Chapter 27 - The Underground Vault
Arthur grabbed the brass key from the table and held it up to the kerosene light.
Stenciled across the brass head was a tiny water department emblem: *Blackwood Reservoir — Sector 4.*
"The old drainage pump house," Arthur whispered, turning to Julian. "That's where you kept her?"
Julian didn't look at him. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and stared at the floorboards.
"Julian!" Arthur barked, crossing the room in two strides and grabbing the injured man by his collar. "Is she in that pump house?"
"I don't know!" Julian shouted, tears of frustration leaking down his bruised cheeks. "Clara moved her three days ago! She locked the outer gates!"
"Daddy," Lily said, walking over and tugging on his sleeve. "The water."
"What about the water, Lily?" Arthur asked, kneeling down to meet her gaze.
"The radio said the sun will open the gate," Lily murmured, pointing out the dusty window toward the eastern horizon.
A faint gray ribbon of light was already beginning to bleed across the night sky.
They had less than forty minutes before dawn.
The Blackwood spillway was an automated flood control system built in the 1960s.
When the morning automated cycle began, hundreds of thousands of gallons of deep lake water would be funneled through Sector 4 to clear the mountain run-off.
Anyone trapped inside the lower maintenance vaults would drown in less than two minutes.
Arthur stood up, his mind calculating distances and fuel.
"We have to leave now," Arthur said.
"You can't bring her, Arthur!" Julian shouted, gesturing toward Lily. "If Clara is there, she will kill everyone! Leave the girl here!"
Arthur turned and looked at Julian with pure disdain.
"I am never leaving my daughter behind again," Arthur said firmly.
He helped Lily put on an oversized rain poncho from the cabin's coat rack and picked up a heavy iron crowbar from behind the hearth.
He looked at Julian. "Can you crawl to the truck, or do I drag you behind it?"
"You're out of your mind," Julian groaned, but he slowly pulled himself up using the bedpost for support.
Ten minutes later, the diesel truck was roaring down the gravel fire road that wound around the steep contours of Blackwood Ridge.
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The morning fog hung thick over the trees, creating ghostly walls of white that parted only yards before their headlights.
Below them, the dark, glassy expanse of Blackwood Lake began to emerge from the shadows like an ancient, slumbering beast.
