Page 347 of Rangers Mountain Rescue
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Concrete.
Cold.
Reinforced.
But not perfect.
Nothing is.
I find the seam.
Maintenance access.
Hidden.
Locked.
Not for long.
“Breach,” I whisper.
Briggs sets the charge.
Small.
Precise.
Enough.
We step back.
Three…
Two…
One—
Boom.
Not loud.
But enough.
Door gives.
We’re in.
Inside—
Dark corridor.
Narrow.
Smell of metal and oil.
Footsteps echo somewhere deeper.
“They heard that,” Briggs mutters.
