Flashlights bounced off the tunnel walls, revealing old steel plates, hanging lanterns, cords, and decaying pipes. They couldn’t risk turning the aged lights on. The Union might pick up on the energy signature. The three XLS squads would operate in the pitch black corridor with only flashlights to aid them.
They reached the fork. Three smaller passages branched out. Kline signaled a stop. Each team gathered at the tunnel that would take them to their targets within the Union facility. They waited.
Kline engaged his suit’s communicator. “We’re at the fork.”
“Countdown starts…now. All teams commence operations,” came the answer.
Kline gave the signal. The teams faded into the darkness of their separate passageways. He watched. Took a step towards the tunnel where the Blue Team had gone. Paused. A vibration—slight, almost unperceivable. Frowning, he moved to the wall and placed his palm against one of the steel plates.
He swore.
It thundered through the wall like a freight train. The ground jolted once, and then shook hard side-to-side. Dust fell off the walls and ceiling. The overhead lights swayed. A cord snapped, sending one of the lanterns to the floor. It shattered feet from Kline’s location.
Kline grabbed this communicator. “What’s going on?”
“Subsurface quake. Richter scale is registering 6.3.”
Kline bolted after the Blue Team. “Will the tunnel hol–”
A steel plate wrenched forward off the side wall. He dove to the side as the plate crashed to the ground. Kline jumped to his feet and was about to continue down the tunnel, but his flashlight caught something. He pointed the beam at the ceiling thirty feet farther into the tunnel. It buckled.
“Blue Team! Abort! Repeat, abor–”
The tunnel collapsed. Dirt, dust, and rocks poured off the walls and ceiling. Kline stumbled backward. Through the swirling dust he could see a huge pile of rubble that reached from floor to ceiling. The passage was blocked.
“Blue Team!?! Blue Team, report! Blue…” he stopped. Nothing but static.
His team was lost.
