Chapter 4 - The Chemistry of Survival
At the top of the cellar stairs, Marcus was descending holding a thick blue binder he had just retrieved from Silas’s floor safe. Levin stood guard at the bottom of the steps, his hand resting on the hilt of his concealed firearm, his eyes scanning the gloom.
Suddenly, a loud, metallic clatter echoed from the dark hallway above the stairs.
“What was that?” Levin called out, drawing his gun instantly and stepping toward the base of the staircase.
“Probably just the wind rattling the servant doors,” Marcus said, coming down the steps. “The whole upper house is empty. I sent the staff home an hour ago.”
“Go check it,” Graham commanded from beside the chained Silas. He was holding the pink plastic scissors between two fingers, his face dark with fury. “If some maid is snooping around up there, eliminate her before we start the fire.”
Levin nodded, ascending the narrow brick steps with cautious, quiet footfalls. He held his 9mm pistol raised, his thumb flicking off the safety as he reached the top landing.
The door to the upper hallway stood half-open. A heavy cleaning cart sat parked in the doorway, blocking the view.
“Who’s there?” Levin growled, kicking the door wider with his heavy boot.
No one answered.
Levin stepped past the cart into the dim hallway. Standing ten feet away was Mara Ellison.
She was wearing a long, heavy rubber apron over her clothes, thick leather work gloves, and a damp white cotton towel wrapped tightly around her mouth and nose, secured behind her head. Her eyes were calm—unbelievably, terrifyingly calm.
In her right hand, she held a large glass jar filled with a sloshing, yellowish-green liquid. In her left, she held the long, heavy iron lye-scraper.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Levin sneered, lowering his gun slightly as he recognized the maid. “I told you to leave with the rest of the staff, girl.”
Mara didn't say a word.
She didn't bargain. She didn't scream.
She simply took two quick steps forward and hurled the glass jar directly at the brick wall beside Levin’s head.
The glass shattered in a violent spray.
Three minutes earlier, Mara had poured two gallons of concentrated ammonia into a heavy plastic bucket, mixed it with a full bottle of industrial bleach, and sealed the chemical reaction inside the glass jar.
The moment the glass broke, a dense, swirling cloud of pure chloramine gas exploded into the narrow stairwell.
The effect was instantaneous and horrific.
The toxic chemical vapor struck Levin directly in the face. The gas reacted instantly with the moisture in his eyes, nose, and lungs, turning into liquid acid.
Levin dropped his gun, screaming in agony as he clutched his face, his vision instantly blacking out as his respiratory system seized. He collapsed onto his knees, gagging and thrashing blindly on the floorboards.
Mara didn't pause. She stepped forward, grabbed the heavy iron lye-scraper with both hands, and brought it down with all her strength against the back of Levin’s neck.
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The man went limp instantly.
Mara reached down, picked up Levin’s dropped 9mm pistol from the floor, and kicked his unconscious body out of the doorway. She grabbed a second sealed glass jar from the lower shelf of her cart, pulled her damp towel tighter over her face, and stepped into the stairwell, descending into the dark cellar.
