I drew a breath, steadying myself. The air at the entrance of the Volcanic Bunker was freezing, heavy with a faint, decaying volcanic humidity. The distinct sulfurous scent mingled with mud and volcanic sludge. It wasn't unpleasant; rather, it felt oddly familiar. It was as if, after twenty-four hours on water, scrambling through the wreckage I'd created, this was my true home: a grimy, dangerous, isolated environment.
The bunker itself was little more than an invisible puncture in the volcanic rock wall. Only a rough hydraulic plate—now raised about one centimeter—indicated the entrance point for large vehicles. However, the service gap Juri and I had prepared was only fifty centimeters wide: a chemical drain. The rat run, the glory run.
I crouched, ignoring the ache in my joints and sp
