Chapter 8 - The Tunnel of the Saints
"Hold him steady!" Elena screamed, throwing her body over Luca’s chest as the van swerved again, her hands desperate to keep the IV line from ripping out of his arm.
Dante was already leaning out of the small, reinforced side window of the van, his automatic rifle firing in rapid, deafening bursts into the darkness behind them. Pop-pop-pop-pop!
Through the shattered glass of the back window, Elena could see the headlights of the pursuing SUVs. They were close, their front bumpers catching the spray of the rain-slicked road.
"We need to get to the West Side highway!" Dante yelled to the driver. "Get us to the warehouse district!"
"I can't!" the driver shouted back. "They’ve blocked the bridge! We’re forced toward the old shipping canal!"
Luca’s heart rate on the portable monitor began to climb—110, 125, 140. He grimaced in pain, his hand grabbing his left side where the splenic sutures were located.
"Luca, don't move!" Elena yelled over the roar of the gunfire. She reached for a syringe of fentanyl from her kit. "Your heart rate is too high. If your blood pressure spikes, the artery will rupture!"
"I'm fine..." Luca gasped, his teeth grit, his forehead covered in cold sweat. "Dante... the tunnel. Use the maintenance tunnel under the old brewery."
Dante’s eyes lit up. "The brewery tunnel! It’s too narrow for the SUVs!"
He slammed his hand against the cabin divider. "Leo! Turn left onto 4th Street! Take the dirt road behind the abandoned grain silo!"
The van made a hard, ninety-degree turn, the tires sliding on the muddy gravel. Elena was thrown against the metal wall of the van, her shoulder bruising sharply, but she kept her body pinned over Luca, acting as a human shield against the loose medical equipment flying around the cabin.
The van plunged into a dark, narrow concrete archway—the entrance to the old subterranean beer cellars of the Vescari family’s legitimate distribution business.
The concrete walls were barely inches from the van’s side mirrors.
Behind them, the lead SUV tried to follow, but it was too wide. With a sickening, metallic screech of tearing metal, the SUV wedged itself tight against the concrete entrance, its headlights shattering, completely blocking the second vehicle from entering.
"We’re clear!" the driver yelled, slowing the van down as they navigated the winding, damp brick tunnels beneath the city.
Dante slumped against the wall, his rifle hot, his chest heaving. He looked at Elena, who was still holding Luca, her eyes wide with terror, her body shaking.
"You're a hell of a nurse, Elena," Dante said, a slow, appreciative grin spreading across his face.
Elena didn't answer. She was looking at the portable monitor.
Luca’s blood pressure had dropped to 80/50.
"We need to stop," Elena said, her voice laced with a sudden, desperate panic. "His pressure is dropping. He’s bleeding internally. The swerving must have torn the splenic artery repair."
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"We can't stop here," Dante said, looking at the dark brick walls. "The safehouse is ten minutes away."
"He doesn't have ten minutes," Elena said. "If we don't start the blood transfusion right now, he will go into cardiac arrest before we reach the surface."
