Chapter 9 - The Battle in the Dark
Thomas fired first. The 9mm round tore through the dim basement, striking the man on Vance's left squarely in the chest. The man collapsed backward onto the stairs with a heavy groan.
At the same instant, the second henchman opened fire with his submachine gun. A hail of bullets shattered the concrete wall above Thomas's head, sending sharp fragments of stone and dust flying through the air like shrapnel.
Thomas dove behind a stack of old vinyl booth seats, returning fire with three rapid shots. One bullet caught the shooter in the shoulder, spinning him around before he crashed into a rack of metal shelving, pulling hundreds of rusted tin cans down on top of himself.
Vance didn't panic. He moved with cold, mechanical precision, firing two suppressed shots through the vinyl booth. The high-velocity rounds punched clean holes through the leather padding, one of them grazing Thomas's upper arm.
Thomas gritted his teeth as hot blood soaked through his black t-shirt. He checked his magazine—four rounds left.
"You can't win this, Thomas!" Vance called out, his voice echoing from behind a thick concrete pillar. "You're an old man with a rusty gun! Give me the drive, and I'll let the girl live as a ward of the state!"
"You're a terrible liar, Vance!" Thomas shouted back, swapping his empty magazine for the spare from his belt.
Behind the grease trap, Clara watched the gunfight with wide, terrified eyes. She saw the heavy iron valve of the diner's main gas line running along the ceiling directly above Vance's pillar. The pipe was old, corroded, and wrapped in yellowed insulation.
She looked at the heavy brass flashlight lying on the floor near her hand.
Gathering every shred of courage left in her trembling body, Clara picked up the heavy flashlight, stood up from behind the grease trap, and hurled it with all her strength at the overhead gas line.
The brass flashlight struck the rusted brass coupling with a deafening CRACK.
The old pipe fractured instantly. A high-pressure jet of natural gas hissed violently into the room, filling the air with the suffocating smell of rotten eggs.
Vance flinched, instinctively turning his weapon toward the sound of the leak.
"Thomas! Now!" Clara screamed.
Thomas didn't fire at Vance. He raised his SIG Sauer, aimed straight at the metal junction box mounted on the wall right beside the leaking gas pipe, and pulled the trigger.
The bullet struck the electrical box, creating a massive, white-hot shower of sparks.
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BOOM!
A terrifying fireball ignited in the upper corner of the basement. The pressure wave knocked Vance off his feet, throwing him violently against the concrete wall as a wall of orange flame consumed the staircase behind him.
