Chapter 8 - The Poisoned Air
A subtle, low-frequency vibration began to hum through the stone floorboards of the study.
Down in the subterranean utility vaults beneath the west tower, an ancient, unserviced industrial generator roared to life. Within sixty seconds, a thin, faint wisp of pale gray smoke began to curl out from the iron ventilation grates set near the floorboards of the room.
The smell hit Bennett instantly—a heavy, acrid stench of unburnt diesel fuel and deadly, odorless carbon monoxide.
"Julian!" Bennett roared, throwing his shoulder against the heavy mahogany door.
BOOM.
The solid three-inch oak door didn't even creak. It was built in the 17th century to withstand siege axes; a man’s shoulder stood no chance against it.
"It's no use, Bennett!" Julian’s voice was fading as he walked away down the stone corridor outside. "The windows are reinforced leaded glass, and the door is solid oak. You have about fifteen minutes before the air becomes completely unbreathable. Goodbye, little brother. The Sterling estate finally belongs to me."
"Julian! Open the door!" Bennett screamed, slamming his fists against the wood until his knuckles bled.
Inside the room, Victoria began to thrash violently in terror, realizing she was trapped in her own death trap. "Julian, you idiot! I'm still in here! Let me out! LET ME OUT!"
Dr. Henry was groaning on the floor, clutching his broken shoulder, coughing weakly as the gray haze began to thicken near the ceiling.
Josephine stood near the sofa, holding the babies close to her chest, covering their tiny faces with the wool blanket to filter the incoming smoke. She looked at Bennett, her eyes wide, but surprisingly calm.
"Panicking will consume the oxygen faster," Josephine said, her voice steady. "We need to block the grates."
Bennett snapped out of his rage, his corporate problem-solving mind taking over. "The rug! Help me with the rug!"
Together, Bennett and Josephine hauled a heavy Persian rug across the floor, jamming it tightly against the bottom of the oak door and over the main ventilation grates near the baseboards. It slowed the influx of smoke, but the air in the sealed room was already growing thick, heavy, and hot.
Bennett ran to the tall lancet window overlooking the valley. He raised the brass latch and tried to push the window open, but the rusted iron hinges were completely seized, fused shut by decades of neglect and paint.
He raised the snub-nosed revolver, aimed it at the glass, and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The bullet struck the thick leaded glass, cracking it, but the reinforced wire mesh embedded within the pane held the glass in place, allowing only a tiny trickle of fresh night air to filter through the spiderweb fracture.
"It's too thick!" Bennett coughed, his eyes beginning to sting as the carbon monoxide level rose.
Josephine looked around the room frantically. Her eyes landed on the heavy iron crowbar lying on the floor near Dr. Henry.
She handed the babies to Bennett. "Hold them. Keep their faces near the crack in the glass."
"Josephine, what are you doing?" Bennett called out, coughing as he pressed the twins' blanketed faces near the small bullet hole in the window.
May you like
Josephine picked up the heavy iron crowbar. She didn't attack the window pane; she stepped over to the ancient, disused stone fireplace set into the outer wall of the tower. She looked up into the dark hearth.
"The chimney," Josephine rasped, wiping sweat and soot from her forehead. "It's blocked by an iron damper plate to keep the cold out. If I can lever the damper open, the draft will pull the smoke up and out of the room!"
