The two-foot-thick stainless-steel hatch swung wide on its grease-packed hinges.
Elena Rostova leaned forward with her penlight raised. A blast of stagnant, warm air rushed out of the dark chamber. It smelled of scorched cotton, dry metal, and human sweat.
Inside the cylindrical steel barrel, a figure stirred among crumpled sheets.
“Devon?” Elena called out. Her voice was steady, but her grip on the penlight tightened.
“Devon, crawl toward the light.”
A pair of cracked shoes scraped against the fluted steel floor of the chamber.
A young man tumbled over the lower lip of the hatch. His knees hit the wet concrete platform with a dull thud.
Elena dropped to one knee. She caught him under both armpits before his face could strike the stone.
