"You should have stayed in the burning house, kid," he snarled, his thumb gouging into the bruised flesh under my jaw where my father's wedding ring had cut me three days ago.
My vision began to tunnel. The roar of the water beneath the iron floor grates sounded like a freight train inside my skull. I clawed at his tactical vest, trying to find purchase, but my fingers were too weak, slick with rain and exhaustion.
*Crack.*
The sound was sharp, hollow, and sudden.
The mercenary went limp, his eyes rolling back into his head as a heavy brass pipe wrench slipped from his skull. He slumped sideways off my chest, unconscious, blood pooling slowly into the damp concrete groove around the drainage pit.
Standing behind him, her hands trembling so hard she could barely hold the wrench, was Chloe.
Her bare feet were caked in mud, her evening dress torn to shreds at the hem. She was shaking violently, rain dripping from her chin, but her eyes were fixed on the unconscious man at her feet.
"You... you followed me," I wheezed, coughing and dragging myself up against the brass valve console.
"You're my brother, Julian," she whispered, her voice breaking through the sound of the roaring water. "You’ve spent your whole life taking the hits Dad meant for me. I’m not running anymore."
She dropped the wrench. It hit the floor with a heavy, ringing clang.
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"Now," Chloe said, pointing to the massive iron wheel connected to the secondary bypass gate. "Which way do we turn it?"
***
