Chapter 6 - The Oxygen ClockThe white gas hissed from the ceiling grate, curling like pale smoke against the cold concrete walls.
"Nerve agent?" Lucas demanded, shoving Clara and the boys back toward the furthest corner of the fallout shelter.
"No," Clara said, sniffing the air with a clinician's precision. "It's a concentrated sedative—anesthetic compound B-7. High dose. In an enclosed space, it will shut down our central nervous system in under four minutes. We’ll stop breathing before we even feel sleepy."
Lucas slammed his shoulder against the three-inch steel vault door. The metal held firmly; the electronic magnetic lock on the outside hummed with unyielding power.
"The mechanical override is jammed from the outside," Lucas grunted, backing up and looking around the dim fallout shelter. "We need an exit, now!"
While Lucas hunted for heavy iron tools among the rusty workbench shelves, the six-year-old quadruplets remained remarkably calm. Ethan, the analytical one who had picked the briefcase lock, was already standing on a wooden crate beneath the air vent, staring up at the grate.
"It's a two-way circulation shaft," Ethan said, his tone as composed as a veteran engineer's. "The gas is coming from the main duct above, but the pressure valve is mechanical."
"Ethan, step down!" Clara warned, coming up behind him.
"Look at the screws, Mom," Liam—the eldest by three minutes—added, stepping beside his brother. He pulled out the silver pocket knife he had brought from the party upstairs and flipped open a tiny screwdriver bit. "These aren't security rivets. They're standard Phillips head."
Before Lucas could react, six-year-old Liam climbed onto Ethan’s shoulders with practiced agility. Within fifteen seconds, the small boy had unfastened two corner screws and pulled the heavy steel mesh grate free.
A rush of freezing outside air mixed with the sweet gas.
"The vent leads to the drainage flue under the cliff," Liam called down, his small voice echoing into the dark ductwork. "It’s tight, but we can fit. You too, Dad."
Lucas stared at his sons in disbelief. The sheer speed, coordination, and spatial awareness they possessed was far beyond anything normal six-year-olds could achieve. It was terrifying—and right now, it was their only lifeline.
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"Boys first," Lucas ordered, boosting Mason and Noah into the shaft. Clara followed next, squeezing into the narrow ductwork.
Lucas climbed up last, just as his vision began to blur from inhaling the sweet, dense gas. He pulled the steel mesh back into place to delay any pursuers, then crawled into the dark, frozen tunnel toward the roaring sound of the ocean below.
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