Chapter 29 Above sub level six

Chapter 29 Above sub level six
Zane POV 

"Did you get it?" I asked before the tray even hit the floor and Marcus looked up from under the hood of his jacket with that half-smile he always did that meant either yes or maybe and he slid the folded napkin across the slot like it was the most ordinary thing in the world and I grabbed it before the tray could wobble and I opened it with fingers that shook and there it was the first answer, wrapped in a note so small it almost felt like a joke, almost like he didn’t want me to believe it and I read it once and then again and then a third time and I said, “This is real. This works.”

Marcus leaned back and shrugged. “It works. The facility uses a centralized environmental control system. Any maintenance junction with the right override code can access it. Trigger the ventilation pressure fault, alerts go to three departments at once, security moves toward the mechanical levels. Minimum twelve minutes before anyone realizes it’s false.”

“Twelve minutes,” I whispered and my throat felt dry. “And you have the code.”

He nodded, smirking slightly. “I have it. Twelve minutes is all you get. No longer.”

I held the napkin against my chest and then the second note slid out beneath it, slightly thicker and more creased and my stomach sank because this one was the real problem. I looked up at him and said, “She can release it?”

Dr. Voss? Marcus nodded. “She can. Biometric seal. Staff keycard needed or internal release. No way for me to get a keycard without being logged. Voss, she can do it without triggering any security flag because her clearance covers patient checks anytime.”

I said her name out loud and it felt strange, almost sacred. “Voss has agreed?”

“Yes,” Marcus said and the word hung between us. “She has agreed.”

I repeated it because I could not believe it. “She agreed? Dr. Voss agreed to do this? She’s worked here for eleven years. She’s putting herself on the line for us.”

Marcus shrugged again and said, “I don’t know why. But she did. That’s enough.”

I looked at the third note, unfolded it, and stared at the scribbled words. My pulse quickened because it was incomplete. I said, “The shaft above Six, you don’t know?”

Marcus shook his head. “Partial only. It continues above Six, but I can’t confirm if it reaches the exterior or stops somewhere else. Only one person knows the full layout. Draper. Head of mechanical. Been here longer than anyone except Owen.”

I cursed under my breath. “Draper is not on our side.”

Marcus smiled faintly. “No. But I know something about Draper he doesn’t want Owen to know. I can get the info without him being a threat. Trust me.”

I stared at him. “I have no other option.”

He nodded and I realized we were both thinking the same thing. The plan had to work. There was no plan B. No safety net. Only the shaft, the override, the door release, and Dr. Voss.

Later that afternoon, Owen came to Cell Block Seven himself and I watched from the back of my cell as he stood in the corridor with two men I had never seen before, not staff, not anyone I recognized. Their posture was wrong, their clothes were wrong, their eyes scanning like they were looking at objects they might buy, and Owen held a tablet out to them, scrolling through images, numbers, graphs maybe, I could not tell, and one man nodded and Owen smiled and I felt my chest tighten and my jaw lock because whatever he was showing them had nothing to do with Helix alone. Outside buyers, people with money and power, waiting for what we were producing, and Nyla…

My hands clenched the bars as I said, “They don’t care about anything but the output.”

The other man looked at me through the bars. “What did you say?”

“I said nothing,” I muttered quickly and they ignored me. They did not care about a single soul in this block, only the product and Owen’s demonstration.

I turned back to the wall, to the panel, thinking fast, trying to memorize the route, trying to figure out timing and positions, calculating how long we would have, how fast the guards moved, what could go wrong. My pulse was loud in my ears. I said out loud because I could not hold it in, “Twelve minutes. Twelve minutes to move, to act, to be ghosts.”

The cell was silent except for the sound of my own breathing. I pressed my palm flat against the panel, thinking, imagining, feeling the pulse of the facility, every mechanical vibration beneath my fingertips, every wire, every junction, every light that flickered, every door that could open if the timing was right.

Marcus’s voice whispered in my mind, reminding me, “You have the code. Voss agreed. Trust me.”

I said it aloud. “I have the code. Voss agreed. I trust you.”

I traced the lines in the panel with my fingers, trying to memorize them, committing them to muscle memory, whispering numbers and locations, Sub-Level Four, Six, Eight, mechanical access, vents, every single angle I could think of, and then I said, “If this works, if it works, we get her out.”

Marcus said nothing in response because he wasn’t here, just a ghost in my head. I leaned back against the wall and pressed my forehead to the cool metal and whispered, “Voss, don’t fail me. Don’t leave me with this alone. I can’t. I won’t.”

The shadows in the corridor shifted as Owen and the two men left. I watched them go. My eyes followed their movements, memorized them, counted their steps, and imagined how long they would take to reach the elevator, the shuttle, whatever exit they had planned. I whispered, “Outside buyers. God, why are you so patient?”

I ran my hands over the panel again, imagining the override, imagining the vent fault triggering, imagining the security doors opening and guards rushing to mechanical levels and twelve minutes, twelve minutes for us, twelve minutes for Nyla, twelve minutes to get to her and maybe, maybe to move her through the shaft, to see the surface, to feel air that wasn’t filtered and sterile, to breathe because we had been living in boxes for too long and I could feel the desperation clawing my lungs.

I whispered, “You have the release. You said yes. You said yes.”

I leaned back, eyes half-closed, thinking fast and trying not to think at all, trying to keep my head from exploding with every possible contingency, and then I said, “Marcus, I can’t wait. I have to go tonight. I can’t wait for the signal. I won’t wait.”

He didn’t answer, but I knew he heard me. We had been silent together for long enough to know our communication didn’t need words sometimes. I pressed my palm again against the panel and tried to picture every wire, every switch, every vent I had traced in my memory, every guard path, every timing window, every camera angle. I whispered, “If I fail, it’s on me, but if I succeed, it’s all of us.”

I thought of Nyla in her room, alone with whatever secrets Dr. Voss had left her, holding onto the small handheld device, waiting for two days, holding onto hope I could not see, and I whispered again, “You better be ready, Nyla. I am coming.”

The metal panel under my hand hummed faintly, as if it knew my intention, as if it felt the pulse of my own fear and adrenaline and determination all at once, and I leaned closer and whispered, “I have to know what is above Sub-Level Six. I have to know if the shaft ends or if it reaches out. Draper has to tell me. I will get it from him without him realizing, without Owen realizing, without anyone realizing.”

My voice rose a little in the empty corridor. “I will get it. I will get it and I will bring Nyla to you and we will move through that shaft and we will be free.”

The door clicked somewhere down the block. Guards walking, footsteps echoing, lights shifting. I pressed my palm harder against the panel. I whispered, “Twelve minutes. That’s all we get. Twelve minutes.”

I imagined the vents opening, the alarms triggering, the security scrambling, the path clearing for a narrow, dangerous, miraculous escape. I whispered, “If I fail, I fail alone. If I succeed, maybe we all make it. Maybe Nyla survives. Maybe we can finally breathe.”

The panel was cold against my skin, hard, unforgiving, and I pressed my face against it and murmured, “I am ready. I don’t care what comes next. I am ready.”

Then, as I traced the edges with my fingers one last time, I heard a faint click from the corridor and I said, “Who’s there?”

A shadow shifted and a voice, quiet, almost a whisper, said, “It’s me. Are you ready?”

I pressed my forehead harder against the panel, and with my voice trembling, I said, “Yes. I’m ready. I have always been.”