Chapter 12 - The Race Against the KeypadTime seemed to slow down into a suffocating crawl. Above us, the muffled sound of plastic buttons clicking on a digital keypad echoed through the hollow structure of the floor.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Quick, help me block the entrance!” I whispered urgently, grabbing a heavy metal filing cabinet from the side wall.
With adrenaline surging through our veins, Mark and I heaved against the heavy steel cabinet, sliding it slightly toward the base of the concrete steps to create a makeshift physical barrier just in case the hydraulic mechanism engaged.
Above us, the mechanical whine of the floor panel’s motor suddenly whirred to life.
GRIND-CLACK.
The three-square-foot wooden floor section began to lower, letting a sliver of blinding living room light slice down into the dark stairwell.
“It’s opening!” Vanessa shouted from above.
Before the panel could retract more than a few inches, Mark lunged up the concrete steps, jammed his heavy winter boot straight into the gap beneath the moving wood, and threw his entire body weight upward.
CRACK!
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The motor groaned loudly, a puff of burning electrical smoke wafted out from the trim, and the automated gears jammed completely with a violent metallic screech.
“What the hell?” the man upstairs roared. “The motor’s blown!”
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