Jason led the way, his movements a tense, controlled crawl through the labyrinth of concrete and steel. The air was cold and heavy, thick with the smell of wet concrete and decay. Every few feet, a drip of water echoed from the darkness above, a sound like a ticking clock counting down their final moments. Zane followed, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs, every shadow a potential threat, every distant sound a gunshot. Franz brought up the rear, a silent, watchful shadow.
Jason pulled his phone out, his thumb swiping across the cracked screen. He held it up, his face grim in the faint glow of the device. "No network," he hissed, his voice a low, urgent whisper that was immediately swallowed by the oppressive quiet. "We're too deep underground. We have to get to the surface to make a call."
