Chapter 43 - Burning the Ice
Nathan didn't think; survival stripped away every vestige of civilized restraint. Tucking Toby tight under his left arm, he snatched a discarded riot shotgun from a fallen National Guardsman, pumped the action with a vicious metallic snap, and fired directly into the fuel valve of the crippled helicopter.
The aviation fuel ignited with an ear-shattering concussive roar. A wall of orange flame erupted across the tarmac, cutting off the tactical team from Evelyn and turning the icy crosswind into an inferno. The shockwave knocked the two operatives off their feet, their thermal goggles shattering under the intense flare.
Evelyn scrambled backward through the smoking sludge, her hands bleeding where the ice had shredded her palms. Nathan seized her by the shoulder of her torn down jacket and dragged her behind the bulk of the fuel truck.
"Eli! Now!" Nathan roared.
The eight-year-old smiled—a terrifying, humorless smirk that belonged on an elderly tyrant—and released the trigger of the detonator.
Deep beneath the tarmac, the thermite charges breached the primary liquid nitrogen reservoirs of the Caldwell testing facility. The physics of the resulting explosion were instantaneous and catastrophic. The concrete helipad did not merely shatter; it buckled and collapsed downward into the fiery abyss like an elevator with snapped cables.
The lead armored Suburban tilted backward and plummeted into the flaming subterranean maw, disappearing into a plume of white-hot chemical fire. The surviving operatives scrambled toward their remaining vehicle, their discipline completely broken by the tectonic collapse.
"Run!" Nathan shouted, lunging toward the perimeter maintenance gate where the old snowplow truck sat idling with its yellow beacon spinning through the drifting smoke.
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Miller was already there, throwing open the driver’s side door. "Get in! If the secondary nitrogen tanks cook off, this entire ridge will shear off into the valley!"
Nathan practically threw Evelyn and Eli into the bench seat of the heavy-duty truck, then slid in beside them, wrapping both arms around Toby. The interior reeked of damp canvas, old coffee, and raw diesel exhaust. Miller slammed the gearshift into reverse, floored the accelerator, and the eight-ton snowplow lurched backward through the ruined chain-link fence just as the entire central apron of the armory sank thirty feet into the earth, vomiting a pillar of black soot and fire into the stormy night sky.
