Chapter 8 - The Confrontation
The countdown timer on the chemical canister chimed softly: 02:15.
I knew I couldn't beat Vance in a quick-draw gunfight. He was a trained military contractor; I was an emergency operator with basic marksmanship training. If I tried to shoot him straight on, he would kill me before I could pull the trigger, and then the chemical timer would run out on Sophie.
I had to use the environment—and my knowledge of emergency systems.
“You made one mistake, Vance,” I said, taking a slow step to the left toward a wall covered in red industrial control panels.
“Oh yeah?” Vance scoffed, taking a step toward me, keeping his gun locked on my forehead. “What’s that?”
“You brought a chemical weapon into an automated water facility,” I replied.
With a sudden, violent movement, I swung my gun away from Vance and fired three rapid shots directly into the bright red emergency suppression valve mounted on the main pressure tank behind him.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The bullets shattered the high-pressure release valve. A deafening roar echoed through the building as thousands of gallons of high-pressure industrial water and fire-suppression foam erupted from the overhead pipes like a violent waterfall.
The sudden blast of water struck Vance full in the chest, knocking him off his feet and sending his pistol clattering across the slick concrete floor into the deep filtration pit below.
“Ahhh!” Vance roared, struggling to stand against the torrent of rushing water.
I didn't hesitate. I sprinted through the blinding spray of water straight toward Sophie.
The chemical timer was down to 00:45.
I pulled a tactical folding knife from my pocket, sliced through the heavy zip-ties securing Sophie’s hands and ankles, and ripped the duct tape from her mouth.
“Linda!” Sophie sobbed, throwing her small arms tightly around my neck.
“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you!” I shouted over the roar of the water.
I grabbed the pressurized chemical canister, lifted it above my head, and hurled it with all my strength into the deep, dark water of the open filtration pit just as the digital timer hit zero.
PFFFFFFT!
A muffled hiss echoed from deep underwater as the neurotoxin harmlessly dissipated into thousands of gallons of water far below the surface.
Before we could turn to run toward the exit, a heavy hand grabbed my hair from behind, yanking me backward onto the concrete floor.
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Victor Vance stood over me, his face bruised and covered in water, his eyes burning with pure rage. He drew a combat knife from his tactical vest.
“You ruined everything,” he snarled, raising the blade above my chest.
